Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  For a moment Miceral wondered if the nothingness he felt meant he’d died. Before he could follow that thought, the darkness started to shred and patches of light reached him. The ground reformed beneath him and his hearing returned.

  “Farrell’s mind is strong. He is trying to will us to not be anymore.” Rothdin’s calm voice steadied Miceral.

  Movement to Miceral’s right caused him to turn. Rothdin, his wings tucked against his body, stared into the distance. When the peregrine shifted his gaze toward Miceral, he asked, “Not be?”

  “He is trying to cause us to cease to exist. Fear not. I have dispelled that attack.”

  Miceral felt as though Rothdin left off the words for now, but he didn’t voice the thought.

  “Why is he attacking us? Where is he? I can’t see—”

  “Be calm, young one.” Rothdin extended his wing and laid it gently across Miceral’s back. A warm, soothing feeling flooded Miceral’s consciousness, allowing him to focus again. “Your mate’s anxiety is affecting you.”

  “How can you be so confident?”

  “Farrell believes what is happening is real and is reacting accordingly. He is using spells that would work against real opponents, and against his imaginary foes, his imaginary spells work.” He swept his left wing from right to left. “But I know all of this—everything we encounter—is an illusion, and it cannot affect me. If you focus, you can do the same.”

  “Focus on what?” How could he believe he was really here and yet this place didn’t exist?

  “Now is not the time to explain all this, but remember my words. Nothing is real, and more importantly, it cannot harm you unless you let it.”

  Miceral nodded. “I’ll try.”

  “Do more than try. Do it.” Rothdin turned his head and locked gazes with Miceral. “Your life may depend on it.”

  “But if it’s not real….”

  “If you believe it is real, your mind will act as if it has harmed you.”

  Talking it through helped him understand. “Meaning if I believe I’m dead….”

  “Correct. Your mind would end your life functions.” Rothdin’s dark irises flared wide, and the feathers over his eyes rose. “Now, we must find him before he uses all his energy.”

  Suddenly the ground stirred and Miceral moved forward. He felt the wind whip around him as he heard wings flap. Rothdin’s efforts caused a bounce that contrasted to the smooth movement Miceral experienced when he flew with Farrell.

  Miceral glanced to his right and immediately started to flounder when he realized he and Rothdin were not connected. He grasped at the air, but he continued to fall. Looking down, he couldn’t see the ground.

  “It’s not real,” Rothdin said.

  Miceral closed his eyes, telling himself everything made sense.

  “It is second nature for me to fly, so my mind projects that image.” The peregrine’s voice had a hint of humor that Miceral found calming. “Be assured, we are linked. You cannot fall.”

  Tentatively, Miceral opened his eyes and found two enormous talons impossibly hooked under his arms. It’s not real, he reminded himself. Slowly he relaxed and let Rothdin take them to Farrell.

  “I am not taking us to Farrell. We are in his mind—he is everywhere.”

  It took Miceral a moment to realize Rothdin read his thoughts. “Then where—why can’t I see him?”

  “He is fleeing us.”

  “Why?” If Farrell knew he was here, why would he run away?

  “To him, we are another manifestation of his enemies. We need to force him to confront us.”

  “You mean fight us.” Could he do something that might harm Farrell? Would he?

  “It won’t be necessary to attack him. You must calm him and make him realize we are not his enemies.”

  Hints of colors began to creep into their surroundings. As the hues deepened, their speed seemed to increase. Soon solid images—rocks, hills, a river—took shape and snowballed until the landscape came into full view.

  “We are getting closer. Be alert,” Rothdin’s voice turned serious and grave. “Farrell will grow more and more desperate as his attacks have no effect. You must convince him you are real or else he will burn himself out trying to defeat what can’t be defeated.”

  “How?”

  “That is for you to determine. You are closest to his heart. Find a way.”

  Miceral heard the words but had no idea what to do with them. Find a way? How could he save his life partner if he didn’t know what demons Farrell fought? If Farrell saw him as an unrecognizable foe, how could Miceral convince him otherwise?

  Looking forward, he noticed a small speck of black start to take shape. Rothdin’s pace quickly turned what appeared to be a tiny mote into a swarm of creatures with jet-black wings wider than a peregrine’s. A loud, high-pitched screech, like slates being rubbed together, filled the sky. The flock flapped furiously, focused on a goal in front of them.

  A few heartbeats later, flashes of pale blue erupted in the midst of the dark creatures. The strikes caused holes to appear in the formation as pieces of black flew in all directions. As quickly as the spaces appeared, the swarm closed ranks and pressed on.

  Remnants of the fight rushed toward them in large and small chunks. Before they reached Miceral, they appeared to evaporate into wisps of black smoke.

  Peering forward, Miceral saw the object of the pack’s pursuit. He didn’t need to see the face to know who it was. In a swift and graceful movement, the man spun to face his enemies.

  “Foul spawn of Neblor, this ends now!” Farrell shouted as a wall of blue flames exploded from his staff.

  BLUE FIRE raced across the sky, expanding as it moved. At first Miceral barely heard the sizzle over the din of the creatures’ cries. By the time the sheet of flames struck the densest area of the swarm, the sound of magic dissolving black flesh drowned out the angry shrieks.

  After frying the last winged enemy, the blue wave of energy continued unabated toward Miceral and Rothdin. Their pace never slowed, and Miceral felt a rush of panic as they flew into the teeth of the deadly fire. Miceral closed his eyes just before the two met.

  “It is not real,” Rothdin said as they met the energy head-on.

  Nothing happened. When Miceral opened his eyes, the sight of his partner robbed him of the ability to do anything more than stare. It seemed like forever since he’d last seen Farrell awake and alert. Even though he knew the Farrell flying away from them wasn’t a living, breathing body, it felt real to Miceral.

  Before Miceral could speak, Farrell aimed the metal end of his staff at them, and balls of wizard’s fire flew from the tip. This time Miceral kept his eyes opened, trying his best to convince himself it wasn’t real. A few feet in front of him, Miceral watched as one by one the globes seemed to burst and disappear.

  Rothdin might not have noticed, but Miceral could see the tiny changes in Farrell’s expression that spoke to the wizard’s surprise. Farrell never slowed his retreat as he launched the next attack—an expanding web of energy. This one evaporated without reaching its intended targets. Switching tactics, Farrell tried to hit them from above and sent lightning strikes down on the pair. Despite the sizzle, nothing struck them.

  “Speak to him.” Rothdin’s voice startled Miceral. “Make him realize we are not his enemy.”

  “Farrell.” He watched Farrell’s face register his call. “It’s me, Miceral.”

  “And I’m Honorus reborn.” Farrell’s mental voice came with a snort. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  The answer died on Miceral’s lips as a swarm of energy knives flew toward him. Even before this attack reached them, Miceral saw two more coming on the heels of the first.

  Rothdin seemed to ignore the attack, almost as if he didn’t see it as he drew them closer to Farrell. After they flew through the knives without incident, a stiff breeze blew away the sickly yellow cloud surging for them. The last spell, a series of clear balls that expanded as they approache
d, simply winked out of existence.

  “Farrell is burning up his energy trying to attack Cylinda and the other wizards.” Nerti’s words seemed almost panicked. “You must convince him you are real.”

  “I’m trying, but he won’t listen.”

  “Try harder. His life depends on it.”

  Miceral blinked, more to clear his thoughts than his eyes. He’d known from the start that any plan to reach his life partner would seem fake. To make Farrell believe him, he’d need to sound sincere. Whatever that meant.

  “Farrell, please. You’re trapped inside your own mind.” Farrell blinked but didn’t attack. Even as Miceral said it, he knew how absurd his words sounded, but what else did he have except the truth? “Rothdin and I are here to help you.”

  Farrell slowed, but his shields seemed to shimmer. He stared at them and started to laugh. “You should have picked a better illusion, Meglar. Miceral can’t fly and my adoptive father is no wizard.”

  He lowered his staff, but before he could launch a new attack, Miceral shouted.

  “Stop!”

  Farrell flinched at the force of his word.

  “Think this through. You know I’m not Meglar. How would he know who I am? Or what I mean to you? Would Meglar know Rothdin adopted you?” Miceral hoped Farrell listened. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I… I was on the Rose….” Farrell’s lips twitched. He opened and closed his mouth without saying more.

  “And you told the pirate to surrender.”

  “Yes, the pirate. He cast a spell at me and….” Farrell tilted his head, as if he’d heard something. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “He wasn’t a wizard!”

  “Do you know what happened next?”

  “I woke up… here. Wherever here is.”

  “Your body is in the High Temple of Honorus in Dreth. That spell knocked you unconscious and trapped you inside your mind.”

  Farrell’s brow furrowed, and his eyes seemed unfocused for an instant. After he blinked, his face tightened and he shook his head. Poking his staff forward a bit, Farrell glared at them. “You lie!”

  The moment of hope Miceral felt collapsed under a crushing wave of despair. “Listen to me, please. I’m telling the truth.”

  “What you say is impossible.” The metal end of the staff glowed blue. “Not even Meglar could have penetrated my shields with a spell given to a nonwizard.”

  “Keep trying to reason with him,” Nerti said. “When he’s listening, he’s not attacking Cylinda.”

  Miceral wanted to tell Nerti that Farrell wasn’t listening, but an argument with her wouldn’t help. “Farrell, think about it. What makes more sense? What I said, or that Meglar somehow sent me here to attack you?”

  The urge to say more fought with the knowledge that he needed to give Farrell time to weigh his words. After what felt like a lifetime, he decided to press his point.

  “Think about it. How long have you been under attack here before we arrived? Yet we haven’t attacked you, have we?”

  “Your words mean nothing. Nothing you’ve done so far has hurt me. Having failed, you seek to lull me into thinking I’m safe so I’ll let down my shields.”

  The lack of conviction told Miceral he’d made progress. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out his amulet. “Would Meglar know you gave me this on our six-month anniversary and we kissed to activate it? Or that you like farmer’s pie and black coffee? Would he know Lisle loves you like a son and would die for you?”

  Farrell blinked several times, and Miceral could see he’d started to make inroads. “Farrell, I was there on the mountain where you placed markers for your mother and your old masters. I held your hand as you told her how much you missed her. Would Meglar know that?”

  “If he’d captured you, he’d know….”

  “Even if Meglar captured me, he couldn’t get past this without you knowing.” He shook the white pendant. “Only the real me could know these things.”

  Miceral noticed a flicker of recognition in his partner’s eyes. He wanted to fly over and wrap his arms around Farrell, but before he could move, Farrell shook his head. “No! Meglar is trying to trick me. That pirate was no wizard. Nothing Meglar gave him could do what you said.”

  “Meglar used a spell he stole from Kel. I don’t understand it all, but he used some of your magic that he captured to create a spell that could get past your shields.”

  “Lies!” Despite how loudly he shouted, Farrell’s accusation lacked conviction.

  “It’s true.” Miceral’s hope grew with every second Farrell listened to him. “There’s a copy of Kel’s book in the Temple of Honorus. Cylinda and the temple wizards used it to determine the spell Meglar used.”

  “Cylinda? How did she get to Dreth?”

  “I screamed so loud Klissmor heard me. He… he used my eyes so Erstad could open a Door to the Rose, and Cylinda came to help.”

  “Cylinda? Why… she’s a wizard-healer.”

  “Right.” A smile broke across Miceral’s face. “You….”

  “Miceral!” The urgency of Nerti’s voice nearly knocked him over. “You must hurry, Farrell’s time is very short. His shield prevents the others from giving him more energy, and he is almost drained.”

  “I’m trying!” His frustration nearly had him in tears. “He’s not listening to me.”

  “Try harder!” The panic in her voice stifled any response.

  Swallowing his fears and the wave of grief that he was about to lose Farrell, Miceral breathed deeply to steady himself.

  “Farrell, I need you to listen to me. You’re killing yourself fighting us. In the real world, you’re burning yourself out trying to keep up these shields. You need to stop so I can bring you back.”

  “Ha! Just as I thought.” The glow of Farrell’s shield increased, dashing Miceral’s hopes. “If you think—”

  “Kill me!” Miceral shouted.

  “What?”

  “If you think I’m Meglar, then kill me. I won’t stop you.”

  “If you die here, you will die in the real world.” Rothdin’s warning barely registered.

  “You need to lower your shields or else you will die. I can’t… won’t let that happen. Kill me, and once I’m dead you’ll realize I’m not Meglar.”

  “Miceral….”

  “You have to lower your shields. Do it! Now!”

  Farrell blinked, and Miceral could see the beginning of his resolve weaken. The shields, however, never wavered.

  Miceral reached for a knife but found his sword belt and weapons missing. Remembering Rothdin’s words, he willed himself to be armed. Pulling a long knife from the belt, he looked back at Farrell.

  “I loved you the moment I met you and always will. Remember that, Farrell. Always. Win this war. For me and everyone else.”

  He turned the knife inward and stared at it as he pointed the blade right above his heart.

  “Miceral! No!”

  Gold energy surrounded the knife and pried it from his hand. When he looked up, he found Farrell inches away.

  “You crazy, muscle-bound oaf.” A real smile split Farrell’s face as tears ran down each cheek. “I believe you.”

  Miceral reached forward, but Farrell’s smile died as his eyes rolled back. Before Miceral could grab him, Farrell started to plummet toward the ground.

  “No!” Miceral watched in horror as the man he loved plunged to certain death. Paralyzed by the moment, his scream of anguish died as he saw Rothdin swoop down. The peregrine’s broad back impossibly settled under Farrell’s body and cradled the stricken wizard.

  “He is not dead.” Rothdin flew closer. “But we must wait until he wakes to bring him back.”

  “Why?”

  “He needs to be awake to follow us back.”

  “Oh.”

  “You did well, mate of my son. I am proud of you.”

  Miceral tried to thank the peregrine but couldn’t form the words. The relief he expected wouldn’t come until Far
rell woke up. Seeing the unconscious body resting on Rothdin’s back, he couldn’t shake the feeling Farrell still might not survive.

  “It was a near thing, but Cylinda and the healers reached him in time.” Nerti sounded relieved, almost giddy. “They are restoring his energy—slowly.”

  “So he’ll wake up soon?”

  Nerti didn’t answer immediately. When the silence dragged on for more than a few heartbeats, his sense of dread started to reawaken. Before full panic set in, he felt Nerti’s mind touch his again.

  “The healers say his body is telling his mind he’s exhausted. What you see is a subconscious manifestation of that belief. The healers are working as fast as they can without risking harm. Fear not. He will wake soon.”

  Fearing the answer, he didn’t ask the unicorn for her definition of soon. Instead, he drifted closer and touched Farrell’s hand.

  “Soon.”

  MICERAL ENTERED the small room the temple set aside for Farrell’s recovery. A novice healer hovered over Farrell, offering him a silver cup.

  “It’s just water, m’lord.” The teen’s pale green robe looked new, and he barely looked old enough to shave.

  Standing in the doorway, Miceral smiled when he saw Farrell stare into the cup. “After I drugged him the last time he injured himself, he checks every cup that comes from a healer.”

  The teen turned quickly, nearly pulling the cup from Farrell’s hand in the process. “M’lord….”

  Farrell laughed. “Ignore him. He’s just teasing me—again.”

  His mouth still open, the novice turned from Farrell to Miceral and back. Miceral walked over to the bed. “I almost lost my chance to do it, so I need to tease you as much as I can now.”

  Instead of the smile Miceral expected, Farrell turned his head and stared at the ceiling.

  Miceral retrieved the still-full cup from his partner and put the water on the small table to the right of Farrell’s head. “Can you leave us?”

  Indecision clouded the novice’s face. “I’ve not…. I just arrived. I need to do an exam first.”