The Eye and the Arm

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Miceral noticed the momentary shimmer that told him Farrell surrounded them in a shield. The hint of a smile on the pirate’s face seized his heart. Whatever they’d wanted, Farrell had just given it to them.

  “Take down the shield! That’s what he wants.” He lunged forward just as something black seeped out of the leader. Time seemed to slow as Miceral watched the dark mist move toward the shield, then abruptly jerk to the right and zoom toward Farrell.

  Farrell didn’t react at first. He stood still, as if he expected the attack. The smoke surrounded his personal shield, and Farrell slowly shook his head. “Fools. Did you really think a spell given to a nonwizard would—?”

  Farrell’s words stopped as the ebony power shot through the shield and struck him. His lips remained open, his whole body frozen in midsentence. The ship rocked gently in the water, and Farrell toppled face-first onto the deck.

  “Farrell!” Miceral’s heart seized when he couldn’t feel anything from his mate.

  The shield protecting him and the other sailors flickered twice, then blinked out. Miceral surged forward as the pirate leader turned toward Farrell and said, “Who’s the foo—?

  The man’s head flew from his torso and a fountain of blood pumped up. Before the body fell, Miceral had killed two more pirates who stood between him and Farrell. He ignored the stunned looks of the men who died beneath his blades. The need to reach Farrell pushed aside any prohibitions about revealing his true power. It wouldn’t matter if anyone noticed his skill if holding back cost Farrell his life. Somewhere he registered Peter and Emerson shouting to the others on the Rose, and he could hear the fighting resume.

  Miceral kicked the pirate closest to him so hard the man barreled over at least six of his brethren as he flew back. Even so, at least two dozen more brigands blocked his path.

  Twisting and spinning too fast for anyone to follow, much less stop, Miceral barely kept control of his emotions. Letting his rage fuel his actions was the surest way to make a mistake. If he let himself get injured, he’d never reach Farrell.

  Halfway to his partner, he caught a flash from the corner of his eye and leapt to his left. Miceral watch a ball of reddish wizard’s fire whiz by, striking the men he had been about to fight. The magical attack cleared a lane to where he could see Farrell still lying facedown on the deck.

  Parrying a sword and slicing the man to his sternum, Miceral spared a glance to his left, where the attack originated. Standing on a gangplank, another well-dressed pirate held a short black staff aimed in Miceral’s direction. The man, who reminded Miceral of a merchant or aristocrat, kept flicking the staff as a stream of curses flew from his mouth. He finally threw the staff in the water and reached to his waist.

  Indecision froze Miceral for an instant. The moans of the dying men struck by the magic reminded him that the clear path to Farrell was an illusion. And the next attack might hit Farrell.

  Miceral slid a short knife from his chest strap, but his throw faltered as water flowed up from the ocean and gathered around the pirate. The man didn’t seem to notice as he tugged furiously at another black tube in his belt. Once it cleared the leather, he turned his gaze back on Miceral. The triumphant expression morphed into fear as the liquid fingers closed around him. In one fluid motion, the “hand” yanked him from his perch and dragged the pirate into the sea.

  The shock of what happened froze everyone for a moment. Miceral recovered first and screamed. “Have at ’em! Push ’em into the sea!”

  Before the rejuvenated crew of the Rose could lay into their attackers, the sea erupted around both vessels. This time, instead of taking shape, the water broke like a wave, and when it pulled back, dozens of tall, armed creatures ringed the ships.

  Twisting, Miceral found both sides surrounded. Grasping his fallen sword, he turned toward Farrell and froze. One of the creatures hovered over him. Slowly the creature turned Farrell onto his back.

  “Stop!” Miceral shook off his inertia and broke for his partner.

  The creature glanced up and extended his arm. A wave of dizziness stuck Miceral, and when it passed, he found he couldn’t move. Straining every muscle, he didn’t budge. Sparing Miceral a last glance, the large green being ran his hand over Farrell’s prone form.

  “Farrell! Wake up!” Miceral’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d never been this helpless before. Rage—blinding, furious, adrenaline-filled rage—coursed through him. This couldn’t be happening. Lenore, Honorus, Khron, they hadn’t meant for Farrell to be killed like this. “Farrell!”

  Farrell never answered. Miceral could see his chest rise and fall, but he otherwise remained still. An eerie silence surrounded him, and he noted everyone he could see stopped moving. The creature over Farrell looked up, and despite having no idea who or what these beings were, Miceral could see the worry on its face. He—Miceral assumed it was a he—snapped a webbed finger, and three more of his kind joined him.

  For the first time, Miceral noticed the creatures wore two different colors. The four around Farrell all wore red, while the others wore blue. Only after the four red-clad creatures conferred did someone in a sea green robe approach. She—because this one seemed more feminine to Miceral—knelt and placed her hand on Farrell’s forehead.

  For several long seconds the female kept still. When she peered up, she shook her smooth head. The four in red moved around Farrell’s still body, two on either side, while the woman stayed near his head. She had her back to Miceral, but he could see the concern on the others’ alien faces. They extended four sets of hands over Farrell and closed their eyes.

  Panic griped Miceral. If he could move, he knew he’d be shaking uncontrollably. He focused his attention of the first creature to reach Farrell. “Stop!”

  He “shouted” as hard as he could, but the creature either didn’t hear him or ignored the command. When a dull green light emanated from the creatures’ hands, Miceral strained so hard against his bonds, he thought he’d pass out from the effort. His control lost, he couldn’t stop the cry that ripped through him.

  “Faaaarrrreeelllll!”

  The mental scream, fueled by his fear and anger, continued until his brain hurt. Panting, he watched as the green hue faded. The woman shook her head again.

  “Miceral, what’s wrong?” It took Miceral a moment to realize Klissmor was speaking to him and not Farrell.

  “Farrell’s unconscious and creatures from the sea appeared—”

  “Creatures from the sea attacked Farrell?” The urgency to his friend’s question focused Miceral’s thoughts. “I thought you said pirates were chasing you.”

  “No, I mean, yes, pirates attacked us. They’re the ones who used magic on Farrell. But the pirate wasn’t a wizard; at least, Farrell said he wasn’t. And the attack went through his shield and knocked him out. Then another pirate fired a magical weapon at me, but it missed. That’s when the sea creatures appeared. One of them must be a wizard, because he waved his hand at me and I can’t move. No one—”

  “Miceral!” Klissmor shouted. If Miceral could have moved, he’d have covered his ears. “Losing your focus will not help. I need to know specifics.”

  “I was trying to—”

  “You were three words from hysterical.” Klissmor’s voice felt strained as a sense of calm spread through Miceral’s body. Using the unicorn’s voice, Miceral focused on a mental image of his friend to regain some of his composure. “That’s better. Now focus your attention on these creatures. I need to see them.”

  Pushing down his fears, Miceral concentrated on relaxing and stared at the creatures, who had resumed whatever they’d tried before. The female slowly put her hands back on Farrell’s head as the red-clad creatures recreated the green nimbus.

  “Priestess of Arritisa!” Klissmor’s voice echoed in Miceral’s mind.

  The female jerked her hands off Farrell. She twisted around and stared at Miceral. Her eyes narrowed before she turned toward the one Miceral deemed the leader.

  �
��The one before you is not only the Chosen of Arritisa, he is the Servant of Honorus. You risk much if you harm him.”

  Miceral doubted Klissmor’s threat would stay their hands. The creature that had frozen Miceral and the crew rose from his crouch. He spared a glance at the priestess and moved slowly toward Miceral.

  Despite towering over Miceral, the creature seemed hesitant. Unable to move, Miceral felt his pulse quicken as the creature drew closer.

  “Be calm. If he means you harm, Nerti and Rothdin are with me. Together we may be able to break his concentration and free you from his spell.”

  The tall being stopped an arm’s reach away. His dark eyes seemed trained on Miceral’s chest. After a heartbeat, his eyes opened wider and he reached forward. The long finger touched the chain to Miceral’s amulet. Slowly he drew the white pendant from under Miceral’s armor.

  “You must be Farrell’s mate.” The voice felt strange but was male.

  “I am. How did you know that?”

  Miceral strained his eyes up and saw the head tilt to the right. “Interesting. Another voice spoke at first.”

  “That was Klissmor.” Miceral wished he didn’t need Klissmor to speak for him.

  “You only needed to focus on them as you are now,” Klissmor said with just a hint of rebuke.

  “I do not know what a Klissmor is, but I am Teberus, chief wizard of Rastoria.” Teberus touched Miceral’s outstretched sword arm, freeing him from the spell. “My kind are known as Arlefors. Arritisa sent your mate to us for aid. We followed him here but arrived too late to help.”

  Miceral pulled back but found the hand that gripped him held fast. Before he could try again, Teberus released him. As he turned the point of his sword down, he stepped around the Arlefor wizard to get to Farrell’s side.

  “What’s happened to him?” He hadn’t focused his thought, but he hoped Teberus would hear him.

  “We don’t know.” The voice sounded different. When the priestess looked at him, he knew who addressed him. “I’ve asked that our high priestess come here to assist. Maybe her knowledge exceeds mine.”

  “It is nothing the temple or healers can fix.” Teberus resumed his place near Farrell’s right shoulder. “There is a magic here that I don’t understand.”

  “Teberus.” Klissmor’s voice didn’t come from Miceral, but he could hear his friend. “Our wizards are assembling to help. Is his condition dire?”

  “No, he’s stable, but I fear his mind is trapped.” When Teberus shook his head, a chill caused Miceral to shiver. “If his mind is kept imprisoned for too long, we may not be able to call him back.”

  “Miceral.” Klissmor’s voice resonated in his head. “I know your aversion to others in your mind, but I fear we must. Your presence on scene is essential for the wizards to help Farrell.”

  Another icy wave flooded his body. “You can rip my mind from my body if it will save Farrell. Just do it.”

  “Such extreme measures are not necessary.” Klissmor sounded tired suddenly. “When the wizards are ready, I’ll let you know what we need.”

  “Hold on, Farrell.” Miceral gently rubbed Farrell’s cheek as tears welled in his eyes. “We’ll free you.”

  The ocean gushed again, and another group of Arlefors stepped on deck. A group of heavily armed Arlefors in the same green as the priestesses took defensive positions around a tall priestess.

  “The Holy Mother, Burcia, has arrived,” the priestess to his right said as she bowed deeply.

  The other Arlefors bowed their heads but continued with their tasks. Walking slowly behind her guards, Burcia nodded to Teberus and the other wizards.

  “Sister Gruta has explained what she can, uncle. Can you add more?”

  “Gruta understands as much as I, which is to say, very little.” Teberus cast a sideward glance in Miceral’s direction. “Farrell’s mate is in contact with his people. They are trying to find someone who might be of help.”

  Burcia turned her deep green eyes on Miceral and bowed. “Greeting, Chosen. I wish I could greet you in better times.”

  “Agreed, Holy Mother.” Miceral nodded to the priestess and turned his focus back to Farrell. The purple knot growing on Farrell’s forehead reminded him that nothing made sense. How had a nonwizard defeated Farrell so easily?

  “Master Teberus?” Miceral waited until the wizard looked up. “The one who did this…. Farrell said there were no wizards among the pirates. How could this happen?”

  Despite his limited knowledge of Arlefors, Miceral could see the surprise on Teberus’s face. “He who did this used a weapon created by a powerful wizard. The one we pulled into the sea had another.”

  “How is that possible?” Miceral knew enough about wizardry to know Farrell should have been able to easily defend himself. “Farrell was prepared for an attack.”

  “It is something we do not understand.” Teberus stood up. “Show me the one who did this.”

  He didn’t want to leave Farrell’s side, but if he could help in any way, he would. Miceral brushed a stray hair from Farrell’s paler than normal skin. “I’ll be right back.”

  As they moved toward the dead pirate, Miceral remembered the crew of the Rose. “Master Teberus, can you release my companions?”

  “I am loath to do so. They might react badly to our presence.”

  “If you free the first officer and Prince Peter”—Miceral pointed toward Emerson and Peter—“they’ll be able to help control the others.”

  The wizard stared where Miceral pointed. After a moment, he motioned toward another red-clothed Arlefor. “It shall be as you asked. Please explain the situation while I examine the one who imprisoned Farrell.”

  Without waiting for Miceral’s answer, Teberus moved toward the pirate who had felled Farrell. At first Miceral thought to object at being dismissed but quickly pushed aside the petty emotion. He couldn’t help Teberus, so better to do something within his abilities.

  Emerson’s sword hovered inches above the unprotected head of a pirate whose sword lay on the deck between the two men. The wide-eyed look frozen on the man’s face captured the last moment before death.

  Miceral grabbed the first officer’s wrist and nodded to the wizard. Without the downward momentum to power the blow, Emerson’s strike was easily contained.

  “What?” Emerson tried to draw his arm back, but Miceral held tight.

  “Farrell brought reinforcements. Their wizards froze everyone until they could sort out the fight.”

  “Who?”

  Miceral stared at Emerson until he understood what he’d said. “Someone Kelvin made friends with. I don’t have time to explain. Kelvin’s been hurt. These are friends.” He pointed to the two Arlefor wizards next to him. “They’ll free whomever you say. When the crew is free, have them round up the pirates. We’ll deal with them later.”

  Before Emerson could speak, Miceral went back to Farrell. His slipup probably wouldn’t go unnoticed, and right now, he didn’t have time to be clever.

  Three steps toward his goal, a thick hand with webbed fingers grasped his forearm.

  “Chosen. A moment, please.” Teberus released him as soon as Miceral turned around. “I need to speak to your wizards.”

  “I’ll see if they’re available now.” He could feel a dull ache start to build in the back of his head. He’d have to rethink his resistance to mental communications. “Klissmor?”

  “We are all here.” The edge to Klissmor’s voice remained.

  “They’re ready.” When Teberus stared at him, he shook his head. “My apologies, I forget you can’t hear me when I speak aloud.”

  “I can hear you.” Teberus bared his pointy teeth. “I just do not understand the sounds.”

  Miceral resisted the urge grab the hilt of his sword at the macabre smile. “They’re ready.”

  “I do not know how your link works, but it would be helpful if I could speak to them like I did with the one called Klissmor.”

  “I….” His bravad
o a moment ago with Klissmor evaporated when faced with the request.

  “Relax, my friend.” Klissmor’s presence calmed Miceral’s growing anxiety. “You won’t feel my presence.”

  Miceral took a deep breath. “Will I be able to hear?”

  “Every word. Ready?”

  “No, but let’s do it.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  “I need your eyes open for everyone to see.”

  He snapped his lids open, blinking several times before could focus again. “Sorry.”

  “Master Teberus.” Miceral knew the words came from him, but as promised, he didn’t feel anything. “I have Masters Erstad and Wesfazial as well as Wizard-Priestess Glendora. Ask your questions to Miceral and we four will also hear you.”

  “Astounding.” The elder Arlefor glanced at the high priestess. “All four at once?”

  “Wizard.” Miceral had heard that tone enough to know Klissmor’s mood. “Maintaining this link, this far away with this many minds, is a strain. If we are to save Farrell, you must focus on him.”

  “Of course. My apologies.” Teberus bowed deeply. “My examination of the one who did this to Farrell confirmed that he is no wizard.”

  “Then how in the eight gates of Neblor did that man defeat Farrell?” Even though Teberus couldn’t know, Miceral recognized the voice as Wesfazial’s.

  “The obvious answer is the correct one. A wizard gave this man the weapon.”

  “But Farrell could defeat all four of us and all the other wizards you brought with you and not be tested.” Erstad’s steady temperament sounded tested. “No weapon used by a nonwizard should be capable of this.”

  Teberus raised the crest of his hairless eyebrow. “But since that is what happened, we must use it as the basis of our search for a cure.”

  No one answered. As the silence dragged on, Miceral’s anxiety slowly returned. If Haven’s senior wizards didn’t know what to do, who could?

  “Tell us what happened.” Erstad’s request almost didn’t register with Miceral.