Never turning to look at him, the man said, “Relieve a soldier and send them to me for a new assignment.”
Scanning the line, Farrell found the nearest soldier and told him to report to his commander. Surprised, the warrior allowed Farrell to take his place and walked off.
Once in position, he accepted a box from the woman next to him. Despite how easily she moved it, he nearly dropped it.
“Great Holy Sky Father,” he muttered. Before the next box arrived, he magically increased his strength.
He maintained his place, helping with the mindless task until almost noon. The extra strength remained constant and made the work easy. As he passed a small box to the man to his left, he saw Miceral enter the hall. He scowled as he scanned the room until their eyes locked.
Instead of coming to him, Miceral walked behind the Door. Slightly disappointed, Farrell couldn’t leave without disrupting the evacuation. Hidden by the Door, Miceral’s angry voice brought the line to a halt.
A moment later, Miceral rounded the Door, yelling at the officer Farrell had spoken with earlier. Miceral stopped a foot from Farrell, his jaw clenched.
“What in the name of the Bright Lady do you think you’re doing?”
Farrell recoiled at the unexpected greeting. Face red, he glared back. “What does it look like I’m doing?” The room went silent, and he felt everyone staring at them.
“Farrell.” Miceral’s tone softened considerably as he swept his gaze around the room. “Glendora saw you here and berated my father. Father, of course, knew nothing about it but was irate that some idiot put you to work moving boxes while you’re maintaining the spells vital to our survival.”
He stared at the red-faced officer until the man motioned for another soldier to come over.
His anger gone, Farrell realized his mistake. “I was standing around doing nothing. This was my way of helping.”
“You are helping more than anyone else. Come away.” Miceral grabbed his hand and gently pulled him from the line. “This soldier is taking your place. My orders are to bring you directly to Glendora so you don’t try this again.”
Farrell turned away from Miceral as he felt his ears warm. Mumbling an apology to the officer, he let Miceral draw him away.
Miceral kept silent, leading him from the hall. Finding an empty spot, he finally turned around. “Farrell, I’m sorry for how I reacted. It was wrong of me to yell at you in front of everyone. You deserve better from me.”
“Thank you.” He leaned in to kiss Miceral’s cheek. “I’m sorry, too. I should know better. All I did was drag you away from something important.”
Smiling, Miceral returned the kiss. “Getting to see you beats what I was doing. Let’s get something to eat before I carry out the last of my orders and deliver you to Glendora.”
THEIR UNREMARKABLE lunch ended far too soon. Before Miceral returned to his duties, he escorted Farrell to where Glendora and the other wizards sat eating their cold food.
“Didn’t trust me?” Farrell rolled his eyes.
Leaning in, Miceral kissed him gently on the lips. “I did, but I wanted to stay as long as possible.”
Blushing, he watched Miceral until he turned a corner.
“Fear not, young prince,” someone said. “There will be time enough to get to know each other better when this crisis ends.”
Farrell nodded but continued to stare at the empty corridor. He sensed someone approach before he felt the hand on his shoulder.
“Since you wish to be useful,” Glendora said with a hint of disapproval, “you can help remove the maintenance spells.”
“Why not just issue a general cancel spell?” He finally turned toward the wizards waiting for him. Each looked at him, most with furrowed brows. “If I cast the spell, I can dissolve the bindings on all spells at once, exempting only those we still need.”
“Impossible!” a gray-haired female said emphatically. “Without making contact with the individual spell, you cannot void it.”
“That’s true for higher spells such as defensive magic or combat magic. Nor could I undo spells someone put considerable efforts to hide or shield. But we’re talking about passive magic that handles quality-of-life tasks. Purifying the air, cleaning the water, lights, and removal of sewage are all mundane spells not worthy of sealing off or protecting.”
Glendora shrugged, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Master Farrell, your skills surpass ours. Since we can’t be sure none of the spells are shielded, it would be best if we continue as we’ve been doing. We should be finished before it’s time to go. If not, you can attempt your spell at that time.”
Farrell nodded, receiving a warm smile in return. The priestess paired him with Bartholomew, a spry, heavyset wizard who insisted Farrell call him Bart. Master Bart led the pair to their assigned location, and they began the tedious work.
At first, Farrell held back, not wanting to embarrass his partner. After dissolving several dozen spells, Farrell forgot himself and just cancelled the next spell.
Bart’s face cracked into a wide grin. “Please don’t hold back on my account. By nature, I’m a lazy man. Why do you think I’m so fat . . . well, fat for a wizard? If you can complete our assignment quicker without my aid, I’m content to watch and see if I can learn something.”
Shrugging off his embarrassment, Farrell held out his staff. “If you insist.”
“Are you going to cancel them all at once?” Bart asked with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Sorry, Bart. Glendora told me not to do that.” His companion looked disappointed. “But while I can’t let loose a general spell on the entire complex, I can cast it about us and let it work as we walk.”
“Fascinating.” Bart waved his hand and Farrell cast the spell.
In the time it took them to walk their route, Farrell completed their task. When they returned to the common area, Bart told him to sit down and relax. Moments later, Bart returned with two tankards of watered-down ale.
“My treat for a job well done, friend.” He plopped into a chair and put his feet up. “Now, Master Farrell, tell me how you did that.”
Farrell smiled, took a drink, and answered. Bart interrupted several times, peppering him with questions. At the end, Bart attempted the spell without success.
“Clearly, knowing how to do something and doing it,” he said cheerfully, “are not the same.”
With time to spare, the two discussed all manner of topics. Farrell spent most of the time answering the endless questions the jovial man thought up. When Bart began to ask about his obvious interest in Miceral, he tried to avoid the topic. Fortunately, several wizards straggled in before Bart could pry too much.
“Saved by the arrival of others.” He gave Farrell a wink and greeted his friends.
By the time the last wizard returned, the evacuation had neared its end. Once the remaining soldiers made a last sweep of the facility, they’d gather what remained and join the others in Haven.
He was listening as Glendora instructed the remaining wizards on the last steps of the exodus when suddenly the ground shook. A thunderous boom reverberated throughout the complex, followed by a second assault and then a third. All eyes turned to him.
Nodding, he said, “Meglar. I need to get back to the front gate.”
Moving together, the wizards exited into the nearly empty corridor. Bart tapped his shoulder, pointing left.
“That way.”
“Wizard.” He stopped. Nerti’s voice in his mind did not convey a direction. Searching, he found her coming from behind. “Your shield is under attack. We must go to be sure it does not fail!”
Grateful for her offer, he hopped on, and she took off. Reaching out with his senses, he felt the damage Meglar’s wizards had inflicted. Without reinforcement, the shield would fail well before the remaining residents could escape.
Nerti raced through empty corridors, bringing them to the entrance before he finished his assessment. In the waning light, Farrell quic
kly located the point of attack.
Three wizards, dressed in scarlet and black, huddled together, each keeping a hand on a long black staff. They peered skyward, as if waiting for something. When a powerful blast ripped through the air, they fired, timing it so the two attacks hit at the same time.
“Is Meglar here?” Miceral’s sudden appearance caused Farrell to turn.
Where? How did he . . .? Doesn’t matter. Focus!
“No, as expected, he sent wizards from his inner circle.” Pointing to the three wearing Meglar’s personal colors, he started to stare at Miceral before shaking it off. He needed to focus on keeping the shield intact. After a moment’s assessment, he felt his stomach tighten. The barrier would fail—and soon.
Despite the danger to everyone, Farrell admired the ingenuity of Meglar’s attempt. By themselves, the wizards had no hope of breaching his defenses. Even with the attack concentrated on a small area, Farrell’s shield would not fail. Meglar, however, changed the equation by spreading his own attack over a greater surface. This pulled energy from all around to shore up the shield. The three wizards timed their smaller, focused attack to coincide with their master’s. Eventually, the narrow blast would force a breach and destroy the shield.
Farrell leapt from Nerti’s back and circled the pulse of green energy that created the shield. Suppressing the desire to lash out at his enemy, he decided on his next step.
“I need three rocks, as large as you can manage, each about the same size. Place them east, south, and west around the top of the spike.” He pressed his staff on the spots he wanted the rocks, leaving behind light-blue markers in the dirt.
“Right away,” Miceral said.
Focused on the button of wood at his feet, Farrell barely noticed his companions leave. Meglar’s attack changed the energy flow significantly. He couldn’t fix it without bringing the entire shield down.
“Meglar must be pleased with himself.”
“Why do you say that?” Nerti’s response surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say that “out loud.”
“Because he thinks he has me by my britches. He sees two options: let the shield fail or take it down myself. Both open Northhelm to an attack by his forces.”
“You see a third.” Her confidence gave him a boost.
“Create a new shield before the old one fails.” No easy feat but certainly possible.
Peering up, he saw the three black-and-red-robed wizards conferring. Lesser wizards started to gather a few paces behind them. With barely a thought, he fired several bolts of energy at the group.
The three dressed in royal colors staggered slightly, and he managed to singe the robes of several of the lesser wizards. He had expected stronger shields. He had only meant to disrupt their focus.
Killing them would buy Northhelm time, but it might also draw Meglar to the fight. Farrell decided to save that as a last option. Miceral’s return interrupted his internal debate.
Hoisting a stone the size of a large pig, he asked, “Will this do?”
Blinking, Farrell realized he’d forgotten Miceral’s strength when he made the request. But bigger worked better for his plans. “Perfect. Put that here, please.” He motioned to the western position.
Miceral did as instructed, then quickly moved to where Klissmor and Nerti were pushing another rock into the open space. Standing over the stone, Farrell held his staff in both hands. He extended it over the stone and moved it up and down. The rock started to glow a soft pink, pulsing from dull to bright in time with his cadence.
Moving in perfect sync, he slammed the metal end of his staff onto the rock as it surged its brightest. Light exploded, causing gasps on both sides of the shield. When the flash dissipated, a column of pink energy about the height of his staff emanated from the rock.
“By the Six, Farrell. Next time warn me.” Miceral stood behind him with the second stone in hand.
“Sorry.” He pointed to the southern point. Just beyond Miceral, the enemy milled about, staring in his direction.
Maintaining control of the first stone, Farrell circled to the next. Before he positioned himself, an enormous blast of black-and-red energy struck the shield from above. As he’d anticipated, working such high magic brought a swift and much more powerful response from Meglar.
Meglar’s assault seemed to stir the wizards into action. Now they directed a constant stream of power at a point chest-high near Farrell’s position. Standing on top of the second rock, he pointed his staff at the wizards and watched with satisfaction as two flinched. The loss of focus caused the attack to sputter, disrupting its effectiveness.
His success proved short-lived as the next two blasts struck in unison, causing a larger drain on his shield. Farrell felt a sense of urgency in his enemy’s attack.
Again, he struck back at their shields with only enough force to rattle them. Turning back to his work, he regretted leaving Glendora and the others behind.
The southern rock pulsed pale blue under his staff. He felt the renewed assault, noting it lacked the same punch it had moments ago. He almost felt sorry for the hapless fools. They had no idea Meglar already considered them dead. When the wall gave way, the spillage would be enormous, easily overpowering their pitiful shielding.
Timing his efforts, he slammed his staff onto the stone seconds before Meglar’s next attack. The flash caused the three wizards to flinch, momentarily halting their assault. When the blast of energy arrived, it hit the shield with little effect.
A blue column joined the pink as Farrell moved to the eastern point. Miceral had already placed the rock over the designated spot and stood to the side, watching.
“Move behind those rocks.” Farrell pointed his staff toward an outcropping about fifty feet away. “Once I set this last spell, the energy released could burn you all. I can protect you better over there.”
Staring intently, Miceral finally turned to Klissmor and did as instructed. Farrell quickly erected a small but powerful shield in front of the rocks.
By now the attacks were coming faster, and he could feel the original shield failing. Soon, one of the assaults would overwhelm it, creating a cascading effect and causing the spell to implode.
The last stone turned violet under his staff. Working carefully, he ignored Meglar’s wizards. He couldn’t rush a spell this powerful. All three anchors needed to be of equal strength for him to calibrate it properly.
Nearing completion, he felt the green wall that protected him begin to waver. Matching his movements to the pulses of light, he brought his staff down hard on the purple stone just as Meglar’s latest attack destroyed his old shield.
A massive surge of energy exploded from the Cytus wood, sending a hail of energy-infused splinters in all directions. Green energy pulsed from the ground, colliding with the black energy from Meglar’s attack.
The shards of wood struck first, dissolving against Farrell’s personal shield. A dozen of Meglar’s lesser wizards fell under the barrage of deadly missiles, including one of the three newcomers. The other two managed to avoid injury, but only for a matter of seconds.
The pulse of green energy spread out in concentric circles, pushing the remains of Meglar’s attack with it. Coming from the southeast, the black energy ricocheted backward toward the enemy marshaling for an attack. The raging force of power washed over Meglar’s troops, killing everyone in its path.
Amidst the torrent of swirling magic, three columns of energy forged skyward. Pink, blue, and violet light merged fifty feet above, combined into a knot of power, and cascaded down to replace the shield Meglar had destroyed. The new shield settled firmly in place just before another assault struck from above. The black energy rolled over it, sizzling as it burned on contact.
Working at the center of the conflagration, Farrell did not escape unscathed. Though his personal shield repelled the attack, there had not been time to anchor it. Mere feet from the focal point of the explosion, Farrell was tossed like a scarecrow toward Northhelm’s entrance by t
he energy waves.
He slammed into the ground, head bouncing off the hard-packed dirt as the breath whooshed from his chest. Dazed, he released his grip on his staff. As it rolled from his hand, he heard someone scream his name. Before he could answer, he lost consciousness.
A welcome caress of blackness enveloped him but lasted only a moment. From two sides he felt a gentle pull. One he recognized as Nerti’s mind; the other felt like a male. Grasping both, he felt himself soar toward a distant light ahead.
Slowly, Farrell opened his eyes. Nerti and Klissmor had their heads dipped over him, their horns touching his head. Looking past them, he saw Miceral’s face break into a wide smile.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” he said to Miceral, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re going to get the wrong impression of me.” He managed a weak smile but didn’t try to move.
Miceral let out a nervous laugh before bending down to kiss Farrell’s forehead softly. “And what impression is it you don’t want me to have?”
“That I’m a fragile little wizard you need to constantly pick up.”
Miceral maneuvered around and gave him a deep, passionate kiss that ended in another laugh.
Farrell chuckled softly. “Now that’s what I call a kiss.” Smiling, he put up no resistance when Miceral scooped him from the ground. Content to stare at Miceral’s face, Farrell reluctantly turned his attention to the rapid succession of attacks on the new shield. Their muffled thud brought a nod of satisfaction from him.
“Whatever you did, it seems to be working.”
Staring at the shifting colors of the new shield, Farrell turned when he heard horses running from the entrance. Wesfazial and Erstad galloped toward their position, followed closely by Glendora, Horgon, and a company of guards. They pulled to a halt with Wesfazial in the lead.
“I ride my old bones on a spirited horse to save you, and I find you in the arms of a handsome soldier.”
“Nice to see you too, Wesfazial. I’m fine, by the way.” He smiled at his mentor who, despite his crotchety tone, gave him a genuine smile in return.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 9