Miceral grabbed his last javelin and crept toward the starboard rail. The tip of the pirate’s prow had just reached their stern. He could see men crouched under the protection of the gunwale. “They’re almost here—be ready.”
Moving faster than the enemy could react, Miceral scaled the short staircase and quickly found a protected spot in the aftcastle. Peering through a narrow opening, he scanned the clusters of men he could see. At the rear of the largest group, Miceral spotted someone who, by clothing at least, appeared to be an officer. With no one else standing out as being the captain, this man became his target.
Springing to his feet, he hurled the spear before anyone could target him. One of the pirates huddled by the rail fired an arrow, which Miceral caught in midflight. Flashing the enemy a wicked grin, he snapped the shaft in half before dropping back behind his cover.
Miceral closed one eye and stared through the space between crates. He watched the men look toward where their officer had been standing, and from the shouts he knew he’d hit his mark. One pirate tried to pull the spear out but failed. When he turned to ask for help, a stream of blood dribbled out of his mouth and over the feathers of the arrow protruding from his neck. Everyone else ducked immediately and remained out of sight.
Miceral traced the shaft’s path back to where Peter knelt, nocking another arrow. He gave his friend a wink and a nod. Before either could enjoy the small victory, a hail of arrows and spears whistled across the deck. Under the cover of this barrage, dozens of grappling hooks landed on the deck of the Rose. Once the barbs dug into whatever purchase they could find, the two vessels inched closer. Miceral heard the faint thud of the two ships colliding and slipped the mace and axe from his belt.
With the ships tethered together, the pirates flipped long wooden planks from their ship onto the Seafoam Rose. Hooks on the ends secured the slim pathway firmly in place. The first wave of invaders ran across the boards, screaming wildly. If they expected to scare the crew into surrender, that hope dissipated when four of their number fell dead from a round of arrows.
Miceral used the distraction to leap from his hiding place. Screaming his own battle cry, he rushed the startled pirates. From his right, Emerson and Nathan led the crew in defense of their ship.
The ferocity of the resistance caught the invaders by surprise. Miceral killed anything in his reach, stalling the attack momentarily. Peter stood next to Miceral and proved the value of all the long hours of practice he’d been put through.
Unfortunately, Miceral couldn’t defend all points of entry onto the vessel. The pirates quickly learned to avoid the armed warrior who moved with the speed of lightning.
The initial advantage of the Rose’s crew quickly evaporated as the pirates brought superior numbers onto the trading ship. To avoiding being surrounded, the defenders fell back to a predetermined, more defensible position. This allowed the rest of the pirates to cross unimpeded.
“Now would be a good time to arrive, Farrell.” Miceral didn’t know if Farrell could hear him, but if he didn’t arrive soon, there’d be no one left to rescue.
“I’m almost there, Ral.” Farrell’s voice distracted Miceral enough that he cut off an opponent’s arm instead of slicing through the man’s neck. “Hang on!”
“We might not have too much more time, so hurry.”
Like wolves on a wounded deer, the invaders sensed they had the upper hand. Several bared their rotting teeth in anticipation of an easy kill. For a long moment, the two sides stared at each other, waiting for the other to make a move. The pirates watched for the rest of their cohorts to arrive. The defenders tried to maintain the most defensible position they had left.
Miceral glanced over and saw Nathan unsuccessfully trying to staunch the flow of blood from a nasty gash on his upper right arm. No longer able to wield a sword, Nathan moved to the rear of the pack. Miceral used the lull to return his axe and mace to his belt and drew both swords, holding them out. The pirates drew back, as if waiting for something.
“Something” arrived in the person of a tall, lanky man in a white linen shirt. Unarmed, the man showed no signs he’d taken part in the fight. If the enemy hadn’t moved aside as he made his way to the front of their pack, Miceral wouldn’t have believed he was a pirate.
“Where is your wizard?” The man directed the question to Miceral.
“Who?”
“Don’t play games with me, merc. You have no hope. Surrender the wizard now, and we may be merciful. Resist and you’ll either become shark food or spend your remaining time on Nendor pulling an oar.” The twitch in his face told Miceral the pirate lied. “I’ll not make this offer twice.”
Miceral sized up his foe and vowed to Khron that this man at least would die before they took him or the Seafoam Rose. Still hoping Farrell would arrive, Miceral let the standoff continue.
“Mercenary, I grow tired. Tell me where the wizard is or—”
The air off the port side suddenly erupted in a column of water.
“Surrender now or you will all die!” The voice boomed across the ship with enough force to cause men to clutch their ears.
Farrell stood on top of the fountain of water, glowing white against the setting sun.
Chapter Thirteen
MICERAL WATCHED the triumphant expressions on the pirates’ faces disappear in an instant. Even their leader appeared less confident. “I’d suggest you listen to him. You won’t like what happens if you resist.”
“Nice entrance. Glad you could make it.”
“Is everyone okay?” Farrell remained on his watery pedestal, his gaze never moving from the enemy.
“Peter and I are fine. There are casualties among the crew.” Miceral resisted the urge to turn around. Instead, he focused on the leader, hoping the man couldn’t tell he and Farrell were communicating. “Nathan’s been injured.”
“I’ll see to him as soon as I deal with the pirates.”
“Be careful. The one in front was looking for you specifically.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He kept asking, ‘Where is your wizard?’”
Miceral locked eyes with his adversary. The stoic expression gave away nothing. Something was wrong. If the pirates had counted a wizard among them, the Rose would be in their hands by now. So why the bravado?
“This feels like a trap.” He spared a split-second glance at his partner.
“He’s not a wizard. None of them are. But I’ll shield you just in case.”
“Pirate.” Farrell’s voice cut through the silence. His platform moved until he stepped on board the Rose. “I’ll give you to the count of three to surrender. After that, I’ll kill you all where you stand.”
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 h
im 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, 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 face down 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 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 struck 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, and Khron . . . they hadn’t meant for Farrell to be killed like this. “Farrell!”
Farrell never answered. His chest rose and fell, but he otherwise remained still. An eerie silence surrounded him, and everyone stopped moving. The creature over Farrell looked up with a worried expression on his face. He—Miceral assumed it was a he—snapped a webbed finger, and three more of his kind joined him.
The creatures wore two different colors. The four around Farrell 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 saw the concern on the others’ faces. They extended four sets of hands over Farrell and closed their eyes.
Panic gripped Miceral. If he could move, he knew he’d be shaking uncontrollably. He focused his attention on 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?” Klissmor asked. “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 control will not help. I need to know specifics.”
“I was trying to—”
“You were three words from hysterical.” Calm spread through Miceral’s body. He created 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 of 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 glanced at the priestess and moved slowly toward Miceral.
Despite towering over Miceral, the creature hesitated. Unable to move, Miceral’s pulse quickened 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 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 sounded strange but was male.
“I am. How did you know that?”
The creature’s head tilted 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 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 hoped Teberus heard 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?”
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 52