Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Finally, Miceral turned away and instructed Peter to change for weapons practice. They’d only been going a few minutes when Miceral nearly hit the prince in the head with the flat of his sword. He barely had time to shift the blow, and he still knocked Peter from his feet.

  “Practice is cancelled.” Miceral collected their weapons after checking to see Peter wasn’t hurt. “It’s not safe for you if I’m this distracted.”

  “No complaints from me.” Peter quickly unbuckled his chest plate. “He’ll be fine, you know.”

  Miceral heard Peter’s voice while staring out to where Farrell had disappeared. “What was that?”

  “I said Farrell is going to be fine.” Peter stood next to him by the railing. “Arritisa wouldn’t send him off into danger. The Six need him.”

  Miceral laughed softly. “Using logic won’t help. I know what you say is true, but I’m still worried.”

  Peter shook his head. “Father was right. Newlyjoineds.”

  He tried not to laugh, but eventually his resolve broke. “Watch it.”

  “Sails off the starboard bow!”

  The cry from the crow’s nest caused Miceral to twist and look back. His superior eyesight caught a glimpse of a sail just above the horizon. Anxious sailors rushed to the sides, peering where the lookout directed. Captain Nathan, surrounded by his men, stared through a spyglass.

  “Pirates!” he hissed, lowering the brass tube. Collapsing the eyepiece, he wheeled about, looking directly at Miceral. “Where’s Kelvin?”

  “He left the ship to take care of another matter.”

  “Left the ship!” Nathan let loose a string of curses, some of which Miceral had never heard before. “He was hired to guard this ship! From something just like that!” He snapped his head toward the approaching vessel.

  “We were hired to protect Prince Peter. Neither Kelvin nor I answer to you.”

  “My deal with Prince Wilhelm was that you two would guard this ship as the price of passage. He made no mention of side trips or the wizard leaving.”

  Miceral shook his head. Engaging Nathan in this argument did no good. “Captain, I’m not privy to your deal with Wilhelm. Our instructions were to guard Prince Peter. Kelvin needed to leave to handle a matter. I can’t elaborate.”

  Nathan glared at Miceral. “Get that blasted wizard back now!”

  “How do you expect me to do that? He’s the wizard, not me!” Miceral met the captain’s gaze, daring him to say more. After a brief stare-off, Nathan turned away, muttering a new string of inspired curses. When Miceral shook his head, he noticed Peter.

  Peter’s attempt to keep control of his fear didn’t fool Miceral. Peter had lived a sheltered life. War had never touched Belsport in his lifetime. The invasion of his home a couple of months earlier had been his first taste, and Wilhelm had kept Peter and his sister Alicia under guard deep in the Citadel.

  A sense of pride and a paternal need to protect filled Miceral. Khron help him, he’d keep Peter safe.

  “Go put on your full set of armor and meet me here.” Peter gulped, then nodded. Miceral put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. You’re a good swordsman. Believe it and believe in yourself. Together, we’re going to get through this safely. Understood?”

  “Yes, Mi—Elgin.”

  “Good. Now go get your gear.” He watched Peter run off and said a silent prayer to Khron for help keeping his promise.

  Watching the crew scurry around, Miceral sought out Captain Nathan. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer, but he asked the obvious anyway. “What defenses does this vessel have?”

  The older man shifted his weight and looked away. “Just you and my sailors. The owner was counting on that wizard friend of yours to be our primary defense. You and him.”

  “So the bastard cut back on his protection hoping to save money.” He didn’t need to see the captain nod to know the answer. Emerson appeared next to Miceral, shouting orders for the crew to put on every piece of canvas they could muster.

  Men scrambled like rats from a flooded hold. Some quickly scampered up the rigging as others waited to tie off ropes. Sails unfurled and fluttered while the first mate yelled out adjustments. Miceral felt an immediate increase in speed.

  Feeling alone, Miceral formed an image of his partner in his mind. “Farrell?” After a few heartbeats with no reply, he tried again with no success. He stopped when Peter returned, dressed in his battle armor with a helmet cradled in his arm.

  Miceral cast a critical eye over his young charge. He and Wilhelm had had a lively discussion about what armor to provide Peter in the event the ship came under attack. Miceral had argued for plain but sturdy armor to avoid being the center of notice. Wilhelm countered that anyone wearing armor on the ship would be viewed as a soldier and singled out immediately by the enemy. Since Peter would be noticed, Wilhelm wanted his son to have the finest protection available.

  High quality and made specifically for him, Peter’s armor fit perfectly. Miceral adjusted the straps on the breastplate to ensure Peter had maximum range of motion, then requested the plumed helmet.

  “Your father may have been right about providing the best protection he could find, but there is no sense drawing any more attention to yourself than necessary.” He ripped the green-feathered top off the head guard and then used his thumb to smooth down any rough edges. “Hopefully that will draw less attention than a bright green row of bristles.”

  He knelt down to adjust some of the lower pieces when Peter stepped away. “What are you doing? I know how to put on my armor correctly.”

  With the crew and officers all on deck, Miceral chose his words carefully. “Yes, my prince, I know you can. But as one hired by your father to see to your safety, it falls to me to be certain you are well protected.”

  Peter looked annoyed but let Miceral finish his inspection. “Any word from Kelvin?”

  “None.” He tried not to show the fear that coiled around his chest. They’d always been able to communicate since Miceral put on the amulet. Farrell had mentioned great distance would limit their ability to reach each other, but Miceral took that to mean thousands of miles. And Farrell couldn’t be that far away already.

  Frustrated, he closed his eyes and focused hard. “Farrell!”

  The silence that followed seemed unnatural, as if even the sea went quiet while he waited for an answer.

  “Miceral?” Klissmor’s voice in his mind sent a jolt through Miceral.

  “Klissmor?” How? “What’s wrong?”

  “That is what I need to ask you.” Klissmor sounded concerned, creating another wave of uncertainty in Miceral.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I felt your distress and heard you shout your mate’s name. What is wrong?”

  “Pirates are chasing the ship and I can’t reach Farrell.”

  “Why can’t you reach Farrell?” For the first time Miceral could remember, he heard a hint of panic in his friend’s voice. “Where did he go?”

  He quickly explained the situation, noting increased agitation from Klissmor. “And now I can’t reach him through our link.”

  “How could you let him go?” Nerti yelled into his mind when he stopped talking.

  “I told you. Arritisa sent messengers. There was no way to say no to them.”

  “You should have tried.” Nerti’s tone pushed him over the edge.

  “Instead of yelling at me—which isn’t helping—why don’t you try to reach Farrell?”

  It felt as if Nerti wanted to say something, but she kept silent.

  “You are correct,” Klissmor said. “We should be trying to help. Give us a moment.”

  Time felt suspended, and Miceral realized he had been staring at the deck. When he looked up, he saw Peter watching him expectantly. “I’m speaking to Klissmor and Nerti. They’re… they’re trying to reach Far—Kelvin.”

  Miceral squinted in the direction of the pursuing ship. “It’s a ways off. We might outrun them.�
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  “No, we won’t.” Peter shook his head. “There’s too much daylight left.”

  The conviction in Peter’s words surprised Miceral. He’d expected fear or anxiety but not the calm, grim resolve. “Why do you say that?”

  Peter hesitated and then shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

  He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and forced the teen to look at him. “No, that’s not what I meant. Tell me why you came to that conclusion.”

  “Geometry and ship construction.” He pointed toward the vessel. “If a corsair can see a ship, it’s close enough to run down most merchant vessels in half a day, given favorable winds. We’re moving fast enough that these conditions favor them.”

  “But the Rose is a first-rate ship.” Miceral based his opinion on what Farrell had said after inspecting the vessel. “Maybe she can outrun the pirates?”

  “That might add a few hours to the chase, but we’ve got almost an entire day of light left. My teachers always told me, if pirates catch you in their sights before lunch, start praying to Arritisa for help.”

  Miceral started to respond when he felt Klissmor’s voice back in his mind. “We were unsuccessful in reaching Farrell. It is possible the water prevents our thoughts from reaching him.”

  “Please keep trying. I know he is alive. Otherwise”—he attempted to remove the chain, but he couldn’t get it over his head—“I could remove my amulet.”

  “Nerti and I will continue, but I fear he is too deep in Arritisa’s realm for our message to reach him.”

  Miceral thought he saw something break the surface of the water. For a moment he thought the dolphins had returned with… “Arritisa’s messengers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s how to reach Farrell.” Miceral stared at the water as if he could will a dolphin to appear. “Ask Lenore to relay a message to one of Arritisa’s messengers. They can get it to Farrell.”

  Klissmor didn’t answer immediately, and Miceral held his breath waiting for him to say it worked. “Nerti asked the Blessed Mother for help. She is sending a message through Her Sister. We will keep you apprised if we learn more.”

  “Klissmor is trying to get Kelvin a message.” He watched Peter nod gravely. “We’ve done all we can to reach him. Come on, I need to get my armor.”

  Miceral did his best to appear calm as they went back to their cabin. Tense sailors, constantly glancing aft, moved with a sense of urgency to carry out orders. The normal banter among the crew disappeared as fear focused their attention on one goal, and one goal only—speed.

  Closing the cabin door, Miceral pulled the bag Wesfazial had enchanted with an endless pocket. He motioned for Peter to keep watch on the door, then began unpacking.

  A small pile of weapons sat next to his armor on the deck when he slid the bag back under his cot. “I think that’s everything.”

  “That looks like enough for three warriors.” Peter’s armor jingled as he walked closer. “Do you plan to carry it all?”

  Miceral nodded, slipping the chain mail over his head. “I’m stronger than three men, so it’s only fair.”

  With Peter’s help he adjusted the rest of his armor. He strapped two swords on his back and then slid a mace into a hook on the left side of his belt. A small battle-axe found a home in a hook on the right, and he stuffed several heavy knives into sheaths on the leather sword sashes that crossed his torso. Finally, he grabbed an oversized leather quiver and tucked it under his left arm.

  “What’s in there?”

  “A nasty surprise for the pirates Farrell made for this trip.” He lifted the flap to reveal a dozen heavy metal javelins. “Hopefully these will instill a dose of fear among the enemy before they close on us.”

  Dressed and armed, the pair made their way aft. The corsair seemed to have closed the gap some since last he’d looked. Miceral had begun unpacking his javelins when he heard someone approach.

  “Hope you’re able to hoist those,” Emerson said, pointing to the heavy spears in Miceral’s hand. “Doubt any man on this ship could toss one of those stem to stern.”

  Placing the bundle against the gunwale, Miceral shrugged. “It won’t be a problem. I’m hopeful I can punch a few holes in their sails when they get closer.”

  The first officer raised an eyebrow. “That would be a throw worthy of the legends, Master Elgin.”

  “Bards have a way of leaving out important facts when creating sagas, Mr. Emerson.” Miceral winked at the officer.

  “My best efforts notwithstanding, you may get a chance to debunk a few myths.” Emerson’s smirk lasted less than a heartbeat. “Our pursuers gain on us despite all we do to increase our speed.”

  “Did you really think we could outrun them to Dumbarten?”

  The sailor shook his head and looked toward the barely visible ship on the horizon. “Just until nightfall. If we can keep away from them until then, I plan to alter course in the dark. At the rate they’re gaining on us, however, they’ll overtake us by midafternoon if not sooner. Captain said they broke out oars shortly after they spotted us. No way this vessel can outrun a sleek corsair sail on sail. Toss in slave-powered oars, and we won’t make it the day before we’re forced to fight. Sure wish we had that friend of yours to help. Never watched wizards fight at sea, though I heard tell that Yar-del was famous for assigning one to every ship in its navy.”

  “Don’t give up hope. Kelvin may yet make it back in time to aid us.” Miceral tried to sound hopeful. Emerson looked like he wanted to ask something but shook his head instead and walked off.

  “Do you think Kelvin will make it back in time?” Peter asked.

  Although he wanted to calm Peter’s fear, Miceral knew better than to minimize their plight. “It’s possible Lenore will get a message to him soon, but he may be a great distance away. Even if he gets the message, he might not be able to reach us in time.”

  Peter swallowed and nodded. “So we need to be prepared to rely only on ourselves.”

  “Exactly.”

  They stood by the rail in silence, watching the enemy ship relentlessly inch closer. Despite his words, Miceral didn’t expect Farrell to make it in time. And given the position of the pirate vessel, he knew they’d need help to make it to dark without being attacked.

  Lenore, we really need Your help. He didn’t know what She could do, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

  FARRELL SPENT a couple of hours listening to Teberus explain how magic worked in Rastoria. As they expected, he quickly grasped the basics, allowing the elder wizard to teach him the finer points novices normally waited years to learn.

  Essentially, Arlefor wizards pulled vast amounts of energy into themselves and used overwhelming power to accomplish what they wished. The technique turned out to be only a minor variation from how Farrell had learned to power spells, but that small difference proved life-changing. Mastering what Teberus taught him would allow him to wield power at a level previously thought to be impossible.

  “It’s so simple.” Farrell watched the power flow into his body, then let it drain away a heartbeat later. “How could we have not discovered this before?”

  Shaking his head slowly, Teberus leaned forward in his seat. “My opinion would be it lies in the amount of power available. Wizards of your world learned to use power sparingly because it is scarce—scarce relative to my world. The focus of learning would be on maximizing results using as little power as possible. Few, if any, would get acclaim for learning how to use more power than necessary just to prove they could.”

  Farrell found Teberus’s logic compelling. His ability to see to the heart of a problem brought a smile to Farrell’s face. “Your use of deductive reasoning reminds me of my late master. You two would no doubt have been good friends had you the opportunity to sit and talk for even a few minutes.”

  “His student honors him with his talents.”

  Teberus continued to lecture him on the every trick and tactic he knew. Deep in conversation, Teberus sudd
enly stopped midsentence and turned toward the door Farrell had used to enter the room. Two temple guards swam quickly to where Burcia stood in conference with some of her advisors. Burcia nodded and the two soldiers swam off, but not before one cast a worried look at Farrell.

  The high priestess’s face told Farrell something was afoot. She stared at Farrell for a moment before she went to a small door in the back of the room.

  “Has something happened that concerns me?” he asked Teberus.

  “That is not clear to me, but the fact my niece sent for her brother means it is a matter of high importance.”

  Before Farrell could suggest Teberus go deal with whatever problem had arisen, Clayden burst into the room, his sister a step behind.

  “Chosen, my apologies for interrupting.” Clayden’s grave tone caused Farrell to tense. “A message has been received in a roundabout manner from a servant of Lenore named Nerti. Is that name familiar to you?”

  “She is a good friend and advisor.”

  “I see.” He turned to his sister, who nodded. “She asked that Lenore speak to Arritisa, who then made a dolphin available to receive the message.”

  Burcia elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Give him the message, brother.”

  “Yes, the message.” Clayden nodded quickly, not bothering to spar with his sister. “The ship you came from is under threat of attack by a hostile vessel called ‘Pirates,’ I believe they said.”

  Farrell’s body tensed. “Miceral!”

  He concentrated on his link to Miceral and focused his thoughts on their shared amulet. “Miceral!”

  Clayden set a large hand on Farrell’s shoulder. “My apologies, Chosen, but we don’t understand what you are saying.”

  Farrell listened for any hint of a response through his link, but he heard nothing. “I’m sorry. I was calling Miceral, my life partner. He and my friend are still on that ship. I must get to them immediately.” Farrell started toward the door, but a firm grip stopped him.