Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (84 page)

As his senses reached the nearest of
the praying men, he detected faint lines of power radiating outward
from each. Extending his senses further, he saw how the power
tendrils coming from those praying met at a central point above
them. From there the power flowed toward the priests. Once at the
priests, he saw how the magic was being channeled toward the magic
weapons’ crystals. James gasped.

“They’re using prayer to recharge the
crystals.”

“Is that even possible?” asked
Jiron.

“Magic is magic,” James explained,
“whether priestly, or from a mage. If I can do it, so can anyone
else. They just have to believe they can and figure out
how.”

He felt very bad about what he was
about to do, but could see no way around it. Taking one of the two
crystals out of his pocket, he held it tight, raised it so as to
aim at those praying. Setting in his mind to draw all their power
from them in one, massive burst of leeching magic, he activated the
spell.

Those nearest slumped to the deck but
the remainder continued prayer as if nothing happened. Magic was
being drawn into the crystal at an alarming rate, yet only a
handful of men had been affected. It took but a moment to realize
the magic being leeched came from the prayers, not the
men.

The priest’s head spun toward him and
James threw up a shield spell just as a blast of priestly magic
slammed into it. He responded with a burst of his own. A wall of
air hit the priests, knocking the lesser one back to the edge of
the ship; the elder one looked to not have been affected at
all.

A shield interposed itself between
James and those praying. Instantly, the magic being drawn into the
crystal ceased.

For a brief moment, he and the priest
faced off, eyes locked. Then the ship erupted in motion as men
ceased praying and leapt to their feet. Drawing weapons, they
turned and attacked.

Jiron and Father Vickor interposed
themselves between James and the scores of armed men. Morcyth’s
white light enveloped Father Vickor. To Jiron’s surprise, a glowing
shield of sorts sprang into being on the priest’s left forearm. It
deflected a downward hack. Father Vickor followed through with a
crushing blow to the man’s midsection.

“Nice,” Jiron said.

“Morcyth protects his own.” Offering a
prayer of gratitude to his god, Father Vickor crashed his glowing,
translucent shield into another man knocking him back.

Three men already lay at Jiron’s feet
and commotion at the other side of the mob of enemy soldiers said
Scar, Potbelly and Shorty had entered the fray.

James only had eyes for the priest; he
trusted his friends to handle the soldiers.

He and the priest tested each other’s
shields; a probe here, a jab there, each searching for a weakness
to be exploited. James had to admit, the priest he faced was far
more experienced than the ones previously encountered.

Father Vickor cried out as he was
pushed back when a blade took him in the shoulder.

Jiron stepped in and kicked the
soldier in the side of the knee as the man tried to follow through
with another thrust on the off-balanced priest. A satisfying snap
broke through the din and the man fell.

“You okay?” he asked.

The blood flowing from the wound
slowed to a trickle, then the skin began to knit as Father Vickor’s
priestly magic went to work. “Fine,” he said. Stepping forward once
again, he engaged another man, a sailor this time. Short sword
deflected on his shield, a solid hit to the man’s midsection with
his mace and then a knee to the face when the man doubled over sent
him unconscious to the deck.

The din was deafening. The clash of
metal on metal, men shouting, men dying, and through it all, James
played parry and counter-parry with the priest.

He reached to the dissipating clouds
above, found just enough electric charge available, and sent a bolt
of lightning down onto the priest. The concussion sent nearby
soldiers flying and when the flash subsided, saw the priest
standing beneath a protective bubble.

Accessing the magic within the crystal
in his hand, he sent a powerful wave along the deck toward the
priest. Boards splintered, sailors and soldiers alike flew into the
air or were knocked off their feet as a ten foot wide swath of deck
disintegrated and fell to the hold below. Upon reaching the
priest’s shield, the wave of destruction continued on beneath it
only a short distance before the priest altered the shield’s
position and halted the attack.

“Almost had you,” James
mumbled.

His attack had left a massive hole;
most of the enemy soldiers were now a deck below amidst the
wreckage; most barely moved. Potbelly and Father Vickor easily
dealt with the few that remained.

“What in the name of the gods is he
doing?” Scar said as his twin long swords wove a dance of death
among those that made ill-fated attempts to attack.

“Trying to sink us by the looks of
it,” Potbelly replied.

His dagger knocked a thrust to the
right and he followed with his sword to take the soldier in the
gut. He kicked the man back into his fellows and thrust at another
on his left that tried to close.

Over by Scar and Potbelly, the
fighting was still quite furious. The two pit masters held the line
while Shorty darted to and fro behind them seeking opportunities
for his knives to find a home.

Scar dropped a soldier, an opening
appeared and a knife spun through the air to sink into the chest of
a sailor further back in the pack. Shorty then drew another knife
and waited.

Less than half a score soldiers stood
before them. They lacked the skill of pit fighters who had been
seasoned against the meanest fighters coins and no small amount of
trickery could throw at them. The enemy had the numbers, but Scar
and Potbelly’s skill and the confining area in which they fought
negated much of that advantage.

Piercing a man through the chest then
blocking an overhand hack from another, Scar spun and kicked
another back several steps. “Can you hold?”

“Yes,” Potbelly replied. “You going
somewhere?”

“See if I can help James.” He pressed
those facing him furiously causing them to fall back. “Shorty, take
over.”

“You got it,” the knifer said.
Stepping forward, he drew his fighting knives and allowed Scar to
fall back.

Scar then went to the side of the
ship, grabbed the side and slipped over the edge.

Tinok looked up from the image in
Miko’s bowl and spied the captain. “Turn us around!”

“The Dark Mage said for us to lead
them,” argued Captain Anyn.

“That time is past.” Tinok’s face
turned stony. “Now I’m telling you to turn us about.”

The captain glanced to Miko who
nodded. Looking defeated, he hollered, “Turn us about!”

“That priest is holding his
own.”

Miko glanced to Father Keller. “He
does seem skilled.”

“What does Scar hope to accomplish,
Reverend Father?” Kip asked. In the bowl’s image, Scar was making
his way along the outer edge of the ship toward the front where the
two priests stood beneath the yellowish, glowing shield.

“I do not know.”

“Our Master needs help,” Azhan
said.

“And what do you propose to do?” Miko
asked. “At this distance, not hitting our friends with whatever you
attempt would prove quite difficult.”

The young mage paced to and fro. He
knew he could do nothing and it frustrated him.

“The Dark Mage will win out,” Miko
assured him.

“Are you sure?” Hikai
asked.

“He has overcome much
worse.”

“None of our previous masters could do
even half what we’ve seen him accomplish” Hikai said.

Azhan nodded.

The ship turned and as it headed back
toward the enemy flagship, the young mage gazed out over the water.
Above, the clouds were dissipating steadily as the winds broke them
apart or sent them on their way. Stretches of clear blue now filled
most of the sky. Even from this distance he could feel the magic
being used. The prickling along his skin grew with each passing
breath. He swelled with no small amount of pride at the abilities
of his master.

Then from out of the corner of his
eye, he saw a shimmering in the sky above. He looked up and gasped;
several miles off, the sky shimmered. Not in just one section of
the sky, but three. One came from the northwest, another from
almost due east and the third out of the southern sky. They looked
to be converging on the flagship where his master fought the
priest.

“Look!” he hollered as he pointed
upward.

Miko saw the shimmering
fields with dread. He well remembered the problems James had had
with those in the
Waste
.

“Azhan, fill the sails,” he commanded.
“We need to get back there and fast!”

The soldiers and sailors had been
dealt with. The ship’s captain laid dead with his men. Any wounds
received had been healed by Father Vickor. Now there was a standoff
between James and the priest.

Having lashed out unsuccessfully
multiple times, the priest and his subordinate stood within the
protective bubble.

Everyone but Scar had joined James
behind his protective shield.

“If we can get his shield down,”
Potbelly said, “Scar should be able to hit him with a dart and end
this.”

James eyed the ship’s railing beyond
the two priests and saw the top of Scar’s head poking up from where
he hung on the far side.

“I could try talking to him,” Father
Vickor said, “priest to priest.”

“Doubt that would accomplish
anything,” James replied. “Besides, I got an idea.”

Sending out his senses, he inspected
the priest’s protective bubble. Tried a leech spell upon it and at
first it failed to connect with the priest’s magic. After several
attempts at different modulations, finally managed to drain magic.
He canceled the leech spell and opened his eyes.

“Let’s see how much magic he can
control at one time.”

Cupping his hands together, he formed
a small glowing speck between them. After creating a spell that
would both leech the magic and send waves of force back to strike
the shield, he opened his hands.

The small speck floated up to hover a
short distance away from the ship. Once in position, the spells
activated. Instantly, James’ skin prickled as the speck began to
draw power. He allowed it to run a few moments then activated the
secondary, attack spell. That spell would send the drawn power back
to the shield in an intermittent, pulsating attack. Kind of like a
malignant parasite killing its host.

Wham!

The priest easily dealt with the
attack and the shield held.

James once again cupped his hands,
made a second speck and sent it up to hover opposite the first.
Once it had begun to leech and strike with its pulsating attack, he
cupped his hands to make a third… then a fourth.

The priest was sweating now. The
younger priest was aglow with their god’s power; a yellowish
tendril of priestly magic stretched from one to the
other.

Wham!

Wham!

Wham! Wham!

A fifth parasitic speck joined the
others, then a sixth. The sextuplet of specs formed a rough hexagon
in the air surrounding them.

The glowing tendril between the two
priests now glowed much brighter. Sweat ran down the face of the
younger. His breathing grew labored.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer now,”
Father Vickor said.

Already the protective bubble was
dimmer than previously. Each time one of the specks sent an attack,
the older mage visibly winced. James had to agree, it shouldn’t
take much longer.

Behind the priests, Scar edged up over
the rail and came lightly down on the deck. He squatted behind a
barrel sitting near the back railing. Dart in hand, he waited for
an opportunity.

Potbelly, too, held a dart…just in
case.

Subconsciously, James ran his hand
along his arm to still the prickling sensation. With the specks in
play, it had grown rather uncomfortable; and the longer they were
in effect, the feeling only grew more intense.

His senses probed the protective
bubble, seeking weaknesses. When a fissure momentarily opened in it
only to close a heartbeat later, he knew it wouldn’t be much
longer.

“Maybe another of those?” suggested
Shorty, gesturing to a glowing spec that hovered not far from where
they stood.

James shook his head. “Six will be
enough. They are already taking their toll.”

The link between the two priests
vanished as the younger priest pitched forward to land unmoving
upon the deck.

“Nope, not long now.”

Anticipating the end, James sent his
senses to each of the specks in order that when the protective
bubble failed, he could deactivate them. He wanted to capture the
priest, not kill him.