From the slight quiver in her voice, Miceral doubted she believed the words. The muscles in Cylinda’s face twitched. She appeared small and fragile, nothing like the wizard who’d dispatched her enemy with cold efficiency at Belsport.
Without realizing it, Miceral put an arm around her shoulder and drew her closer. He expected her to pull away, but she buried her head against his tunic. Despite her attempts to maintain control, she trembled.
“Though it might not mean much, I’ll do everything I can to bring him back.” He didn’t know how he would do it yet, but he’d find a way.
Her head moved up and down but she didn’t speak. After a few more seconds, she brought her hand up to her face. She drew a deep breath and pulled back. “I know you will. Everyone knows how much you love him.”
Before Miceral could answer, someone cleared his throat next to him. The young priest stared at them, wide-eyed, and twisted the end of one of his sleeves. “Excuse me, Lord Miceral, but the Holy Father said it’s time to begin.”
“Very well, tell him we’ll be over when we’re ready.”
The man’s brow furrowed, and he opened and shut his mouth twice.
“Tell the Holy Father, we—Master Cylinda and I—need a bit more time, and we’ll attend to him as soon as we’re ready.” Miceral waited until the young priest nodded.
“Yes, m’lord.” He took a step back and gave Miceral a polite but hardly deferential bow. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the priest walked away. After the man disappeared behind some other priests, Cylinda laughed.
“You realize you’ve totally upended that boy’s entire existence.”
Miceral glanced in the man’s direction and shrugged. “He’ll recover. In my experience, priests and priestesses often forget that just because they serve the gods doesn’t mean they’re entitled to the same reverence as the Six.”
She wiped her face a second time. “As protectors of unicorns and peregrines, your people’s perspective on the Six is rather unique. You can’t apply them to humans.”
“Last I checked, there wasn’t a set of rules for humans and another for everyone else.” Miceral tried to inject a touch of humor into his tone, but it still sounded like a lecture.
“Well said.” For a moment it seemed she wanted to say more. Without speaking, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Miceral asked. “I mean, maybe we should get Erstad to come help.”
Instead of the rebuke Miceral expected, Cylinda chuckled. “I appreciate the concern and know it’s not entirely for my well-being, but I’m ready to do my part.”
Miceral cheeks burned. “I meant no disrespect. You mentioned earlier that Farrell might overpower you, so I—”
“One must always prepare for the worst, but I’m confident I can do what’s needed. Remember, I survived both encounters with . . . him.”
“Once only with divine intervention.”
She shook her head. “Not entirely true.” Checking their surroundings, she motioned for them to move away from the others. “At Yar-del we fought him to a standstill for hours. We’d hope to be able to defeat him, but when that proved futile, we attempted our final gambit. The point, however, is we were able to stand up to his focused attack for well more time than you should need. And that was from a very determined opponent targeting his attack directly at me. Farrell may lash out, but it will be wild and unfocused. Unless he attempts a suicide attack, I believe my defenses will hold.”
Miceral nodded once. Voicing his concerns had been foolish. One did not question someone’s ability before a fight.
“He is, however—” Cylinda paused until Miceral looked at her again. “—a greater danger to himself than others right now. We walk a fine line supporting him. Give him too much energy and we risk what he’ll do with it in a blind rage. Too little and he’ll die before you can reach him.”
“I understand.” Her gray eyes searched for signs that he spoke truthfully. “I need to move quickly.”
“Very well.” She swallowed hard, but her body relaxed a bit. “We should tell the others we’re ready.”
AS MICERAL settled onto the mat a young cleric had provided, he watched the nervous wizard-priests cluster around four ancient-looking priests. He’d heard enough to know their concerns about Farrell’s aura. Father Gedrin’s soothing words did little to ease their anxiety.
Ignoring the commotion around her, Cylinda carefully placed four identical smooth black stone cubes in a row that separated Farrell from the rest of the room. When she appeared satisfied with their placement, she went back to the first block and tapped it with her staff. The room turned eerily quiet as she repeated the act with the other three.
Cylinda gave the row of cubes a last critical glance and then took her seat on a pallet to Miceral’s left. Using her free hand, she smoothed her robe and laid her staff across her lap.
“I’m ready, Holy Father.” Cylinda’s voice sounded harsh in the tense silence.
Father Gedrin put his right hand over his heart and extended the left.
“May Honorus bless you all and grant you the strength to save the Chosen.”
Without waiting for a response, he motioned toward the door, and the nonwizards quickly filed out. Last to leave, the high prelate looked at Miceral and nodded before he turned and joined the others. The click of the lock signaled the start—of what, remained to be determined.
“We are ready, Miceral.” Nerti’s voice lacked its normal authoritative tone. Instead it was soothing, almost motherly. “I have no doubt you will be successful.”
He turned to his right, and the unicorn queen winked at him. A smile forced itself onto Miceral’s lips, and he nodded his thanks.
“We both believe in you.” Rothdin’s steady, commanding tone seemed to complement rather than contrast his friend’s. “With the blessing of Honorus, we shall save your mate and my son.”
Drawing a deep breath, Miceral readied himself. The process itself was simple enough—focus his thoughts through the amulet and reach out to Farrell’s mind as if to speak to him silently. He’d done that hundreds of times. Once there, Rothdin promised to guide Miceral as they tried to rescue Farrell.
Despite how easy it sounded, Miceral remained concerned he’d fail. A host of regrets threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered all the times Farrell had offered to teach him how to better use the amulet. Even one lesson would have made him more confident today.
Nothing useful ever came of these self-destructive thoughts, he reminded himself. The past would never change, so he needed to focus on the present and the future.
He studied the white amulet, looking at the details of the carved eagle he’d seen hundreds of times. Each individual feather seemed to move as the light danced across the intricate details. The eyelids appeared to open and shut depending on the angle, and the beak seemed to move as he twisted it back and forth.
“It is a sign Honorus is here to guide us.” The certainty in Rothdin’s voice helped strengthen Miceral’s confidence.
It wasn’t until he nodded that Miceral realized the peregrine had read his thoughts. The initial burst of angst dissipated when he couldn’t feel Rothdin in his mind. “I really don’t even know you’re here.”
“It would be a blow to my ego if you could.” For a moment Rothdin’s feathers softened. “Let’s go. He awaits our rescue.”
Staring at the white eagle again, Miceral concentrated on calling Farrell. Without saying a word, he reached for the familiar touch of his partner’s mind. Unlike the calm, reassuring feeling he usually experienced, this time a wave of chaotic, fearful emotions struck him the moment he made contact.
Resisting the urge to back away, Miceral pressed forward. A wall of swirling black enveloped him, robbing him of more than just light. The ground—or whatever he stood upon—evaporated, leaving him stuck between falling and floating. The quiet he normally experienced upon entering Farrell’s mind turned to complete sile
nce as even the sound of his breathing disappeared.
For a moment Miceral wondered if the nothingness meant he’d died. Before he could follow that thought, the darkness started to shred and patches of light reached him. The ground reformed beneath him and his hearing returned.
“Farrell’s mind is strong. He is trying to will us to not be anymore.” Rothdin’s calm voice steadied Miceral.
Movement to Miceral’s right caused him to turn. Rothdin, his wings tucked against his body, looked into the distance. “Not be?”
“He is trying to cause us to cease to exist. Fear not. I have dispelled that attack.”
Miceral wondered if Rothdin left off the words for now, but he didn’t voice the thought.
“Why is he attacking us? Where is he? I can’t see—”
“Be calm, young one.” Rothdin extended his wing and laid it gently across Miceral’s back. A warmth flooded Miceral’s consciousness, allowing him to focus again. “Your mate’s anxiety is affecting you.”
“How can you be so confident?”
“Farrell believes what is happening is real and is reacting accordingly. He is using spells that would work against real opponents, and against his imaginary foes, his imaginary spells work.” He swept his left wing from right to left. “But I know all of this—everything we encounter—is an illusion, and it cannot affect me. If you focus, you can do the same.”
“Focus on what?” How could he believe he was really here and yet this place didn’t exist?
“Now is not the time to explain all this, but remember my words. Nothing is real, and more importantly, it cannot harm you unless you let it.”
Miceral nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Do more than try. Do it,” Rothdin said. “Your life may depend on it.”
“But if it’s not real—”
“If you believe it is real, your mind will act as if it has harmed you.”
Talking it through helped him understand. “Meaning if I believe I’m dead . . .”
“Correct. Your mind would end your life functions.” Rothdin’s dark irises flared wide, and the feathers over his eyes rose. “Now, we must find him before he uses all his energy.”
Suddenly the ground stirred and Miceral moved forward. The wind whipped around him as he heard wings flap. Rothdin’s efforts caused a bounce that contrasted to the smooth movement Miceral experienced when he flew with Farrell.
Miceral glanced to his right and immediately floundered when he realized he and Rothdin were not connected. He grasped at the air, but he continued to fall. Looking down, he couldn’t see the ground.
“It’s not real,” Rothdin said.
Miceral closed his eyes, telling himself everything made sense.
“It is second nature for me to fly, so my mind projects that image.” The peregrine’s voice had a hint of humor Miceral found calming. “Be assured, we are linked. You cannot fall.”
Tentatively, Miceral opened his eyes and found two enormous talons impossibly hooked under his arms. It’s not real, he reminded himself. Slowly he relaxed and let Rothdin take them to Farrell.
“I am not taking us to Farrell. We are in his mind—he is everywhere.”
It took Miceral a moment to realize Rothdin read his thoughts. “Then where—why can’t I see him?”
“He is fleeing us.”
“Why?” If Farrell knew he was here, why would he run away?
“To him, we are another manifestation of his enemies. We need to force him to confront us.”
“You mean fight us.” Could he do something that might harm Farrell? Would he?
“It won’t be necessary to attack him. You must calm him and make him realize we are not his enemies.”
Hints of colors creeped into their surroundings. As the hues deepened, their speed increased. Soon solid images—rocks, hills, a river—took shape and snowballed until the landscape came into full view. “We are getting closer. Be alert.” Rothdin’s voice became serious and grave. “Farrell will grow more and more desperate as his attacks have no effect. You must convince him you are real or else he will burn himself out trying to defeat what can’t be defeated.”
“How?”
“That is for you to determine. You are closest to his heart. Find a way.”
Miceral heard the words but had no idea what to do with them. Find a way? How could he save his life partner if he didn’t know what demons Farrell fought? If Farrell saw him as an unrecognizable foe, how could Miceral convince him otherwise?
Looking forward, he noticed a small speck of black start to take shape. Rothdin’s pace quickly turned what appeared to be a tiny mote into a swarm of creatures with jet-black wings wider than a peregrine’s. A loud, high-pitched screech, like slates being rubbed together, filled the sky. The flock flapped furiously, focused on a goal in front of them.
A few heartbeats later, flashes of pale blue erupted in the midst of the dark creatures. The strikes caused holes to appear in the formation as pieces of black flew in all directions. As quickly as the spaces appeared, the swarm closed ranks and pressed on.
Remnants of the fight rushed toward them in large and small chunks. Before they reached Miceral, they appeared to evaporate into wisps of black smoke.
Peering forward, Miceral saw the object of the pack’s pursuit. He didn’t need to see the face to know who it was. In a swift and graceful movement, the man spun to face his enemies.
“Foul spawn of Neblor, this ends now!” Farrell shouted as a wall of blue flames exploded from his staff.
Chapter Nineteen
BLUE FIRE raced across the sky, expanding as it moved. At first Miceral barely heard the sizzle over the din of the creatures’ cries. By the time the sheet of flames struck the densest area of the swarm, the sound of magic dissolving black flesh drowned out the angry shrieks.
After frying the last winged enemy, the blue wave of energy continued unabated toward Miceral and Rothdin. Their pace never slowed, and Miceral panicked as they flew into the teeth of the deadly fire. Miceral closed his eyes just before the two met.
“It is not real,” Rothdin said as they met the energy head-on.
Nothing happened. When Miceral opened his eyes, the sight of his partner robbed him of the ability to do anything more than stare. It had been so long since he’d last seen Farrell awake and alert. Even though he knew the Farrell flying away from them wasn’t a living, breathing body, it felt real to Miceral.
Before Miceral could speak, Farrell aimed the metal end of his staff at them, and balls of wizard’s fire flew from the tip. This time Miceral kept his eyes opened, trying his best to convince himself it wasn’t real. A few feet in front of him, Miceral watched the globes burst one by one and disappear.
Rothdin might not have noticed, but Miceral saw the tiny changes in Farrell’s expression that spoke to the wizard’s surprise. Farrell never slowed his retreat as he launched the next attack—an expanding web of energy. This one evaporated without reaching its intended targets. Switching tactics, Farrell tried to hit them from above and sent lightning strikes down on the pair. Despite the sizzle, nothing struck them.
“Speak to him.” Rothdin’s voice startled Miceral. “Make him realize we are not his enemy.”
“Farrell.” He watched Farrell’s face register his call. “It’s me, Miceral.”
“And I’m Honorus reborn.” Farrell’s mental voice came with a snort. “Do you take me for a fool?”
The answer died on Miceral’s lips as a swarm of energy knives flew toward him. Even before this attack reached them, Miceral saw two more coming on the heels of the first.
Rothdin ignored the attack as he drew them closer to Farrell. After they flew through the knives without incident, a stiff breeze blew away the sickly yellow cloud surging for them. The last spell, a series of clear balls that expanded as they approached, winked out of existence.
“Farrell is burning up his energy trying to attack Cylinda and the other wizards.” Nerti’s words sounded panicked. “Y
ou must convince him you are real.”
“I’m trying, but he won’t listen.”
“Try harder. His life depends on it.”
Miceral blinked, more to clear his thoughts than his eyes. He’d known from the start that any plan to reach his life partner would seem fake. To make Farrell believe him, he’d need to sound sincere. Whatever that meant.
“Farrell, please. You’re trapped inside your own mind.” Farrell blinked but didn’t attack. Even as Miceral said it, he knew how absurd his words sounded, but what else did he have except the truth? “Rothdin and I are here to help you.”
Farrell slowed, but his shields shimmered. He laughed. “You should have picked a better illusion, Meglar. Miceral can’t fly and my adoptive father is no wizard.”
He lowered his staff, but before he could launch a new attack, Miceral shouted.
“Stop!”
Farrell flinched at the force of his word.
“Think this through. You know I’m not Meglar. How would he know who I am? Or what I mean to you? Would Meglar know Rothdin adopted you?” Miceral hoped Farrell listened. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I . . . I was on the Rose.” Farrell’s lips twitched. He opened and closed his mouth without saying more.
“And you told the pirate to surrender.”
“Yes, the pirate. He cast a spell at me and . . .” Farrell tilted his head, as if he’d heard something. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “He wasn’t a wizard!”
“Do you know what happened next?”
“I woke up . . . here. Wherever here is.”
“Your body is in the High Temple of Honorus in Dreth. That spell knocked you unconscious and trapped you inside your mind.”
Farrell’s brow furrowed, and his face tightened. Poking his staff forward, Farrell glared at them. “You lie!”
The moment of hope collapsed under a crushing wave of despair. “Listen to me, please. I’m telling the truth.”
“What you say is impossible.” The metal end of the staff glowed blue. “Not even Meglar could have penetrated my shields with a spell given to a nonwizard.”
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 57