“Surrender now and I will spare your lives.” He didn’t expect anyone would heed his words. Instead he wanted the crew to know they were under attack. At the edge of his senses, he felt a wizard cautiously approach him.
“Wizard, I sense your presence.” He pinpointed his or her position. “You are no match for me. Surrender or you will die.”
The expected attack came in the form of three powerful globes of energy that flew out of a hatch a few feet to his right. Farrell didn’t deflect the attack. Instead he let the sizzling yellow balls reach his shield and prevented them from detonating.
“Your attack failed, wizard. Once again I offer you a chance to surrender. I shall not do so a third time.”
Armed men and women poured through a door just under the quarterdeck. Farrell felt the wizard attempt to shield them, but he brushed it aside. More red bands formed in the air around him and zipped over to bind the enemy. The soldiers’ momentum caused most to topple over helpless against the deck. Unable to break their fall, several knocked themselves unconscious when they struck the hard wood.
“Your soldiers are now captured. Why do you persist in this futile game?”
“Who dares attack the vessel of Prince Draneth of Spagrom?” A tall, thin wizard dressed in a gray shirt and dark pants emerged from the door. Farrell’s inner sight pegged the wizard as a high master class.
“In the name of Markus, king of Dumbarten, I seize this vessel and all aboard as prisoners of the Crown.” Farrell used the line he and Penelope had agreed upon.
“What madness is this?” Fear showed on the man’s face. “Spagrom has no quarrel with Dumbarten.”
“You labor for the good of Zargon. That makes you Dumbarten’s enemy.”
“How…? This is Prince Draneth’s flagship. We are neutral in the war between the Seven Kingdoms.”
“You lie. Not only are you working for him, this is a pirate vessel from a pirate nation. Worse, a friend of mine, a soldier captured in battle, is manning an oar as a slave of Spagrom. Since you violate the accepted rules of combat, that alone is reason to take action.” Farrell allowed the yellow balls hanging from his shield to stir as a demonstration of his power.
“Only those who have committed crimes against the throne spend time at the oar.” To Farrell’s surprise, the man’s words sounded sincere. “If your friend is there, it is to serve a just punishment.”
“Since when do mercenaries captured protecting an honest merchant qualify as criminals? Or does Spagrom consider any who defend their property a criminal?”
“Mercenaries are given the right to buy their freedom,” the wizard said. “They are not sentenced to an oar.”
“That requires you ask those captured what they were doing, doesn’t it?” Farrell suspected the man was stalling and quickly found two other wizards moving belowdecks to get behind him.
“There must be a misunderstanding,” the wizard said. “Prince Draneth would never send a captured mercenary to man an oar. Spagrom relies too heavily on hired swords to risk angering them. Show me this mercenary so I can order his release.”
Farrell forced the ocean through the hull parallel to where the enemy wizards were moving. A second later, two master wizards fell onto the deck, encased in red energy prisons.
“They were rather noisy.”
The pair tried to blast their way free and screamed as the energy reflected back on them.
“Are they—?” The wizard looked ill.
“Dead? No, but they might wish they were soon enough.”
Kel would have admonished him for not killing the enemy wizards, and Farrell knew the criticism was valid. A week ago, he’d have killed them. Now, they were unconscious inside an energy cocoon.
“I’ve offered to free your friend to resolve this misunderstanding.” the wizard said nervously.
Farrell laughed. “I don’t need you to release him. He’s already free. This ship and everything on board belongs to King Markus.”
“You must defeat me first.”
“You’re a brave man, but you have no hope. Look about you.” Farrell gestured to the water around the ship and the helpless crew and wizards strewn about the deck. “I’m only the first wave. As we speak, a Dumbarten warship carrying Grand Master Penelope is sailing toward us. If you can’t defeat me, how will you deal with Dumbarten’s chief wizard?”
“Grand Master Penelope is here?”
“She commands this expedition.” Interesting that the man thought he could defeat Farrell but feared the princess.
“My lord, I tell you the truth,” he said, his voice an urgent plea. “Prince Draneth wants no trouble with Dumbarten.”
“Then surrender peacefully, and your liege can deal with King Markus.”
“I keep telling you, that’s not an option!” His voice rose several decibels, and he searched the horizon.
“Then we must fight.” Farrell sent the three yellow balls back at their creator.
Waving his free hand, the wizard dissipated the globes. An instant later he fired green wizard’s fire from his staff. The energy twisted until the tip became a point.
Farrell met the attack with a small blue disc erected in front of his primary shield. The green energy exploded harmlessly, but close behind it came a wave of energy knives and more yellow globes.
The wizard had good skills, but they were not enough to test Farrell’s defenses. Farrell fired a sheet of bluish energy at the new assaults. Flashes of light and soft pops marked the destruction of each attack.
The sheet continued toward the wizard’s shield and evoked a scream of terror from him. Acting quickly, he waved his staff and deflected the blue energy over his head and out to sea.
Farrell nodded in appreciation that his opponent had recognized his attack. “Yield and I will spare you.”
“I told you I cannot!”
“Why not!” The screamed question mirrored Farrell’s frustration. He’d refrained from trying to kill the man, but his skill was too great to keep toying with him.
“He has my family,” the wizard said.
It explained the steadfast refusal. “Who does?”
“Meglar.” The answer, barely a whisper, confirmed what Farrell suspected.
“Surrender and we might be able to help you,” Farrell said.
“You? Don’t insult me,” he said. “Even Dumbarten can do naught but wait for Meglar to turn his sights on them.”
“If you know Meglar, then you know you will never get your family back by serving him.” Farrell felt one of the trapped wizards strain against his bonds. Meglar would never release this man’s family, and the wizard knew it, too. It was time to end the fight. “I tire of this endless banter. Your countryman is stirring, and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to kill him. Either you yield now or I’ll kill you all.”
“You are welcome to try.”
“Captain?” Farrell hoped the soldier heard him. “Bring your warriors on board, but be wary. The wizard is still free, and I’m trying to capture him alive.”
The wizard stood transfixed, neither attacking nor conceding. Although he looked at Farrell, his eyes said he was somewhere else.
With the Arlefors about to arrive, Farrell was out of time. He focused his will on the water and called forth several solid tendrils of liquid. As they approached the wizard, he snapped out of his trance.
Too quick for him to react, the ropes of solidified water battered the wizard’s shields. He fired wildly but couldn’t connect. He let out a panicked scream when his countermeasures passed through the water. When the Arlefors arrived, the man recoiled in fear.
Farrell fired a powerful, steady strike at the shield. A grunt escaped the wizard’s lips as he struggled to maintain his defenses. Seconds later, the shield crumpled in a blaze of light.
Before the flash faded, the wizard collapsed. Farrell pounced and wrapped his foe in several layers of magic. They would keep him unconscious and unable to use magic if he woke.
“Gather th
e captives,” he told the officer. “And have a care. There are at least two armed soldiers down below.”
“Shall we flush them out?”
“No, but be vigilant.” Farrell double-checked his spells around the wizards. He doubted any of them could get out, but he added an alert into the energy to notify him should any of them make an escape attempt. Satisfied, he pointed to the closest two Arlefors. “Come with me. There are some soldiers below who I need to deal with.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
At the stairs leading belowdecks, Farrell turned back toward his guards. “Stay here. Stop anyone who comes up, but try not to kill them if possible.”
“As you say, Chosen, so will it be,” one of them said.
He peered into the dark hold but couldn’t see much below. It was overcast out with a light mist falling. However, he knew the layout from general knowledge of such ships.
“I’ve defeated your wizards and captured the rest of the crew. Toss down your weapons and come up, or I shall use the most painful spells I can summon to flush you out.”
He heard voices, but none answered his command. Rather than wait any longer, he summoned three balls of blue energy and sent them into the hold. He followed the globes down the stairs.
A brilliant flash provoked a chorus of frightened voices. When the initial flare ended, the balls filled the room with enough light that the slaves had to shield their eyes. Farrell heard movement and saw two burly, shirtless men rushing at him from either side. Each wielded a heavy, cloth-wrapped hammer in his thick hands.
Forgetting his newfound strength, Farrell struck the man to his right in the chest with the end of his staff. The blow flung the man against the hull. He hit with a thud and collapsed to the deck, dropping his weapon as he sank.
The second man swung his hammer at Farrell’s head. Farrell caught the shaft in his left hand and stopped its descent well before it struck. The man yanked back, but Farrell held firm. When the man tugged a second time, Farrell pulled the hammer closer and then shoved both man and weapon backward. Backpedaling out of control, the slaver slammed into the hull. He let out his breath in a loud whoosh, and Farrell used a spell to render him unconscious.
“Chosen? Are you well?” one of his guards asked.
“Yes. You may come down, but be careful of the clearance.”
The smell, squalor, and hopeless expressions nearly overwhelmed him. Before he could speak, the slaves shouted and pointed behind him. Farrell shook his head. He didn’t care that the sight of two seven-foot Arlefors scared them.
“I seek Hendris of Bowient,” he said over the growing uproar. If any answered the call, he didn’t hear it. “Where is Hendris of Bowient? I know you are here and alive.”
The group continued to shout, making it impossible to hear a single voice. He exploded a single globe to get their attention. “Silence! The next person other than Hendris who speaks will be tossed into the ocean and left to die while his fellows are set free.”
“I am Hendris.” The voice broke the silence, and Farrell searched to find the speaker. A tall, gaunt man with a full beard struggled to stand. “Who are you?”
Farrell flicked his hand, and Hendris’s shackles fell away. “A friend of your mother’s who has come to free you.”
Hendris stumbled and Farrell motioned to his guards. “Help him, please.”
Gasps filled the close room, and wide-eyed men cowered away as the Arlefors moved closer.
“These are my friends,” he said to Hendris. “They will help you get on deck.”
Farrell wondered if he’d accept the help or strike the creatures. When Hendris staggered again and the guards steadied him, Hendris relented and let them carry him away from his bench.
“As for the rest of you, I will free you once the Dumbarten warship arrives.”
An eruption of angry voices met his announcement. He let them yell for a moment and then let the tip of his staff pulse twice. “Would you rather I sink the vessel instead?”
“Why must we wait?” one yelled.
“Please, free us now!” another shouted.
The din started anew, and Farrell slammed his staff on the deck until the slaves stopped speaking. “I’ve given my word to free you, but many of you deserve to be bound to an oar. I don’t have time to sort those who will thank me from those who will slit my throat. Thus you wait here until the Royal Navy arrives. If that isn’t to your liking, let me know, and I’ll make sure you remain chained to that bench when the others are freed.”
Farrell climbed the stairs, sealing the area to avoid hearing more protests. Too bad for their hurt feelings, he decided. There was no way he could watch over them, the wizard, and the pirates he’d seized. He’d leave it to Penelope to decide if she wanted to honor his promise.
Poking his head through the hold, large raindrops fell on his face. The Arlefors had gathered the bound sailors and marines and held them in one area on the aft deck. Hendris and his escort sat apart.
“Chosen.” An Arlefor stepped in front of him and pointed across the bow of the ship. “The shell with your allies is visible. If you lower this shell into the water and remove your restraints, we will speed it toward them.”
The sails were full of wind. The approaching Dumbarten ship, however, had to tack to reach them. At their current speed, Penelope and Kel were at least an hour away.
He nodded and allowed the ship to slip back into the ocean. Free of his constraints, the corsair moved forward and gradually gained speed. Several Arlefors leapt overboard and disappeared beneath the waves.
Farrell listened for the Arlefors communicating with each other. He detected something that sounded like bees buzzing. After another couple of heartbeats, he heard their conversations.
Content that he could hear them if needed, he asked, “Who is the captain of this vessel?” He waited for one of the assembled prisoners to respond.
“I am.” The captain appeared to be about Farrell’s age and several inches shorter. He wore a formal uniform with an epaulet on each shoulder.
“You’re fairly young to captain a pirate vessel.” Farrell motioned for a guard to bring the man forward.
“This is not a pirate vessel,” the captain said, defiant. “This is the Intrepid, flagship of the Royal Spagrom Navy.”
Whether it was or wasn’t, this was not a regular ocean voyage. “So your wizard said.”
“Why have you attacked us? When Prince Draneth learns of this unprovoked act of war, he’ll—”
“Stow your indignation, Captain. Spagrom has always been a home to pirates. The first prince of Spagrom was a notorious pirate, and his heirs have maintained the family business for centuries without interruption.”
“This ship and its crew are part of the Royal Navy,” he said. “We are on a diplomatic mission to Lourdria.”
Farrell didn’t need a truth spell to know the man’s words were honest. “What port were you sailing for?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You don’t need to tell me. I already know,” Farrell said. “You will find Tunid very different than you were led to believe.”
For a second, there was fear in the man’s eyes. Quickly he reasserted control, but it was too late. “Our destination is confidential information.”
“Your destination no longer matters,” Farrell said. “This ship, its crew, and its contents are now the property of Dumbarten.”
“What right have you to seize this ship?” he said. His voice carried, and a few of his crew reacted. The Arlefors pointed oversized weapons at the troublemakers, and they stopped.
“Spagrom is an ally of Meglar. We are at war with Zargon. What more is there to explain?”
The officer didn’t deny the accusation. “He may be taken back to the others,” Farrell said to his guards.
“What of my men and me?” the captain asked.
“The king of Dumbarten will decide your fate, not I.” Farrell put his foot on the step leading to the quarterdeck and
paused. “And Markus is not fond of pirates.”
“We’re not pirates!” he shouted.
The captain’s face lost all color when Farrell stood in front of him.
“Call what your prince does what you will, but law-abiding nations call it piracy. Dressing his men up in uniforms and calling them sailors does not change that they are still pirates.”
“My lord, please. My father is the Baron of Lufwil. This ship was dispatched to go straight to Tunid.”
The captain might have said more, but Farrell held up a hand. “That proves nothing. But you argue to the wrong person. It is King Markus you need to convince, not me.”
“What chance does that give us?” His voice conveyed the hopelessness of his situation. Markus would likely hang the lot.
“Chosen,” the guard next to the captain said. “Whatever this man was telling you, he speaks the truth. Though I cannot understand his words, I’m skilled at truth-seeking.”
“Are you certain? He claims they are honest warriors, yet his liege is a deceptive man without honor.”
“I am certain his words were without deception.”
If the captain was correct, killing them for serving their prince was every bit as wrong as chaining a captured merc to an oar. There were rules on how to deal with captured soldiers to prevent the abuse of your own if they were taken prisoner. Kel would tell him he was overcompensating to prove he wasn’t what Neldin had said. He might be right, but the cost of being wrong would follow Farrell.
“Captain, my guard tells me your words were without deception.” Farrell motioned with his eyes to the Arlefor standing next to the officer.
The captain glanced at the stoic warrior but didn’t turn and face him. “I have been truthful in all that I told you.”
“Tell me your name,” Farrell said.
“Ferdrick.”
“Very well, Ferdrick of Lufwil, I will inform Markus you are prisoners of war and not buccaneers. My cousin, however, will have his intelligence service interrogate you at length.”
“You’re a prince of Dumbarten?”
Chiding himself for that slip, he shook his head. “No, but we are related.” He nodded to the guard to take Ferdrick back.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 148