“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 toward Miceral and bowed. “Greetings, Chosen. I wish I could greet you in better times.”
“Agreed, Holy Mother.” Miceral nodded to the priestess and looked back at 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 knew Teberus was surprised. “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 loathe 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 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 to 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 bravado 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. “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 concentrate 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.
“No,” Klissmor said. “Show them. Let them see the memory.”
Miceral closed his eyes and focused on reliving the attack. The clarity of the image caused his chest to tighten, making it hard to breathe. He knew the result, but watching it again, almost in slow motion, added to his agony.
When the image played over again, he realized Klissmor must have been guiding his thoughts.
“My apologies, old friend—the need is great.” Klissmor’s voice didn’t interrupt the stream of images.
“Do whatever you need. Just find a way to save Farrell.”
“Your friends are doing all they can. Have faith that Lenore will send us what we need.”
When the memory started for the third time, he didn’t find any comfort in Klissmor’s assertion. The Six wouldn’t—couldn’t—help. He needed something that didn’t exist—a great wizard like Heminaltose or Kel.
“In theory, I recognize the magic.” Erstad sounded confused. “But I’ll need to find a reference to be sure.”
“What about Farrell?” He knew he shouted, or at least what Farrell told him passed for shouting, but he couldn’t prevent it. “He could be dead before you find that.”
“It can’t be helped, Miceral. I need to be sure before I suggest a counterspell. If I’m wrong, whatever I try might kill him.”
“He is in no immediate danger.” Teberus put his hand on Farrell’s forehead. “But my fear is the number of spells that draw on him for power. I can only give him so much. If he doesn’t wake, his body will burn out.”
“Do what you can, Master Teberus. We’ll begin searching immediately and contact you when we find the answer.” When Erstad stopped speaking, Klissmor’s presence left with him.
“Hurry. Please.” Miceral k
new no one heard him.
Chapter Fourteen
ARLEFORS VAULTED the rail, heading back into the ocean as unnatural waves washed their replacements onto the deck.
“My people can only remain out of the water for limited times,” Teberus said as he returned from the ocean. “The king is bringing more wizards along with his guards. You shall not be left defenseless.”
“Give your king my thanks.” The pending arrival of new Arlefors did little to dispel Miceral’s feeling of helplessness.”
It had been almost thirty minutes since Erstad had left to search for an answer. Miceral worried that with every shallow breath he took, Farrell slipped further away. Even the constant attention by healers, wizards, and priestesses didn’t convince him that Farrell could be brought back. Miceral didn’t need to be a wizard to know what happened to Farrell shouldn’t have been possible.
And yet it happened.
“Miceral?” Klissmor’s tired voice startled him enough that he reached for a weapon.
“Yes?” He didn’t even try to hide the hopeful edge to his voice.
“The wizards have a theory, but to test it, they need to send one of their own to investigate.”
“Farrell won’t live long enough for—”
“Stop!” Klissmor’s barked command struck like a slap to the head. “Maintaining our link at such a distance is extremely taxing. Even with Nerti’s support, we may only get one attempt to send you help. You must do as I say or we may not save your mate.”
Emotions flooded Miceral, almost drowning his ability to act. Alerted to the problem, he suddenly heard the depth of his friend’s exhaustion in every word. But the last four words washed those concerns away.
Not save Farrell? Fear gripped him like a vise and threatened to rob him of his will to act. A mental nudge steadied him just before he froze in panic. Steeling himself, he blinked as he realized he’d contributed to Klissmor’s exhaustion with his need. He swallowed and breathed in deeply. When his lungs screamed in protest, he exhaled the salty air. “I understand. What do you need me to do?”
“Erstad needs to enter your mind and use your eyes to open the Door.”
Despite his promise to cooperate, Miceral’s chest seized at the idea. “I . . . I’ll do whatever . . . If Farrell needs . . .”
“I shall never leave you, friend.”
Klissmor’s words soothed him enough that he could nod. “Thank you.”
“I am not a foolish unicorn. Nerti would horn me many times if I failed you.”
Miceral laughed at the image and his body relaxed. “What must I do?”
“Relax and let me guide you both.”
Klissmor’s touch barely registered. There was another mind at the edge of his consciousness, but like a puff of wind, it eluded him.
“Turn in a circle slowly so we may see our options.” The voice sounded like Klissmor’s, but someone else spoke.
Shamed by his friend’s willingness to dare any risk to save Farrell, Miceral did as instructed. Ignoring the questioning look he received from Teberus, Miceral completed a full rotation and waited.
“Turn to your left and let me see the main deck again.”
Silently Miceral completed the turn, a baby step at a time.
“Stop!” Expecting the command, Miceral remained in position. “Hold it there until I’m finished.”
Standing still, he wondered if he’d feel the magic. After a moment passed without anything happening, Miceral remembered the Door originated in Haven. Erstad didn’t need to work his magic through the link.
Even knowing it was coming, the flash surprised him.
“I’ve done all I can for now,” Klissmor said, his voice harsh and strained. “I will rest now and make contact later.”
The touch of the other mind in his faded before Miceral could say thank you. Seeing the Door open, Miceral realized what lay on the other side. “Peter?”
“Yes, Mic—Elgin?” Miceral almost didn’t notice the use of his true name.
“We’re leaving. Can you get a crew member to help you fetch our things?”
“Leaving?”
“That Door leads to Haven. We can treat Farrell there.” He turned toward the Arlefor wizard. “We’re taking Farrell home.”
“A moment, please.” Teberus placed a hand on Miceral’s arm. “I’d recommend against such an action. The deed occurred here. Any residual power from the spell will only be accessible here.”
“Then we can come back.” Miceral didn’t care about anything but getting Farrell to safety. “Erstad can stay here and gather what he needs.”
“Again, I’d recommend against that.”
“Against what?” The voice from behind him wasn’t Erstad’s.
“Cylinda?” Anger trumped Miceral’s surprise. “Where’s Erstad?”
“Holding the Door open in Haven.”
“Why are you—?” Her glare stole his voice. The concern etched on her face mirrored his.
“I’m a wizard healer. I have the best chance of saving him.” She nearly choked on the last two words. Miceral watched her blink several times. “Please step aside.”
“No!” He saw her flinch and softened his tone. “We’re taking him to Haven. He’ll be safer there.”
“I know not what you two say, but I want to reiterate my strong belief that the Chosen is better served if he remains here.”
“By the Six! What is the cause of this insanity?” Looking to Cylinda for support, Miceral found none. “He needs to go home!”
“I agree with Teberus.” She turned to the Arlefor who loomed over Miceral’s shoulder. “We need to keep him here to be sure we don’t miss anything.”
“This makes no sense.”
“Because you’re not a wizard.” Cylinda’s tone was patient yet firm. “Miceral, you must trust that we also care about Farrell and would do nothing to jeopardize his life. I know your instincts say to take him home, but keeping him here, right where he is, is the best thing until we figure out what exactly happened.”
The plea in her voice matched the one he saw in her expression. Unable to formulate an argument to counter hers, he nodded and stepped aside.
Visibly relieved, Cylinda strode to Farrell’s prone form. Gently she brushed aside a lock of hair and rested her hand against his chin. She swallowed hard and wiped a tear that slowly rolled out of her eye.
Her attention stayed locked on Farrell’s face for a bit longer. Miceral couldn’t tell what she saw, but he detected nothing encouraging in her body language. Finally, she jerked her head up and looked at Teberus.
Cylinda’s gaze moved from the Arlefor to Farrell and back. She gestured with her hands around the torso of the body before her. When he looked up again, Teberus shrugged.
“What’s happening?” Miceral asked when his frustration threatened to explode his head. Teberus looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
With a glance toward her fellow wizard, Cylinda stood up. “I’m sorry, Miceral. Teberus can’t understand when we speak aloud, and I can’t talk to you and mentally to him at once.”
“By the Six!” Even outside Northhelm, when they’d all expected to die, he’d been calmer. “I don’t care about that! Tell me what’s wrong with him!”
“The short answer is, I don’t know.” She held up a hand, cutting off another profanity-laced rant. “Yelling at me won’t help me figure it out. Clearly there is a complicated spell involved, and I don’t want to rush to a decision.”
“But . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he thought.
“Miceral, please.” Something in her voice told him the plea was more than just professional.
“I’m . . . I’ll . . .” He swallowed loudly and nodded. “Let me know when you learn something.”
“Of course.” Cylinda turned her attention back to Farrell. Teberus knelt across from her, and the two began pointing and touching Farrell in various places.
Miceral remained close for a time, just in case. As the minute
s dragged on, he inched closer, as if he could see what the wizards saw. Finally he backed away, recognizing he would only hinder the pair.
CYLINDA HAD been on board the Rose a while when an Arlefor tapped Master Teberus on the shoulder. Even Miceral could tell the wizard looked startled. After a moment the second Arlefor left, and Teberus stood up.
With a slight bow to Cylinda, he took three long steps and disappeared over the rail. Miceral’s hopes for an update were quickly dashed when Cylinda tucked her head down and returned her attention to Farrell.
“He’s not just a friend or shield mate, is he?” Emerson’s voice barely registered at first.
Slowly Miceral turned his head toward the first officer. “Does it matter?”
“No, Miceral, it does not.” Emerson arched an eyebrow. “But as I suspected, neither you nor Farrell were who you seemed.”
Miceral restrained the impulse to snap the man’s neck. “You play a dangerous game, friend. Do you really want to pick a fight with me now?”
“I have no desire to spar with you at all. I’m merely pointing out that your true identities have been revealed.” He watched Miceral for another few moments, then glanced at where the others knelt beside Farrell. “Whoever you may be, Arritisa clearly has blessed you both. I—the entire crew of the Rose—owe you our lives. For what it’s worth, the crew is saying prayers to Arritisa for his recovery.” Emerson didn’t wait for an answer; he wouldn’t have gotten one if he had.
For Miceral, time stopped moving. The ship bobbed on the water, the crew moved around, but Cylinda hardly twitched. Miceral sat against the wall, frustrated that he could do nothing but let things play out.
The lack of action nearly lulled Miceral to sleep when a blue nimbus surrounded Cylinda’s hand. He jerked up but stopped himself before he rushed to her side. His time with Farrell taught him to respect a wizard’s space when they were working magic.
“Miceral.” Cylinda’s voice sounded reedy and thin. “I need you, please.”
Faster than he intended, he settled into a squat beside her. “Yes?” Anticipation warred with despair as he waited for her response. Cylinda’s expression hadn’t changed, so he didn’t expect good news. The small shake of her head confirmed his suspicion.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 53