From the smile Clayden wore and Burcia’s half-hidden scowl, he realized his attempts to avoid becoming enmeshed in their power struggle had failed. Being a monarch, he naturally related to Clayden’s position. Farrell was more comfortable dealing with the less formal king than the stuffy priestess.
“An interesting revelation.” Burcia’s voice felt colder than the water around him. “Although there is much I would like to ask on this topic, Arritisa’s wishes regarding you take priority.”
“Stated more simply, my sister is unhappy with your answer.”
Clayden’s conspiratorial wink reinforced why Farrell liked the king over his sister. He knew the comparison, based on only a few minutes spent together, didn’t give Burcia a fair opportunity, but he had more in common with the brother.
“Nephew, that type of comment is best not aired in front of guests.”
Farrell didn’t recognize the speaker, but he followed the king’s gaze to find someone walking into the room from a hidden door. The newcomer’s pale red robe stood apart from the royal green and the temple blue. A flat white pendant on a silvery chain fluttered as he approached. Magic radiated from the man, centered on the staff he carried.
“Chosen, may I present Rastoria’s chief wizard, Teberus,” the king said, motioning for his uncle to come closer.
Farrell assessed the newcomer using his inner sight and determined Teberus to be midlevel master class at best. Crossing his arms across his chest, Farrell bowed. “I am honored to meet you, Master Teberus.”
“The honor is mine, Chosen.”
“Teberus will take over, Chosen.” Burcia nodded toward her uncle. “He is best suited to pass along that which our Blessed Lady wishes you to know.”
Teberus bowed politely to the high priestess and led Farrell toward the benches. Gesturing with his free hand toward the seat, Teberus sat without waiting for Farrell. “What would you like to discuss?”
“That is what I’d hoped you’d tell me.”
“My apologies, Chosen, but it is hard to know where to begin without insulting a wizard as powerful as you.”
“Perhaps if you would simply call me Farrell instead of Chosen, it might prove easier.” A small smile curled up the ends of his lips, drawing a roar of laughter from the elder magician.
“I see you and my nephew, Clayden, were born of the same womb.” Teberus did something Farrell thought might be a wink.
“Sometimes it feels invigorating to shed the yoke of ruling and try to act like everyone else. Even if only for a short time.”
Teberus nodded several times. “Well said, though many who are not king would feel no pity for you.”
“Of course.”
An awkward silence followed. Farrell searched for the proper questions to ask but found it hard to focus as Teberus watched him. Finally, Teberus broke the silence.
“Chosen—I mean Farrell—did Arritisa tell you what she expected Rastoria to teach you?
Farrell shook his head. “She told me nothing. I assumed it had to deal with magic, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why do you say that?”
Farrell brushed his tongue over his lips, tasting a hint of brine. “Understand I know little—make that nothing—about your race. Before I answer you, it would be helpful if I could ask some questions to find out if my assumptions are correct.”
“A wise suggestion.” The elderly Arlefor stared at him again. “Proceed.”
“Can I assume you have most of the same basic abilities that wizards have in my realm?”
Teberus blinked, breaking his focus. “An excellent question, but how can I know what you consider basic? Clearly you have something in mind. Please be direct and do not worry about hurt feelings.”
“Very well. Can you gauge the strength of other wizards?”
Teberus nodded.
Having assumed Teberus could, Farrell swallowed before asking what he needed to know. “Look at me with your inner eye, please.”
“I have already beheld your power.” Teberus cocked his head slightly. “Many of Rastoria’s wizards have done so since your arrival.”
Farrell smiled. Slowly he removed the dampening spells he kept around himself. “Look again.” Teberus’s focus seemed far away at first, and then he blinked several times before he roared in delight.
“Outstanding. In truth, we did wonder why Arritisa would choose someone whose aura was so common. Now you shine as bright as the Champion we expected.”
Farrell restored his spells, returning his appearance to that of a wizard of average talent.
“I must assume you have the same talent to see my abilities,” Teberus said.
“I can, and I risk offending you by explaining myself, but here it is. Your aura is no greater than a midlevel master wizard in my realm. Although I’m one of a handful of what we call grand master wizards, there are numerous others who shine much brighter than you.”
Teberus gave him a long, slow nod. “And now you wonder if this was a waste of time.”
Farrell resisted the urge to nod his agreement. “No, not that. Arritisa exerted great effort to have my ancestor devise the spells I’m using so I could come to Rastoria without delay when She sent her messengers.
There is a reason. I just don’t know what it would be anymore.”
“I, too, am at a loss. There is little I can offer one as talented as you.”
He wasn’t ready to concede that point. Arritisa wanted him here for a reason, and it had to be more than just to meet the Arlefors. She could have done that without the need for Kel working out the spells.
“I think there are three areas that might be productive.” Even with the lack of powerful wizards, there had to be some arcane knowledge the goddess wanted him to learn. “Collection and storage of power, use of power, and any particularly powerful combat or defensive spells you and your people have perfected.”
It took a few moments for Teberus to respond. “As for the last, I doubt there is much we can offer. Our race is not gifted with wizards of great power, grand masters as you call them. I, myself, am one of the three most powerful wizards in our people’s recorded history. We also do not store much power. There is so much available, there is no need to waste time storing it for future use. That leaves use of power.”
“It has been my experience, when dealing with the Six, nothing is as it seems.”
“You’ve met the Six?” Teberus’s shock was clear in his mental voice.
“Not all Six, just Honorus, Khron, and Arritisa.” After he answered he realized how his words must have sounded. “But they do not commune with me on a regular basis. Usually they show up when they need me to do something I’m supposed to, but I’ve veered off the path.”
“That doesn’t sound like a situation I’d like to find myself in.”
Remembering his first encounter with Honorus, Farrell laughed. “You’re a wise man . . . Arlefor. Sorry.”
Teberus waved his hand. “No need to apologize. But I still think it will be most productive to start with how we use power.”
Having nothing better to suggest, Farrell gestured his agreement.
“Before I begin, tell me what you see around you.”
“The ocean teems with life and power unmatched on land. There is more raw energy on the bottom of the sea surrounding your city than in all the Seven Kingdoms combined. And that excludes all the power floating in the water between floor and surface. It’s almost overwhelming.”
“What you see as vast amounts, we see as normal. Arlefor wizards have no need to amass and store power. All that the ocean contains is available to serve their needs.”
“Incredible.” Here was knowledge worth learning. “How is that possible? No wizard I know of can draw on power from more than a few hundred feet at most.”
Teberus smiled. “Unlike the land, the oceans are a fluid, moving mass. What is here this moment”—he gestured to the water before his face—“is somewhere else the next. But it’s all connected. In theor
y, I can collect power from the far reaches of the world by pulling it through the water.”
“What of the energy on the ocean floor? There’s so much there. How is that different from what’s on the surface?”
“The difference is that water is connected and air is not.” Teberus whisked his staff around. “The ocean floor is saturated with water for dozens of feet. Water permeates everything, much like air does in your world.”
“So they’re the same.”
“No, Chosen.” Teberus’s smile reminded Farrell of Heminaltose whenever someone—usually Farrell—had done something particularly stupid. “If you freeze air, does it solidify? If you heat it, does air boil? Do you see the difference?”
Farrell nodded. “It’s similar to when lightning strikes. If you stand in a pool of water, you’d be harmed, but those not in the water would be unharmed.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. The ocean is so vast that, although the energy is dispersed, only those in the immediate area would be hurt. But you get my point.” His eyes twinkled for an instant. “Which leads us back to how water is connected—”
“But air is not,” Farrell said, drawing a nod from his new teacher. “I think this is what I’ve been sent to learn.”
“Agreed. So, at the risk of offending you, let me instruct you as I would a new student. Though I suspect you’ll be a much quicker student than my novices.” His alien laugh filled Farrell’s head.
“I certainly hope so.”
Chapter Eleven
MICERAL WATCHED Farrell speed off, holding on to two dolphins. Once they were several ship lengths away, the trio disappeared under the small, gentle waves. On board the Seafoam Rose, sailors went about their business as if nothing unusual had occurred.
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, but his attention had been on Farrell. “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, had his spyglass trained behind them. “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 in 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. The ship increased its speed in response to their efforts.
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 had 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. 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?”
He waited for Nerti to say something, but she kept silent.
“You are correct,” Klissmor said. “We should be trying to help. Give us a moment.”
Neither said anything, so Miceral searched for Peter. He found him a few feet away. “I’m speaking to Klissmor and Nerti. They’re . . . they’re trying to reach Far—Kelvin.”
“That’s good.”
Miceral squinted in the direction of the pursuing ship. “It’s a ways off. We might outrun them.”
“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, not the calm, grim resolve. “Why do you say that?”
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