THE YOUNG MAGICIAN

The Legacy Trilogy—Book One

Michael Foster

This is a work of fiction.  All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.

THE YOUNG MAGICIAN

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Michael Foster

Except as permitted by the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other means be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or be broadcast or transmitted without the prior permission of the publisher.  All rights reserved.

First Published 2008 by Dragonfall Press

www.dragonfallpress.com

Please visit our website for more great fantasy and science fiction titles.

Cover by Steven Schaffert

For my loving wife

With special thanks to:

Mitchell and Roxanne,

Ormé Harris and

Luke Harris

THE LEGACY TRILOGY

The Young Magician

She Who Has No Name

The Ancient Ones

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

INTERLUDE

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

An excerpt from the Book of Helum (10:5:3)

A THOUSAND YEARS have come and passed since the demon god, Lin, licking his lips with a swipe of his long, dancing tongue, abandoned the ruined carcass of this world, much as you and I would toss aside a finished supper bone.  He called his servants from their probing and picking of bones with a resounding howl and they swarmed like fiendish insects back through the unearthly portal that led to their own hellish domain.  With the feasting done, there was nothing left to interest them in this world.

Their mystic gates boomed shut behind them and disappeared with a bang and a crackle of thunder and there was not a hint left behind to suggest the demons’ existence, save the endless sea of sun-bleached bones that littered the ground in every direction.

However, as someone with a little experience does, the demon god had withdrawn his hordes just before the final hour, sparing the final seeds of life—shivering and sheltering in their tiny hollows—from destruction.  He knew how these little things clung to their precious existence and that they would one day thrive again, given half a chance.

These creatures eventually stumbled back out into the featureless open and, quite to their surprise, they found there was nothing at all waiting to devour them.  They blinked up at the blazing sun and felt a rumbling in their stomachs.  Some survived long enough to bear their young and some of these survived long enough to do the same.  Very slowly, life began to return to the lands, as the trees and grass took root and crept back out from the crooks and crevices.

The people, made primitive by their long banishment within their caves and refuges, were the last to return, dragging their haggard and wide-eyed families out after them and pointing to the strange and wonderful cities from which their forefathers had fled.

All the living things began to flourish once more and life soon began to fill the waters and cover the lands; the threat of dark gods soon became a dim vestige in their minds.

The people returned to some semblance of civilisation and for many generations they continued to prosper.  Occasionally, when a shadow passed or a cold shiver danced up their backs, the fear of things all-but-forgotten and of things all-too-terrible would stir within them and they would tremble inside their homes.

And so they should.  Although the demons had departed and the wise-men and magicians insisted such things could not exist, the foul creatures had forged a method of guaranteeing their return, leaving behind them two devices—a lock and a key, of sorts.  When the time was right; when man once again covered the earth and had grown great in curiosity or stupidity or both, he would learn how to put these two things together—two devices of such obvious misalignment and such openly-devious intention that even a modicum of common sense should warn that they be kept well-apart.

But devils know the machinations of man well.  Eventually, and with complete and utter certainty, the gates of hell will be opened and the feasting will begin again.

The years have passed.  The nations are swollen and restless.  The time is surely upon us.

****

A cry came up from the pit and the foreman quickly clambered up the last unsteady rungs of the ladder, wiping the sweat from his reddened cheeks and hurrying into the nearby tent of his employer.  Cervantes was sitting before a mountain of maps, papers and surveying apparatus—and he raised his eyes slowly as the foreman stumbled in.

‘Yes?’  Cervantes’ voice was slow and calculated, laden with infinite callousness—smooth as honey and dripping with ill humour.  The sound of each syllable had the foreman, who had never been intimidated by any man, look at his bootlaces.  Never had he met someone who could make his skin crawl in such an uncanny fashion, yet Cervantes did it easily and without effort—without needing to do anything at all except just look back at him with that soulless, blank gaze.

‘You had better come see,’ the foreman said as steadily as he could, dabbing at his forehead with a filthy handkerchief.  ‘We’ve found something.’

From the yells and cries outside, Cervantes suspected they had finally found what he had sought all these months.  Still, he waited patiently for the foreman’s report.  He could never pass up an opportunity to make someone twitch and jitter uncomfortably before him.  It was one of the few joys he had left in this far and forsaken corner of the world.  Slowly and with practised precision he stood and adjusted his robes neatly into place, pinning the foreman with his unblinking gaze all the while.  His ornate black and silver hem swept the sandy floor behind him as he flung back the tent flap and set out into the searing day.  The foreman wiped his face again and took a deep breath before hurrying out after his employer.

The excited workers were gathering at the pit’s edge, shading their faces against the afternoon sun.  Some men were still climbing hurriedly out from the digging, clambering and falling over each other, pushing sand over the planked edges with their frantic feet—climbing everything and each other to get out as fast as they could.

The men parted like water on wax as Cervantes carved them aside with nothing more than his imposing presence, to where he could stand at the digging’s edge.

Something wonderful was down in the pit, jutting out from the earth.  A great stone tablet lay freshly exposed from the soil, wider than a man is tall, angled over and catching the sun as if it had been dropped by some god.  The soil around it was melted and glassed, as if by some great heat, and smoke rose slowly from a charred body that lay outstretched near it.  One smouldering, blackened arm was reaching up as if, even in death, it was trying to drag itself from the pit.

All who rimmed the pit were gripped with fear, howling or babbling and staring below with terror-filled eyes—except for one.

Cervantes’ lips curled into a satisfied smile that would surely have surprised the foreman, had he seen.

‘At last.’

CHAPTER ONE

The Stream in the Valley

THE BOY EXAMINED the blemished apple carefully and turned it over in his hands, screwing up his face with concern.  Rolling through the mud had certainly done it no good, but with a bit of luck it could still pass a fleeting inspection—so all was not yet lost.  He placed it carefully back into his basket and set his gaze back onto the street, peering left and right for any further sign of more escaped fruit.

Between the many hurrying legs around him, another apple was momentarily visible and in imminent danger of being squished, and the sight roused him immediately into action.

He hoisted up his basket and was away, darting between the heedless folk around him, scurrying to save the imperilled fruit before it could be kicked or squashed or stomped on any further.  Reaching it just in time, he plucked the apple from harm’s way—just as a cluster of bleating lambs came dancing and prancing over the very spot.  They kicked up the mud with their skinny hooves as they went, driven before the idle gaze of Mr Shuckle who came whistling and clicking his tongue behind them.

With the danger passed, the boy finally afforded himself a well-deserved rest and he set his basket down with a sigh.  Tracking down so many lost apples had been draining work and he eyed the unwieldy basket beside him with disdain.

‘Samuel!’ an angry woman’s voice called out from afar, piercing the market din.  The village folk were familiar with the cry, for it was often heard carrying across the noise of the markets on such days as this, full of frustration and wrath.  Today, however, the woman sounded especially fearsome and Samuel’s only solace was that her hollering still sounded from far away.  He still had a little time to make good of his misfortune before his mother found out.

He examined the last recovered apple with a frown and he flicked the dirt from its skin with his finger.  Juices oozed from an angry bruise.  He pushed at the discolouration with his thumb, hoping it was some trick of his imagination, but more juices fizzed into view with each prod.  Alternatives scurried about in his mind: perhaps he could keep the apple and risk a scolding, or—much more appealingly—he could tuck it away into some dark corner and dispose of the evidence altogether.

He began to eye various crannies and hiding spots around the marketplace, but then he remembered: Mother always had some way of knowing about such things and was sure to find out sooner or later, perhaps even producing the offensive apple itself as evidence and scowling at him darkly.

So, disappointed, Samuel replaced the bruised apple back with the others.  He did, at least, place the most finger-poked side down.  Perhaps that would postpone its discovery until much later, when he could be far from Mother and punishment.  That thought brought him a brief moment of consolation—but it was cut short by another furious shout.

‘Samuel!’ his mother called out again, much louder, much nearer and far more impatiently than before.

Samuel had become something of a legend for his exploits and many of the other boys envied his adventures, right up until the point when his mother caught hold of him.  Then, they would not have filled his shoes for anything.  Perhaps that explained why his friends were all now nowhere to be seen.

Across the street, visible between the legs of all the village folk, Tom peeped out from behind a barrel and waved his arms in warning, pointing back into the depths of the market crowd.  Samuel’s mother was coming—and she could slap a boy’s backside before a boy could even begin to squeal with fright.

‘Samuel!’ a fearsome voice bellowed, and Mother was there, glaring directly towards him.

Like a squirrel spying a scrub-hawk, Samuel bolted into action and scurried from the path of danger.  He zigged and zagged through the crowd and dragged his apple basket behind him, ignorant to the indignant cries and gasps of protest as he made his desperate way, leaving a trail of bruised knees and scratched legs in his wake.

Pausing from his flight, he thought he may actually have escaped (if only for the time being at least), but the notion turned out to be substantially ill-conceived.  As he sat huddled amidst the busy market folk, thinking himself quite clever and safe, the people beside him—being the treacherous lot they are—moved apart like the curtains of some theatrical performance and his mother was revealed in all her furious glory, not half a step away from him.

‘Samuel!’ she growled, looming above and she pinned him by the shoulder with her iron grip.  He tried to escape, but his legs flailed around uselessly beneath him.  Unsubtle hands turned him about and brought him face to face with a frown and a pointed finger.  She did not look at all impressed, by any measure.  ‘If I have to call you one more time, I shall be telling your father!’ she scolded.  ‘And don’t come crying to me when you get a sore backside!’

That was that.  The final ultimatum had been given.  Samuel went limp in her grip as all his resolve fell right out of him and onto the gritty street.  She let him back onto his feet and he waved goodbye to his friends, who were each only now emerging from their hiding places.  He trudged after his mother, apple basket still in tow, but markedly reduced in its contents.  There would be no more fun this day.

The weight suddenly vanished from his hands as Mother lifted the basket up onto a bench top and she began talking excitedly with the Fish Lady.

All the children knew her as the Fish Lady.  She sold fish, she smelled like fish and she even looked like a fish with her enormous, bulging eyes.  Samuel looked at her and had to hold back a giggle, despite his sullen mood.  Of course, he would never call her the Fish Lady.  Not alone, that is—not without moral support.  The Fish Lady could slap his behind as fast as look at him—perhaps nearly as quickly as his mother.  He had learned that painful lesson long ago.  The Fish Lady and his mother would then talk even longer about how naughty he was and what could be done with him and Samuel certainly did not want that today.

Still, despite his good behaviour, Mother and the Fish Lady set into a long discussion.  To keep him from straying from her side, Mother’s hand kept a firm grip of Samuel’s shirt and it kept hold no matter how hard he squirmed or how long she talked.  Time seemed to pass so slowly after that and Samuel wondered if such torture was even allowed.

He peered between the passing people and carts and loaded wagons for any sight of his friends.  There was no sign of them now, but their songs and cheers of excitement rose intermittently above the monotonous chatter around him.  Several other women had joined Mother’s side at the stall and were crowding around—pushing into Samuel and bumping him with their handfuls of shopping—to add their various pieces to the discourse.

‘Oh, he’s terrible,’ one lady was saying, shaking her head.  ‘Someone should set that man straight.’

‘I know, dear,’ Samuel’s mother said and the others also chorused their agreement.  They continued on in that vein, but the sound quickly lost meaning to Samuel and it joined with the drone of the market hubbub.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of boredom, his mother took a few strung fish in hand and they moved on to the next stall, where—almost beyond belief—she began talking all over again.  It continued on like that for the remainder of the morning, so that Samuel had nothing but regret for coming to the village today.  He kept looking to the rooftops, wishing he could vault up there and spring away to find all manner of adventures instead of being stuck down here with his dreadful, boring mother.

He had no one to play with at home.  His brothers were too old and too serious, always working and busy helping Father.  Tom lived not too far away, but he was usually in the village helping his mother and father in their stall and rarely home to visit.  Playing with his friends on market day was all Samuel looked forward to, but today Mother was in no mood for games and she had ruined everything.

‘I’m in no mood for games,’ she said bluntly as they returned to their cart.  She hoisted Samuel up onto the seat and then walked around and untethered old Aaron from the hitching post.  After climbing up beside her son, she looked at him with unveiled disappointment, then sighed and shook her head.  Picking up the reins, she gave them a sharp flick and clicked with her tongue.  The cart groaned as Aaron started forward and they began their bouncing, bumpy journey back home with the slapping of Aaron’s hooves sounding all along the dusty road.

Samuel looked back with disappointment as the village disappeared between the trees that lined the road and the chanting of ‘Fish Lady!  Fish Lady!  Fish Lady!’ could be heard rising above the background noise and chatter.  There was, after all, safety in numbers.

Their house stood at the end of a long, curving track, overhung with apple trees, each drooping with ripening fruit.  The orchards further west invariably matured first, but theirs, Samuel was always proud to note, were famous for their quality.  Father, too, beamed with pride when people made comment on his fruit.  The merchants often paid a good deal more for the fruit of his labours than for that of any other orchard.  When Father was asked how it was that all his fruit was so good, he always replied ‘hard work and good land’, which seemed sensible enough to Samuel.

Their farm was quite near to the village, but still far enough into the hills so that he could roam freely in the endless woods without fear of coming across anyone else, and this was what he liked to do most of all.  He could wander for hours and hours on the rising hillside, playing all sorts of games and having all sorts of adventures.  Sometimes, he would take Tom up there and they would hunt each other, playing ‘soldiers’ or ‘gut the bandit’.  Samuel had no idea why it was called ‘gut the bandit’ and not ‘get the bandit’, but his mother always made an unpleasant face when he mentioned its name, so that was reason enough to make it a game worthwhile.

The narrow front door of their house swung open as Mother brought the wagon to a lurching halt.  Lee came out and walked down to meet them, rubbing old Aaron affectionately on his sweat-sheened neck.  He was the tallest in the family and nearly as strong as Father, although much leaner.  He was also the quietest, seeing to his chores methodically and efficiently, while Jason and James wasted a portion of each morning joking or quibbling before Father would have to clear his throat or cough and the pair would quickly get back to work.  Father rarely lost his temper, but the few times he did kept everyone well behaved.

‘How is Jason faring?’ Mother asked Lee with some concern.

‘He’ll live,’ Samuel’s brother replied bluntly as he drew a great flour sack down from the wagon into his arms.  His mother seemed worried for a moment, then rubbed her brow with her sleeve and turned to her younger son.

‘Perhaps you could do some chores for me today, Samuel,’ she suggested as she gathered up the string of fish and stepped down to the ground.

Samuel hopped from the cart.  ‘Yes, Mother,’ he answered, nodding.  He did sometimes do chores, but with his brothers and sister to do all the real work, he knew he was not really needed.  Besides, he was far too small to do anything very useful.

Watching Lee carry the great sack of flour into the house, Samuel wondered what it would be like to be grown.  He wanted to be as strong as his brothers—as strong as Lee—but he also noticed how they had considerably less time to play.  Perhaps this was not entirely a fair trade.  When he was grown, Samuel was sure he would still play games and wander through the woods and spend as many afternoons as possible lying on his back by the river, bathing in the sun, then running and splashing in the water as he pleased.  There was something wrong for grown-ups to take matters so seriously and leave such little time for adventures.  It just didn’t seem to make sense.

Dragging the apple basket from the seat, the daydreaming boy waddled inside.  The wooden floor creaked as he stepped through the doorway.  Their house squeaked a lot and made all kinds of other noises, especially at night and especially when it was stormy.  Father was forever fixing one part of it or another and Samuel supposed it was just the way of old things to be so noisy and easily broken.

Mother was putting all the bought things onto the shelves and into the cupboards, while Lee could be heard grunting out the back, carting the sacks of dried corn they would give to the chickens through the winter.  Mother turned from her chore and sighed as she looked towards the bedroom, where Jason lay soundly sleeping.  She walked over to his side, brushing Samuel’s hair absently as she passed, and placed a palm to Jason’s brow, thoughtfully.  After a moment, she sat on the very edge of the bed and took Jason’s limp hand in hers with a gentle squeeze.

Jason looked ever so dull next to Mother’s healthy shine.  That’s what Mother had called it a few days ago when Samuel had asked why Jason looked so dim, while she was so bright.  A ‘healthy shine’, she had said.  Samuel remembered people saying that quite often, especially Tom’s father.  He had told Samuel that he was a glowing lad several times, and once he had told Tom’s mother that she looked as radiant as the sun itself.  Samuel did not think she was that bright.  She was as bright as a star or a distant candle perhaps, but not like the sun at all.

Jason slept peacefully as Mother bent and whispered in his ear, then kissed him softly on the forehead.  Then she turned her attention to Samuel, still standing in the living room with the basket in his arms.

‘Why don’t you go and feed the chickens then, while I finish putting these things away?’ she asked.  ‘And then help Lee in the barn.  Did you hear that Lee?’ she called out a little louder through the window.  ‘Samuel is going to help you in the barn.’

Lee’s response was an audible moan of disappointment.

Mother gave a stern look at Samuel.  ‘Don’t leave your brother to do everything, as usual.  It’s about time you learned to be responsible.’

He nodded and pushed the apple basket up onto the table, then trotted outside, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.  His mother watched him leave and smiled.  After a few long moments of staring into empty space, she lowered Jason’s hand back to his side and came out of the bedroom to return to her task.  As she passed the table, she absent-mindedly plucked up an apple from Samuel’s basket and was surprised to feel something soft and wet underneath.  She turned the shiny red fruit over in her hands and smiled knowingly as she spied the ugly-looking bruises that had been hidden skilfully underneath.

Lee was still unhitching Aaron from the cart, so Samuel grabbed up a heavy bucket of scraps from beside the water trough and set off towards the barn.  He had to grasp the vessel tightly in both hands and lean right over towards one side just to keep from tipping over and it thumped his leg with each step as he walked, making it all the more difficult.  Being big must be one reason why the grown-ups did all the work.  Everything was much harder for small hands and small legs.

The chickens snapped up the scraps eagerly before the pieces had even hit the ground.  They clucked and flapped their wings with great excitement, frantic to peck up the tiny morsels.  The geese were far less excitable, instead carefully picking up the scraps that almost landed on top of them, raising their long necks to the sky as they swallowed.  When the chickens came too near, however, the geese would hiss and stretch out their wings until the chickens darted away again.  They were funny birds, the geese, but Samuel liked to feed them the most.

When the bucket was empty, Samuel set it down and watched the birds peck up the last pieces and then begin scratching at the ground.  His gaze moved slowly from the dark brown soil to the sunlit treetops up on Miller’s Hill where so many of his adventures had been born.  There, the trees made stairways with their trunks and bridges with their branches.  Leaves became walls and gaps became windows.  Outstretching roots formed cells for prisoners or mysterious caverns where adventures were waiting to be had.  Only scant moments passed before any thoughts of chores were long gone and Samuel’s legs had carried him beyond the edge of the woods, where he vanished amongst the trees and shrubs.

Over by the emptied cart, Lee scratched his head quizzically, surveying the empty space where his little brother had been standing only some few moments before.

Deep in the woods, each and every narrow and crooked path had its own destination that Samuel knew as well as Mother knew her kitchen cupboards.  On his right, he passed the dark, almost-hidden tunnel that he had forged through the thorny blackberries, which led to the deer glade.  He wandered past the wide, stony path that wound its way up to the lookout on the rocks where he could survey the barren gully.  He even went past the rain-scoured path that led to the wild orchard, which only he and Tom knew about, where they could sit and eat their pick of fruits all day long, even if many of them were bird-pecked and wormy.

Today, however, he had just one destination on his mind.  He continued ever on, inwards and upwards and deeper into the woods, taking the long, narrow and difficult path on which he had to scale rocks as high as himself and duck under the mossy, fallen trunks of giant trees and then push through masses of cool and shady ferns.  It was the most difficult path of all, but by far the most rewarding.

At last, panting and tired, he stepped up onto the great shattered stump, ten times as wide as he was tall.  A giant of a tree must have stood there at one time, but now its shattered stump was all that remained.  The forest had very few such trees remaining, but Father said that further into the mountains, in the hard-to-reach valleys where tigers and bears still made their homes, such trees grew abundantly.

Here, the woods were below him and he could look back down onto the farm far below.  Tom’s house sat beside the snaking, dark line of the river and other farms and cottages peeped out from beneath the trees all the way to the village.  He turned his back on them all, however, to see what was immediately below.

At the great stump’s far edge, where it was green with moss, the ground fell abruptly away.  Down there was Bear Valley; he had named it after once seeing a great brown animal below.  It had been wading in the shallow waters and had raised its head towards him and sniffed the air before turning and lumbering into the trees.  How the great creature had clambered into the gorge, Samuel still did not know, even after launching an exhaustive investigation.  The treacherous route that led down from the great stump was the only way into the valley that he could find, despite his many hours of searching and scouring the slippery rock faces.  Thin trees forced their way from cracks in the sheer stone and stretched up, like gesturing arms towards the sky, but it would be a dangerous route to attempt to climb these almost-vertical walls—for a bear or a boy.  Father had said bears were more nimble-footed than they seemed, but surely not even they could mount those treacherous surfaces.  Samuel had asked a few sly questions and Father had said that such wild animals did not live around here any more as people had hunted them for their meat and fur and they had enough sense to keep away from the homes of men.  Father had not seen one in Stable Waterford for many a year and only occasionally would one of the wild huntsmen emerge from the mountains with a pelt or a claw to sell.

Samuel counted this as his special place, for no one else he knew had seen a bear and no one knew of Bear Valley.  No one had probably ever been here before, beside himself.  The thought made him feel special and exalted—he was the King of Bear Valley and what adventures he would have!

As he carefully descended to the valley bottom, the skies gave a sour rumble from far away.  Samuel stopped his descent for a moment to eye the great stained rock face at the head of the gorge.  Down this dribbled a tiny stream which fed the pond on the valley floor.  Far above, the icy mountaintops were hidden in a veil of frost, and the pale clouds had begun spilling over the rises and creeping down into the forested valleys, obscuring all that lay beyond them.  There was no hint of the existence of the peaks and spires that watched the valleys tirelessly from their eternal heights—just a solid, greying curtain that was slowly enshrouding the sky.

With a gulp of dread, Samuel hoped it would not rain today, as there was still much adventuring to be done.  He hoped the mountains would keep it to themselves for once, for looking out over the village the sky was still fine and blue, with the barest hints of curling, white wisps here and there.

It took some time to carefully climb down and, with a grunt, Samuel leapt the last step onto the pebbled floor.  His feet crunched with each sandy footfall as he crossed the fallen moss-covered trunk to the other side of the stream.

He spied a long, black eel twisting sinuously in the shallow waters below; it made a shiver ran up his spine.  Samuel did not like eels.  They looked as if they were just waiting for someone to fall in so they could gobble them up.  It took an especially hot day and a total absence of eels before he would even dip his toes in the water here.  He often swam with Tom behind their house where the river was large and dark, but he had never seen any eels in those waters—just a few small nipper-fish and they were not scary at all.

He sat on the rocks and watched the water trickle down over the natural ledges.  Occasionally, he plucked up a stone and sent it flying into the pool’s centre, or set sticks to float like boats down the various tiny waterfalls until they vanished into the cracks under the great stones that blocked the valley’s exit.

After a time, as Samuel sat squatting on his heels, throwing handfuls of tiny pebbles at his floating sticks, he noticed something curious seemed to be happening.  At first, he thought it was his imagination, but the skinny cascade of water dribbling down into the valley appeared to be growing.  As he observed, the water began making fresh paths, falling faster and splashing louder as it slapped down into the pond.  The sky boomed again far off, and Samuel realised that it must be raining hard up on the mountain.  Down here in the narrow valley, all he could see was the greying sky rolling above.  The thought occurred to him that he should be going before it began to rain here, too, but he quickly forgot the idea upon spying the fascinating sight of the growing, gurgling waters.  Even if it did start raining, he was so fleet-footed and so nimble-toed, he was sure he could get home before his shirt was barely wet.

The waterfall was running ever more violently with each moment—more than Samuel had ever seen it—and it crashed down from far above with ever-increasing vigour.  The rock face was now hidden behind a sheet of white water that bubbled and gurgled and hissed as it fell.  It plunged into the pond with a noise that was quickly becoming a roar.  Samuel noticed that his clothes had become all wet from the mist that was being thrown up and his skin was covered with a sheen of water.  The little stream running from the valley was growing too, now surging against the exit stones, and Samuel had to step onto the higher rocks as the water quickly grew.  All the pebbled and sandy spots were now underwater and only the higher, dark stones that jutted up between the valley walls still remained dry.

It was then that the mist all around became much heavier, settling on his skin in clouds of vapour, and Samuel realised that it was beginning to rain here, too.  In a panic, he remembered that it would be much harder to climb from the valley.  It had been fun throwing rocks and watching the waters grow, but he thought he should like to be back out of the valley before it filled with water entirely.

He hopped from rock to rock and hurried across the fallen trunk, waters lapping at its base, and began up the crumbling slope.  Rocks and soil became dislodged under his feet and fell away, bouncing into the pond.  The slim trees and branches he used to help him balance were wet and slippery, sliding through his fingers, making the ascent all the more treacherous.  His heart was pounding against his ribs when, exhausted, he finally reached the great stump and pulled himself onto it.  He could see the stream that fell into the valley from up here.  It now resembled something more like the river behind his house than the trickling brook he was accustomed to.  The water crawled slowly to the cliff’s edge where it leapt in enormous volumes to far below.  The valley floor was now invisible amongst the mist and waters that billowed into the air.  He then had a dreadful thought.  No one knew where he was at all.  If he should slip and fall into the valley below no one would ever find him—or his bones.  The thought made him shudder.

The rain was falling heavily and Samuel dreaded his punishment as he lowered himself from the great stump and began to hurry home, cold and wet, in the dull afternoon light.  Somehow, everything he ever did always turned into trouble.  Mother would be very angry indeed.

The next morning found Samuel and his mother again bouncing towards the village behind Aaron.  It was sunny now, but the trees and grass were still glistening and the air carried the fresh scent of the recent rain.  A few small threads of cloud still lingered here and there and even above the mountain tops the sky was a perfect blue.  Samuel had been in sore trouble when he had come home the night before, saturated from head to toe and covered in mud and muck.  His bottom stung with each bump on the road after the spanking that Father had given him.

Samuel could tell that Mother was still in a bad mood after all his mischief.  She had missed her women’s meeting and every time she looked over at him, she just sighed and shook her head.

Stable Waterford was much quieter than it had been yesterday.  Market day was the only time when the village was really exciting.  Other days, there was no one to see and nothing interesting to do.  He almost wished he could be at home doing his chores.

‘I just have to talk to a few of the ladies, so you wait here,’ she told Samuel.

‘Can I go see Tom?’ he asked as she tethered Aaron by the trough.

‘Very well,’ she replied, much to Samuel’s surprise, ‘but we won’t be here very long, so don’t get into mischief.  I’ll come and get you when it’s time to leave.’

Samuel gave a cheer and skipped down towards the basket store, trotting down the road and in through the front door.  Tom was sitting beside his mother on a small, three-legged stool, helping her weave some small containers.  Tom’s mother’s fingers moved so quickly, Samuel wondered how she did not make mistakes.  Tom’s father had said it took years of practice to become so good at weaving things.  Even Tom could make quite impressive things, given time.

Upon seeing Samuel, Tom smiled and looked expectantly towards his own mother.

‘Go on, then,’ she said, nodding towards the door, and the two boys were soon frolicking out into the street.

The village was virtually deserted compared to the previous day.  A few carts and horses were tied before stores, but otherwise, they had the street to themselves.

‘You have to see something!’ Tom gasped.

‘What is it?’ Samuel asked, suddenly excited.

‘Follow me!  I hope we’re not too late!’ Tom said and led the way towards Old Mr Keen’s Inn, where, curiously, a small commotion was in progress. ‘Look!’ Tom called as he pointed.

They both stopped dead in their tracks as they came before a strange-looking man sitting on a small rug before the front door.  Some people had gathered and were waiting expectantly.  The boys pushed to the front to observe.

The man sat cross-legged and wore a purple, pointed hat with a tiny bell at the top.  His brown, bony chest lay bare and he wore great baggy, purple pants, with bells on his purple shoes.  He had a chestnut tan, but most surprising to Samuel was that the man had a healthy shine like no other he had ever seen.  It was so clear that Samuel felt he could almost touch it, like a curtain of sparkling water that surrounded the man.  Most people had a normal shine, while the old people and the sickly people had a dull shine.  This man must, indeed, be healthy to appear so bright.

‘Look at that!’ Samuel declared with awe.

‘I know,’ Tom agreed.  ‘He’s amazing.  Wait until you see what he does.’

Everybody gathered around.  Suddenly, the man’s eyes popped open and he leapt to his feet.  There was a gasp from the audience. Without a word, he somehow produced a shiny, red ball from the very air and held it out for all to inspect, raising one eyebrow as if to reinforce just how mysterious he was.  The audience was gape-mouthed.  Another flash of his hand and there were now two balls. He began to juggle them in one hand with his other hand tucked behind his back as he grinned mysteriously for all to see.

Now there were three balls leaping between his hands.  He threw the balls behind his back and under his leg without a pause and even balanced one on his nose, smiling wildly and making exaggerated expressions all the while.  A fourth ball, then a fifth appeared and they all formed a circle that seemed to rotate between the man’s hands all on their own.  All at once, he pulled open a great pocket in his baggy, purple pants and the balls all dropped neatly inside and disappeared one after the other.  The small crowd clapped their hands and called out their appreciation and wonderment, as did Samuel, but the man was not finished yet.

He produced a long, sharp knife and made a show of jumping around with it and cutting the air, shouting as he did and looking somewhat savage.  The crowd took a step back, unsure, while Samuel and Tom both giggled.  The man then produced an orange with a twirl of his wrist and, before Samuel could blink, he had thrown it up and sliced it in quarters.  Then, motioning dramatically for silence, he dropped to one knee and, bending his head back, pushed the blade inside his mouth and down his throat.  Gasps came up from all around.  Withdrawing the blade again without so much as a squirt of blood, he bowed, to the cheers and congratulations of all.  He held out his purple hat and revealed his thick, short, curly, black hair.  Each person took their turn to drop in a coin or two.  When they were done, Samuel and Tom stepped forward.

‘Well, now,’ the performer said, reaching down and touching Samuel lightly on the head with the palm of his hand.  ‘Who do we have here?  And who is your friend?’ he then asked, looking at Tom.

‘Are you a magician?’ Tom asked before Samuel could reply.

The man laughed and smiled mysteriously.  ‘I am merely a humble vagabond—a traveller and student of the world and entertainer of curious children.’  He towered high above the two small boys and their mouths hung open as they crooked their heads back to look up at him.

‘Do you make a lot of money?’ Samuel asked as the tall, dark fellow began counting all the coins from his hat.

Again, the man laughed and now bent over to roll up his little rug.  ‘Very little, actually, but just enough to make it worthwhile.  Just be sure not to try my tricks,’ he told them with a warning finger and a stern eye.  ‘I learned everything I know over many years.  It takes much practice and doing anything with knives can be very dangerous, especially in little hands.’

‘What happened to your skin?’ Tom asked, scratching his nose with the back of his hand.  ‘Why are you so brown?’

At this, the strange man squinted one eye shut and opened the other wide, eye-balling Tom closely, as if in fascination.  ‘Why are you so pasty and pale?’

Samuel was a little worried by the remark, but Tom only giggled at the man’s exaggerated expression.

‘How do you throw those balls?’ Tom asked enthusiastically.  ‘Can you teach us?’

‘Questions!  Questions!  Children are ever full of questions!’ the man complained, but it was all in jest.  ‘Start with one ball and practise every day until you can do two, or three, or five or six or seven.  All good things always begin very small.  Now, I’m sorry, I must go, children!  I’ve no chance to show you more tricks today.  Be good for your mothers!’

With that, he turned and strode into the inn with his sparkling surrounds vanishing after him.  Samuel was still standing in awe, when he heard Tom gulp.  It was only a moment’s warning and Samuel had no time to move before a firm hand had snatched his ear and had it stinging with pain.

‘Samuel!’ his mother growled and began to drag him back up the street by his ear.  ‘How many times have I told you not to go running off?’

The whole way home, she did not say a word.  She was obviously very angry with him and so Samuel did not say anything in return.  They both merely sat in silence as Aaron drew them home.

Samuel addressed the task of chopping wood with a certain lack of vigour.  He had been chopping for some time and there was not much kindling to show for his efforts.  Father and his brothers did it much better, so why couldn’t they come and do it?  It wasn’t his fault Tom had convinced him to go and see the strange man.  He raised the small hatchet once more and let it drop, its head stuck part-way into the thick branch.

Father came striding down from the orchards with a spade over one shoulder and he shook his head when he saw Samuel’s efforts.

‘You should listen to your mother,’ he said, squatting beside his son.  The usual healthy shine around his back was strange.  It looked different.  ‘She only wants the best for you,’ Father continued, heedless of his son’s examinations.

‘Did you hurt your back?’ Samuel asked.

‘I hurt it badly a long time ago and it sometimes gives me trouble, today more than usual.  Does it look hurt?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied.  ‘But not too bad.  Not as bad as Jason was.’

His father laughed.  ‘That’s good, because Jason was very sick, indeed, but now I think he’s almost better.’

Samuel nodded in agreement.

Father smiled and stood and then gave Samuel a firm pat on the shoulder.  He lifted his spade back onto his shoulder and continued past the house towards the river, rubbing his back absent-mindedly with one hand.  Before his father had even disappeared, Samuel decided his tiny pile of kindling was quite sufficient for his mother’s needs and wandered off to play amid the apple trees in the warm afternoon sun.

The next day, Jason finally rose from his bed for the first time in several days.  Despite his weakness, he insisted on accompanying Father into the orchards to help and Mother had finally agreed after he had promised not to do anything more than sit and watch.  At least the fresh air would do him some good.  Samuel was delighted that Jason was almost better, for while his mother had been busy caring for Jason, he had been burdened with all the extra chores.  When Jason was fully better, Samuel would be free to explore and play games and have adventures as before.

It was particularly fine later that afternoon and, as Samuel was engaged in the fine art of lining up sticks on the front step and then tipping them successively over the edge, the sound of horseshoes came clip-clopping up the road towards the house.  There was a stranger perched atop a frisky young thing of a horse, which was trotting along between the apple trees.  Upon spying Samuel, the visitor waved his hand in greeting.

‘Mother!’ Samuel called out.  ‘Someone’s here!’  And he ran out to meet the stranger eagerly.

His mother came out after him, patting clouds of pale flour from her hands and apron, for with the others all gone to Tom’s house to help mend their fences, she had busied herself with some baking.

‘Good morning to you, Madam,’ the man hailed as he brought his mount to a stop before them, its flank glossy with sweat.  He spoke strangely, deep-voiced, and curling his words as some of the foreign merchants did when they passed through the village.  His clothes, once fine, were stained and more than a little dirty, as if he had been wearing them for a few days too many.  His mouth was engaged in a constant chewing action and Samuel had no idea what he could have been eating.

‘Good morning to you, too, Good Sir,’ Samuel’s mother replied.  ‘What can we do for you?’

The man was grinning.  ‘I see you run a fine orchard, but it’s just directions I’m after.  Could you kindly put me on my way towards Cotter’s Bend, if it’s at all possible?’  As soon as his words had stopped, his chewing resumed.

‘From which way did you come?’

‘From Lowren, Madam.’  His smile was far too big, seeming to almost reach from ear to ear—and his teeth were awfully yellow.  Samuel kept staring up the man, open-mouthed, like a fish splayed out in the markets.

‘Then you go back up to the highway and keep on for a short time that way back towards Stable Waterford, and the road to Cotter’s is shortly after.  Just ask further once you get to the village—if you find yourself getting confused.’

The man tipped his hat, still grinning, still chewing, and, turning his snorting mare, started her dancing back up the track.  Samuel’s mother promptly lifted her skirts and returned inside to her baking, shaking her head and mumbling to herself.  The man, almost out of view, leaned from his saddle and plucked an apple from a nearby branch.  He then stopped a moment, and half-turning his mount, he touched his forehead in salute and waved back to Samuel.  Samuel was sure he could see the man grinning even from here, but for some reason he found himself not inclined to wave back.

Turning once more, the man clicked his tongue and set his frisky ride trotting back towards the road.  What a strange man he was, Samuel thought to himself, and what a strange healthy shine he had, too.

That night was fine and dry and crisply cold.  The countless, tiny stars were bright and clear, far more numerous than usual, and looked like a glittering blanket strung between the mountain tops.  They winked down at him and Samuel wondered what they really were—tiny holes in the veil of night, or swarms of fireflies hovering high in the sky?  Everyone had their own explanation, but Samuel was yet to be convinced.  His eyes grew fuzzy and he had to look down, rubbing them with his tiny fists.  Quickly picking up some firewood, he hurried back inside and placed the pieces beside the crackling stove.

The music from James’ fiddle was making a merry tune and was complemented well by Sarah’s soft humming as she worked on her embroidery.  Mother was busy at the stove, clanging the pots together as she cooked, while Father, Jason and Lee were at the table, discussing tomorrow’s work.  The harvest was imminent and they would all soon be busier than ever.  James would occasionally stop his playing and add something to the conversation.

‘Don’t you think it’s about time you taught your son how to shave, Peter?’ Mother asked from her cooking.  Peter was what she sometimes called Father.

Father looked at an embarrassed Lee and inspected him for a moment.  Lee self-consciously rubbed the wispy hairs that curled out from his chin.

‘Aye, so it is.’

‘What?’  Jason laughed.  ‘There’s barely a hair there!’

‘That will do, Jason.  Leave your brother be,’ Mother told him and Samuel laughed.  It was funny when his family told each other off like that.  Many of his friends told Samuel how their families argued and fought, but Samuel’s family seldom did so.  At worst, there were some raised voices or a few bad words, but everyone was quickly happy again.  It’s true, his mother would get very angry with him on market day and when he was lazy and he received the occasional spanking, but if Samuel tried very hard to be good, everyone was happy almost every day.  He knew that his family cared about each other.

James abruptly stopped his playing and looked out the window.  ‘I think there’s someone here,’ he said.  Sarah stopped her sewing and there was a sudden eeriness in the house.

Father pushed his chair back and stood, clearing his throat as he did.  ‘Well, I’ll have a look.’  He barely managed a step towards the door before it burst inwards and men came storming in, shouting at the top of their lungs and waving sticks wildly before them.  Sarah and Mother both screamed and Samuel’s heart leapt up into his throat.

Father began to shout at them, when the first man struck him.  Father raised his hands to protect himself, but fell to the floor as the man hit him over and over.  The other ugly men hurried past.  Samuel saw one of them was the man who had asked for directions and he still bore his wicked grin—wilder, more maniacal, than before.

Samuel’s brothers were wrestling with the men while Sarah was huddled up and screaming in the corner where the fiddle lay broken.  Samuel scuttled under the table, watching the legs of his brothers and the men struggle back and forth amid their grunts and shouts.  Father lay on the floor by the doorway, staring towards Samuel.  His wide, white eyes glared through a mask of blood.  His healthy shine was gone.

‘Peter!’ Mother screamed, just before being struck also.

In through the doorway stepped another man—tall and well dressed.  He had short, neat, dark hair atop a high forehead and he bore just a hint of a smile upon his lips.  He nudged at Father with his foot, then stood in the doorway and watched on with calm deliberation.

Something had Samuel by the back of his shirt and he was dragged out from under the table.  In a moment, he was out of the back door and into the cold night air.  The grisly scene, still visible through the doorway, shrank away from him as he was dragged away down towards the trees.  He struggled and screamed until he was turned about and he found that it was his mother who had him.  She plucked him up to her waist and they were once again running from the house and into the darkness.

A shout rose clearly above the grunting and swearing, carrying through the still night air.

‘Jason!’  It was Lee shouting and Samuel thought it sounded awful.  Lee’s voice was thin and desperate and sounded too short, as if something dreadful had stopped the sound part-way.

Mother was sobbing and heaving as she struggled with Samuel through the paddock.  Samuel saw the stars, nestled beside the narrow sliver of moon that had crested the hills and a few goats bleated with curiosity as they passed.  Mother did not stop running or crying, even after they made it amongst the trees and Samuel could hear, just as well as she, the men’s calls that followed behind them.

Dark laughter echoed after them through the trees.  Mother’s breathing became more rapid and frantic as her steps became irregular and she began to stumble.  The branches scratched Samuel’s face and he cried and sobbed as much as she.  There was a jolt and a moment of vertigo and then Samuel crashed onto the ground.  Mother regained her feet and this time she began dragging Samuel by the hand.  His heart thudded hard inside his chest as he struggled to match pace with her—she was nearly pulling his arm from its socket.  After a few frantic moments, she lurched to a halt and dropped to her knees as surely as if something had struck her.  Samuel was sure a drum was beating in his chest, booming in his head.

‘Go on, Samuel!’ she sobbed between labouring breaths, her hair matted to her face.  ‘Go to Tom’s house!’

Samuel could only nod through tears as he let go of her hand and ran off down the narrow path that snaked towards Tom’s house—blackness snaking through blackness—while his mother lurched away in the opposite direction.

A laugh sounded closer, not far behind and a coarse cry of ‘Got you!’ broke the silence.  Mother’s shrill scream then cut the air and curdled Samuel’s blood.

‘Where’s that little mongrel?’ another voice could be heard demanding, but Mother’s sobs only carried though the trees in reply.

Samuel stopped, suddenly afraid for her and he turned and ran back towards them, holding one hand over his own mouth to try and subdue his sobbing.  Crawling through the bushes as silently as he could, he could see them through his tear-filled eyes, standing in the wan moonlight.  Two men stood over his mother, who knelt in the dirt.  She held her face in her hands and was wailing and pleading all at the same time, making her words incomprehensible amongst her grief.  A terrible shadow had surrounded her healthy glow and it ate at her like a disease, creeping in towards her and smothering her light.  It emanated an inescapable vileness that seemed to stab Samuel in the heart; it was almost as horrific as the men themselves.  Samuel tried to squeeze his eyes shut to blot out the scene, but his eyes refused to obey him and he felt frozen in place.

‘Oh, forget the little crapper,’ the taller man said.  The moon shone down through a crack in the trees and lit his face.  His crooked nose threw a twisted shadow across his face, but that could not hide the silver scar that ran all the way from his eye to his chin.

The other man spat on the ground and smiled widely towards Mother.  Only now did he stop his incessant chewing.  ‘Now don’t make any trouble or I’ll make this worse, witch,’ he hissed and leapt upon her.

She screamed and beat upon his shoulders as he laughed and wrestled on top of her.  All the while, the scar-faced man watched on dispassionately.  Soon, Mother stopped her cries and was silent.  Her healthy glow was gone, consumed entirely by the blackness around her.

A silver blade shone in the spitting man’s hand and he bent and wiped it on Mother’s skirt hems.  She remained silent and unmoving.  ‘Suit yourself,’ he told her and he looked quite indignant.  ‘Hell-damned bitch wouldn’t keep still.’

‘Now she will,’ the scar-faced man returned bluntly.

‘That’s what we’re here for.  Don’t be upset just because I got to her first.  It was my turn, anyway.  Ah, damn it!  I think I got blood on me!  Well...what about the boy?  Shall we track him down before he makes trouble?  The boss wants to be sure they’re all good ’n’ dead.’

The scar-faced man then looked directly at Samuel and raised an outstretched finger.  ‘We won’t have to look far.  He’s just there.’  His wicked smile returned as he glared towards Samuel and he held his knife up, as if to show it off in the moonlight.  He nodded at Samuel and bared all his crooked, yellow teeth.

With a start, Samuel backed out of the bushes and scampered through the trees, their branches biting his face, cold tears streaming down his cheeks.  Great boot steps crashed through the undergrowth behind and then the spitting man was beside him, grinning as he easily matched Samuel’s tiny steps.  His smile vanished as he collided with a thick trunk and dropped like a sack into the shadows.  Samuel was away again and willed his legs even faster beneath him.

With horror, he realised he had strayed from the track to Tom’s house and the river suddenly loomed below him.  For an instant, he teetered on the edge, almost tumbling into the silent waters, soil collapsing from under his bare feet.

‘He’s over there!’ came a shout and Samuel leapt back into life, clambering along the top of the steep bank, grabbing the bushes and branches for support.

The soil crumbled under his shuffling feet and Samuel tottered backwards.  He snatched out for an anchor and grabbed hold of the long, spiny leaves of a black-jack tree.  They slid between his fingers and cut deeply.  He let go with a yelp and fell, splashing into the darkness below.

‘Over here!’ came a voice.

The water was so cold Samuel almost yelled again, but he put one hand over his mouth and held the noise in as best he could.  He knew the men would be attracted by his splash and so he ducked under the water and kicked his feet, swimming like a trout.  Underneath, the river was absolute blackness and ghostly silent.  When he had swum as far as he possibly could, he carefully surfaced, filling his desperate lungs as silently as he could.  The craving in his chest slowly eased as he took longer and more deliberate breaths—yet the noise of each still seemed deafeningly loud.  He kept his mouth barely out of the water and scanned the banks for the men.  They were standing a bit further back, illuminated in the pale moonlight, searching for him near where he fell.  Samuel carefully back-paddled away from them, keeping close to the bank where his feet could just touch the bottom.  Every trickle and every tiny sound he made carried easily across the water, but somehow the men still did not look towards him.

‘Ah, damn him!’ he heard one man finally say, his frosty breath forming a cloud before him.  ‘It’s too cold and it’s as black as sin out here.  I can’t see anything and I’m not getting wet on a night like this for some brat.  Let’s just tell the boss we gave him the test and he failed.  That will keep him happy.  What’s one more dead kid?’  The other nodded and they were gone—vanishing abruptly into the trees.

Samuel stayed in the river for a long time, numbed and shivering.  At first, he was too terrified to move, but after a time he realised if he stayed where he was, he would probably freeze to death.  He waded along until he recognised the flattening in the bank with the dark shape of the swing rope hanging over it.  He dragged his heavy legs onto the river’s edge and realised he was almost paralysed with cold.  His body was so cold it burned like fire.  Hugging his arms around him, he hauled himself from the river and hurried as well as he could up the rough, winding path towards the faint light of Tom’s house.

He banged on the door with his trembling fist again and again until, after what seemed like an age, it opened in before him.  Tom’s father was there looking down at him with obvious surprise, still chewing on a mouthful of his dinner.

‘What’s this?’ he began, and then Tom’s mother appeared beside him, opening the door wide.

‘Oh, you poor thing!’ she said and pulled him in, pushing her dumbfounded husband aside.

Tom was sitting at the table with his dinner in front of him; his fork hovered by his mouth with a bite of meat still on it.  Tom’s mother stood Samuel by the stove place and began to drag his wet shirt off.  Samuel was still too shocked to speak and he let her move him around like a cloth doll.

‘Now get out of those wet things and dry off before you catch a cold,’ she instructed.

With that, Samuel began to cry.  His teeth chattered between great sobs and he started shaking and shivering uncontrollably.

‘Oh, what is it, Samuel?’ Tom’s mother asked.  ‘Not too close or you will burn yourself, dear.  Here.’ And she put a thick rug around his naked, shivering body.

Tom’s father was looking out the window with concern.  He dropped the bar across the door and continued to eye the darkness outside.

‘Some...bad men,’ Samuel began.  ‘Some...bad...men,’ he stuttered, but could not manage to push out the words.

Tom’s mother’s brow knitted with worry.  ‘Shh,’ she said, hushing him. ‘Take your time.’

Samuel swallowed hard—it hurt—and he tried to speak more clearly.  ‘Bad men came and hit everyone.  They hit Father down and hit Mother.  They hurt everyone and I fell in the river.’

‘These bad men, they hurt your mother and father?’  Tom’s mother asked carefully.

Samuel nodded, feeling a surge of tears come pouring down his face.  Tom’s mother turned and looked to her husband, who fetched up a long-handled poker from by the fireplace and began to put on his coat.

‘I’ll go get Owen and his lads and we’ll go have a look,’ he said and strode out into the cold night, plucking up his hat on the way.

Tom’s mother barred the door behind him, and then looked out the window for long minutes before returning to the stove.  ‘Here, Samuel,’ she said, grasping a ladle and scooping some steaming stew into a bowl.  ‘Get something hot into you.  Tom’s father will see to everything.’  Her words sounded comforting, but her face was pale as she glanced towards the door.

Samuel sat up on the bench next to Tom with the rug pulled tightly around him, and gingerly pushed a few chunks of potato into his mouth, chewing upon the soft, warm pieces.  Tom opened his mouth to speak, but a firmly raised finger and a stern look from his mother kept him quiet.  She sat looking out the window until quite late while Tom and Samuel watched the fire embers burn low.  Samuel had faint memories of being lifted from the table and being laid onto a soft, warm bed.  His dreams that night were at first alarming, with a tall and vile man standing in the doorway, grinning in at him, but eventually such disturbing visions gave way to a deep and thoughtless slumber.

The sounds of stomping boots woke Samuel early the next morning.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes, surprised to find himself in Tom’s bed.  He hopped up and pulled on some of Tom’s clothes that were laid out nearby, and then hurried out into the main room.  Tom’s father was just hanging his hat beside the door.

‘Morning, Samuel,’ he said soberly as he removed his long coat and hung that up as well.  It was covered with a patina of dew.

Tom’s mother came from her room in a long, warm gown.  She had on thick woollen slippers that made no sound as she moved about, unlike her husband with his great noisy steps.  Her hair was knotted and all over her face, just like Samuel’s mother when she first woke up.  A glance though the doorway showed Tom still asleep in his mother’s bed.

‘Well?’ she asked.

Tom’s father could not help but show some worry on his face, and ushered his wife back into their room.

‘Stay there, Samuel,’ she instructed as she shut the door behind them and they began talking in hushed voices that Samuel could not hear.

A short time later, Tom’s father reappeared and, after again donning his outdoor wear, he went outside and was shortly riding away on one of his horses.  Tom’s mother came from their bedroom and she called Samuel to sit by her at the table.  Her eyes were lined red, as if she had been crying and she held a handkerchief balled tightly in one hand.

‘Tom’s father went to see what happened.  He and Mr Cooper and his lads all rode over last night.’  Her voice took a softer tone.  ‘Your house was on fire when they reached there and they couldn’t find any trace of your family.  Many bad things happened last night, Samuel—terrible things.  The fire at your house was too big to do anything about.  It’s burned down somewhat by now, so they will have a look inside when they can.  Hopefully, everyone managed to get out in time.  We’ll see.  I’m sure everything will be all right.’

Samuel began to sniff and his eyes felt hot as he tried to hold back his tears.  Tom’s mother took hold of him and pulled him tightly to her bosom.

‘Now, now,’ she whispered.  ‘Don’t cry, Samuel.  Everything will be all right.’

‘What about Aaron?’ Samuel asked between heaving sobs.  ‘Did the barn catch fire, too?’

‘No, Samuel,’ Tom’s mother answered.  ‘Aaron is all right.  The barn didn’t catch fire.  We’ll take care of him.’

Tom came out of his mother’s room, looking sleepy-eyed, and hopped up at the table opposite them.  He spied Samuel crying, but not knowing what else to do, Tom cut himself some bread and began to have his breakfast.

Samuel was kept busy over the next few days with chores and duties at Tom’s parents’ house, even learning how to do a little basket weaving.  These days seemed strange and distant, as if at any moment Mother would come to fetch him and he would go back home to find his family waiting there.  He kept asking about them, but Tom’s mother only said that no one had found them yet.  It was after a few more days again that Tom’s mother finally sat Samuel down, having sent Tom outside to play, and began to talk with him softly.

‘I’m afraid your mother and father won’t be coming back, Samuel,’ she told him.  ‘Nor will your brothers or sister.’

‘Where are they?’ Samuel asked.

Tom’s mother’s eyes were all shiny and watery.  ‘I’m afraid they were in the house when it burned, Samuel,’ she said.

Samuel nodded, looking blankly at her and not knowing what to say.

‘We’ve told your aunt and uncle in Stable Canthem about it and they’re going to send for you in a few days.  You can stay with them for a while.  How does that sound?’

‘Will I be able to come back?’ Samuel asked.

‘Of course, darling,’ Tom’s mother replied, ‘but I’m not sure just when.  That will be up to your aunt and uncle.  I’m sure you’ll have a fine time there.  They own an inn, so you can help them out a bit and have lots of new friends there in such a big town.’

Samuel did not know what to say, and so merely sat in silence until Tom’s mother left him be.

Four soldiers came knocking at the door later that day and Tom’s parents asked them in.  The soldiers looked untidy and smelled like horses and wet leather.  They had scruffy beards and kept eyeing Samuel suspiciously.

‘Seen or heard anything new?’ the sergeant asked.

‘No,’ Tom’s father replied.  ‘Not a word.  Everyone’s a little worried now; staying in their homes and such.’

The sergeant nodded.  ‘That’s understandable.  What are you going to do with the boy?’ he asked.

Tom’s father looked to his wife.  ‘We’re sending him to the city,’ he replied, ‘so his family can look after him.’

The sergeant nodded again.

‘What have you found, Sergeant?  Any news of the culprits?’ Tom’s mother asked anxiously.

The man sucked at his top lip and scratched his nose before answering. ‘Nothing.  If there’s not enough trouble here already, there’ve also been some killings in Cotter’s Bend.  My men are spread so thin, I don’t even know where half of them are any more.  I’ve sent word to Haywood for more men.  These pox-ridden curs will show up eventually, and then we’ll hang ’em good and proper.’ With that, the sergeant stood and made for the door.  ‘For now, keep your door barred at night.’

Tom’s father closed the door behind the sergeant and his men.  He looked to his wife with mixed anger and despair.  ‘You and your damned friends, Woman!’ He opened the door again and slammed it behind him as he stormed outside.

Tom’s mother came by Samuel’s side and squatted beside him, at eye level.  She held both his hands in hers.  ‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ she said earnestly. ‘They’ll soon catch those men and punish them.  Everything will be all right.’

Samuel nodded dumbly.  His world felt strange and numb—as if from the moment he had fallen into the river, all warmth had been clawed from his marrow and dragged away into its depths and its own icy touch had leached into his bones.  No clothes or fire or bedding could warm him and he felt that his life had been reduced to a tiny, trembling thread.

It was well over a week before a stranger appeared atop a wreck of a wagon, asking after Samuel.  Tom’s mother went out to speak with him and when she looked back towards the house, Samuel knew it was time to leave.  Tom’s mother rushed back in, while the grey-haired old man remained on his wagon and she quickly stuffed a few things into a tiny bag for Samuel.

‘Now you be good for your uncle and aunt,’ she instructed as she rushed about.  ‘And if you get into any trouble, you just send word to us.’

Samuel nodded dumbly as she finished packing his bag and pulled him outside.  He was lifted up and hoisted onto the wagon and Tom’s mother smacked his cheek with a wet kiss, pushing his bag onto his lap.

‘Farewell, good lady,’ the old man croaked with a wave of his arm and the wagon lurched forwards, drawn by an animal that looked at least equal in age to its owner.

‘Farewell, Samuel!’ Tom’s mother called out.  ‘I’ll say goodbye to Tom for you!’

Samuel kept watch of her over his shoulder until the roadside branches obscured her from view.  He wished he could jump down from the wagon and run back through the woods to his home, but something inside Samuel told him he was powerless to move.  He would have to cling to the wagon like a bug on a leaf and just hope it led him to somewhere better.

Samuel turned to face forwards, still clutching his bag in his lap, and found the wiry old man looking him in the eye.

‘Better make yourself comfortable, boy,’ he said.  ‘It’s a fair way to Stable Canthem and a bumpy road, to be sure.  If you keep sitting like that you’ll have blisters on your arse before we round the next bend.’

An odour wafted from the old man, a stale smell like a wet sack left in the corner of the barn for far too long.  Samuel’s heart beat strongly in his chest; the old man was strange and scary and his healthy glow was thin and yellowed.  Samuel edged away from the old man as much as he could and pushed his bag down beside him, wedging it into a corner so it would not shake free.

The village was only a short way ahead, but instead of crossing the bridge towards it, the wagon turned aside and began down the busy road that led to the Great Highway.  It was only a few minutes before Samuel was passing ground he had never before stood upon or played upon.  His heart was full of uncertainty.  He could not help the feeling that tomorrow he would return home and his family would be there, as they ever were, waiting for him.  Surely, all this was just some kind of dream and he would eventually wake up in his own comfortable bed.  Yet, the wagon continued to crawl along the highway, being passed in both directions by other wagons and people on horseback and sometimes even by people on foot, and Samuel had no idea where he was going, nor what the future would bring.

CHAPTER TWO

What the Future Would Bring

SAMUEL SOON BECAME used to the smell of the old man, who barely said a word the entire time, unless to point out some obscure landmark or announce it was time to stop and have a rest.  Then they would lurch to a halt and sit by the roadside while the old man wandered around his wagon and tapped various parts of it with his smoking pipe, as if trying to discern whether or not it would soon fall apart.  After a while, he would say ‘Let’s be off, lad,’ and they would crawl back up onto their seats and begin away once more.

Samuel did not know why they had to stop and rest at all, for all they were doing was sitting on their behinds while the old horse pulled them along.  Most of the time, the old man did not even have hold of the reins, as the old fleabag seemed to know the way by itself.  Perhaps the rest was for the horse then?  It looked every bit as haggard as the old man and smelled almost as bad.  The poor animal stared straight ahead all the time, even when there was no pulling to be done.  Its eyes were watery and seemed dull and lifeless.  Its healthy shine was faded and yellowed, much like the old man’s.  Samuel felt sorry for them both.

When it began to grow dark, they slept on the roadside and ate sinewy meat that the old man boiled up in his dented, blackened pots.  At first light, they would simply get up and get back on the wagon and be off again.

They passed through several villages that reminded Samuel of home in one way or another.  Men loaded and unloaded wagons with fruits or vegetables or bags of grain.  Women carried basketfuls or armfuls of produce.  They gave Samuel and the old man barely a moment’s attention as the two of them passed slowly by atop their rickety wagon.  Occasionally, a few soldiers would overtake them on horseback with their blue and gold armour glistening, their swords swinging by their sides and Samuel thought they looked quite impressive.  The old man would curse and mutter as they passed and Samuel supposed he did not like them very much at all.

The only thing that never changed was that they were always heading down.  Their wagon zigzagged down hill and gully, along paths and across shallow riverbeds and hour after hour the mountains crawled away from them until the various hills they descended obscured the snowy peaks altogether.  With the familiar heights now gone, too, Samuel was only just starting to realise how much his world had changed.

After several days, they reached the edge of a village that just seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger, until Samuel finally realised that this must be the town of Stable Canthem, for it was much larger than anything he could imagine.  Buildings rose several levels high and were made from blocks of stone, with many bearing motifs and carvings upon their walls.  People seemed to come from every direction, filling the many streets that crossed and joined.  It was a very busy place, indeed, and more streets and buildings lay all around in every direction as far as Samuel could see.

After voyaging deep into the town, turning many corners and crossing many streets, the wagon abruptly halted in front of a tall building.

‘Here you are,’ the old man said, still holding the reins and sucking on his pipe.  ‘You go on inside now.’

Samuel grabbed his bag and leapt to the ground.  The wagon started off again without another word and the old man and wagon both were immediately swallowed up by the throngs of people.  Samuel looked about whilst standing nervously in front of the tall building, watching as the people and animals and vehicles passed by making all manner of noises.  When nothing else happened after a time, and the busy street continued to flow past him, Samuel turned about and faced the building he had been set before, with his bag clutched firmly in his hands, and swallowed.

He was eyeing its wide door with great apprehension and wondering whether or not he should knock, when it opened and a girl of about his own age stood looking out at him.  The first thing Samuel could remember thinking was that she had a fine glow, indeed.

She looked a little surprised at first and stood waiting for him to say something, until realisation crossed her face.  ‘Oh, you must be Samuel,’ she said and smiled.  ‘I am Jessicah.  I’m very pleased to meet you.’

She curtsied politely and Samuel stood dumbfounded.

‘Ah,’ he finally managed.  ‘I’m Samuel.’  And he bowed a little bow, not knowing what else to do.

The girl giggled and stepped down onto the street.  She took his hand in hers and led him back inside.

‘Welcome to the Three Toads Inn,’ she said, waving her other hand grandly as they crossed the threshold and she laughed.  ‘It’s a terrible name, I know, but Father likes it.  I’ll go fetch him.’

She closed the door and the cacophony outside immediately dropped to a subdued hum.  Dropping his hand, Jessicah disappeared through a narrow doorway on the far side of the room, leaving Samuel alone in the great room.

The first thing he noticed was that the place smelled terrible, like something sour and stale, and it made him screw up his nose.  Everything was made from once-expensive timbers, but time seemed to have had its way with the place.  The walls and floor were covered in holes or makeshift patches that had become permanent fixtures.  Every length of timber or piece of wall was scratched, chipped or marked in some way.  Small, round tables and chairs littered the floor and a long bench sat before several large barrels.  Beside them, a narrow staircase led up to another level.  Samuel looked up, open-mouthed, at the high beams and windows.  He had never been in such a tall room before.  He took a few cautious steps and began to peer up the stairs, before the sound of approaching footsteps made him take a quick step back.

A great rotund, red-faced man with blood splattered on his apron and all over his bare, hairy arms squeezed through the narrow doorway and stood before Samuel, scrutinising him.

‘So, you’re my brother’s lad?’ he said as he inspected Samuel.  He peered down with bloodshot eyes.  ‘Damn,’ he said, shaking his head, and he turned back to where he had come, leaving Samuel alone once more.  His uncle’s voice then echoed out of the doorway, as if coming from the end of a long hall.  ‘Go take care of him, will you?’ his voice instructed of someone.

A few moments later, curt footsteps sounded, before a lady, as bony as his uncle was fat, stepped from the doorway.  She had jutting cheekbones and protruding collarbones and her nose stuck out like the sharp end of an axe.

‘Hello, Samuel,’ she said, looking him over with some consternation.  ‘I am your Aunty Janet.  How wonderful to see you.’  The words came out flat and distinctly insincere.  ‘I’m so sorry about your parents.  It’s a terrible tragedy what happened to them, but nevertheless, you are welcome to stay here with us.  We’ll have the odd chore for you, of course, but I think you’ll fit in here nicely, soon enough.  Unfortunately, there are no rooms to spare at the moment as we are terribly busy.  There is some space in the barn where we can put a cot for you; just until something better makes itself available.’

Despite her attempts to sound comforting, Samuel thought how sharp and pointed her face looked.  Somehow, it made Samuel think she was not very nice at all.

She took Samuel through the narrow door and down a hall past another few doors and out behind the inn.  Some pigs and dogs were tied there in a muddy yard beside a small stable.

‘The pigs and dogs get the scraps and keep the burglars away,’ she explained. ‘Don’t get too close to the pigs, mind.  They have quite a nasty bite.’

The barn was somewhat cleaner than the yard, with trampled straw thrown all over the ground.  A few horses were penned in some of the stalls towards the back.  They glanced momentarily at Samuel but then returned to staring at the ground.  The smell of wet straw and dust filled Samuel’s nose and made it tickle and itch.

‘There’s a spare stall up the back,’ Aunt Janet disclosed.  ‘It needs some tidying, so you had better get started.  You will be minding the animals and tending to any needs of the guests.  After you finish with your room, change the barn flooring and Jessicah will show you how to feed the animals.’

She then left him there, returning to the inn, while Samuel blinked and looked around.  Flies buzzed around the horses and their droppings.  The air was a haze of straw-dust.  It did not look like a very comfortable place to live at all.  He hoped he could move into the inn with them soon—tomorrow or the next day at the latest would be good.

Samuel pushed open the gate of his ‘room’ and coughed.  It was filthy.  A generous mound of manure was the centrepiece of the stall, while brooms and rakes and various tools hung from hooks on the wall.  His stomach grumbled loudly as he hung up his humble bag, pulled down as small a shovel as he could find and began scooping up the dung and carrying it out into the yard.  It was hard work, much harder than he was used to, and he was soon sweating as he struggled with the weight of the unwieldy shovel.

Once the majority of the mess was moved, he picked up a dustpan and a small hand-brush and began sweeping up the leftovers.

After a time, when he had done as much as he could to make the room more hospitable, Jessicah poked her head in.  ‘Wonderful!’ she exclaimed.  ‘I felt so sorry for you when Mother said you’d be staying out here, but I know you’ll manage.’

Samuel put the hand-brush down and wiped his forehead.  ‘Thank you,’ he said.  His eyes and nose were running from all the dust.

‘I have something for you,’ she said, stepping into the stall.  To Samuel’s delight, she was carrying a hamper full of bread and fruit.  ‘One of the guests ordered all this, but then got called away, so no one will miss it.’

They both squatted on the dirty floor and ate until only crumbs remained.  It was perhaps the most satisfying meal Samuel could remember in all his life.  Of course, he could not remember ever being hungrier in all his life, either.  Afterwards, he noticed how filthy his hands were.  His mother would have been so very angry to see him eat with such dirty hands, but he had been so hungry he had not even noticed.

‘Do you want to feed the horses?’ she asked as she stood and brushed away the crumbs from her dress.

Samuel nodded and she began leading him around the stable, showing how much and what to feed each horse.  They all belonged to different guests in the inn.  The animals were giants of shining flesh and they watched Samuel with a mix of concern and curiosity.  Both Samuel and Jessicah needed stools to reach the tall animals’ backs, and Jessicah showed him how to brush their coats and keep them looking fine and healthy.  They spent the afternoon like that in the barn, laughing and talking together.  At first, he had been sure this place was terrible, but now, Samuel was actually enjoying himself.  He had never had so much fun doing chores.  At home, it was always boring and he never had help.  His brothers had never made it seem like fun and his sister had never tried to help him.

‘We have to go get the water now, so I’ll show you the square,’ she said and Samuel nodded enthusiastically.

They each carried two wooden buckets out into the bustling traffic and Jessicah led the way down several streets, still filled with intriguing and strange people.  In Samuel’s village, he knew everybody.  Here, there were so many people, how could anyone get to know them all?  It was all quite startling.

After a few more streets and a few more turns, they reached a stone well in the centre of a square.  A couple of old women were drawing water and filling buckets in a rickety barrow.

‘Most inns have their own well these days, but Father says that as long as he has someone to fetch water for him, he’s not going to pay to have one dug.’

Samuel nodded and helped her pull the water up with the cold and wet chain, and fill their buckets.  He admired how she carried her load so easily and, each time they returned for more, she led him down a different set of streets and explained the points of interest, such as where she saw a horse run into a house, where a strange man who paints his face and talks to himself lives and where she once saw a town guard stabbed by a thief—there had been lots of blood and it had looked awful.

They made many trips back and forth to the well but, even so, Samuel was still completely lost and doubted he would be able to find his way without Jessicah beside him.

Finally, when the large trough at the inn was full, the two of them dropped their buckets and almost collapsed in a heap.  As they recovered their breath, they patted the backs of the two huge, brown, slobbering dogs that lapped at the water.  Jessicah said she did not like these dogs very much.  They had often tried to bite her and they had always had scabby sores on their skin.  Her father had bought them for very little.  On hearing about their scabby sores, Samuel stopped patting the dogs and rubbed his hands on his trousers.  The pigs looked up at him and oinked questioningly from the ends of their tethers.

So far, it had been quite hard work and Jessicah said there was always a lot more to do.  Samuel felt sorry for her.  Then again, he felt sorry for himself, too.  At home, his brothers and Sarah would do all the hard work.

‘Oh, and when you go outside, be careful of the soldiers,’ Jessicah told him. ‘Uncle says the Imperials all hate us and would beat us if they could, so you should certainly stay away from them.’

Samuel nodded again.  There were so many things in this town to remember!

After a few moments of peaceful resting, Jessicah sighed and explained she had more chores to do inside and she left Samuel to finish the stables.  Waiting in his stall was a thin cot and a single blanket.  He moved these aside and began carrying in buckets of water with which to scrub the floor.  Eventually, there was more stone than dirt visible and Samuel was content that it would do for tonight, although the smell was still ghastly.

‘Samuel!’ came an angry voice from outside.

He hurried outside to where his uncle was waiting impatiently.

‘If this is how you do things, you had better learn quick!  Everything you do had better be done properly,’ he demanded, ‘not half-done like this!  I want this trough filled to the brim.  Now get going!’ and he clipped Samuel roughly on the side of the head.  Samuel grabbed a bucket in one hand and his burning ear in the other and hurried off, wincing.

That night, as Samuel lay in his hard bed, staring at the dark roof and occasionally coughing from the dust, a soft voice called out to him, ‘Samuel?’ Jessicah entered the stable.  She carried a small oil lamp and it lit the stall with a yellow light as she tiptoed in.  ‘I’ve brought you a lamp, but make sure my mother and father don’t find out.  It’s quite expensive and they’ll be terribly mad.  I can’t stand the thought of you out here in the dark.’

Samuel nodded and thanked her and at once she was gone again.  Tears began to flood down his cheeks in tiny streams as fear and insecurity washed over him.  His uncle and aunty seemed so terrible and this place was horrid.  He wished to be back with his mother and father and Jason and James and Lee and Sarah—but they were all dead now.  He would never see them again.  Samuel had seen dead animals before, lying still and limp, their eyes open and staring and covered in flies.

‘You’re a long time dead,’ Samuel had heard his father say many times.  He was not sure why he had said it, but it certainly seemed true.  Once something died, it was buried and was never seen again, unless it was dug up accidentally.  Mother once dug up the bones of some hens when she was out hoeing in the garden.  Gooey old bones.  That’s all that was left of his family.  Samuel wondered if Tom’s father or anyone had buried them.  They had not even let Samuel go and look.  Perhaps they thought it was too horrible to see.  He remembered the cries and sobs of his mother, and the brutal voices of the men who had killed her.  He remembered the way they had pushed into the house and struck at Father and his brothers, and how the tall man had stood in the doorway and watched on heartlessly while his men did their evil work.  A new flood of tears began and Samuel wished everything awful would all just go away.  He continued sobbing for a long time until sleep finally washed over his exhausted body and he fell into dreams of running and playing around his home and the comforting presence of his family, all busily doing everyday things.

In his dream, he was atop Bear Valley and the enormous brown-furred bear was there, sniffing and looking up at him.  The waterfall was running like a river of flashing colour, more beautiful than Samuel could have imagined.  The bear then stood up on its hind legs and stretched upwards, roaring and seeming to grow huge.  It dropped back onto all four legs and it then did a thing quite strange.  It bowed to him, dropping its head low as Samuel had seen his brothers and Sarah do often, mocking each other.  Only this was not mocking.  The bear remained genuflecting, and Samuel, for the first time, could see its healthy glow, shining as brightly as the man who had performed tricks in the village.  So unusual, Samuel thought, because he had never noticed such a glow around an animal before.  Its radiance grew and grew, growing brighter and brighter, until even the scintillating waterfall of the valley was dull by comparison.  A loud crash sounded—a boom like thunder and all the birds and insects and frogs and other creatures in the trees suddenly began chirping and tweeting and croaking as one.  Samuel clamped his hands to his ears to block out the noise and looked up towards the mountain, where an enormous leering face was looming, looking down at him with great amusement.  The earth shook and Samuel lost his balance.  He fell from the edge of the great stump and tumbled down, head over heels, towards the valley floor.  As he rolled over and over in his dream, Samuel could hear a desperate voice calling out ‘Father!  Father!’ over and over again.

With a sudden gulp of breath, Samuel woke up.  His heart was beating furiously, but he kept his eyes closed and reached for the blanket, pulling it up to his chin.  It was a hot night and he could feel beads of sweat running down his face, but he rolled over ever so slowly, quietly, turning away from the doorway.  He strained to listen above the beating in his chest and the ringing in his ears, but the stables were awfully quiet—strangely quiet—and the thought only served to fuel his fears.  Samuel lay tensed in his bed, ready to spin over and shout out with all his might to dispel the quiet—but he could not, for the greatest fear held him tightly in place: the fear that there, behind him in the doorway, someone or something quite horrible and tall was waiting, quietly watching him with a wickedly evil grin.

The first days with his uncle and aunt passed painfully slowly, with more and more tasks appearing for Samuel, until he was run ragged from dawn until late each night.  His aunty had scoffed at the mention of schooling and asked what need had he of such things as writing and reading.  Even at home, he would go to see Mrs Tincup twice each week for tutoring.  He was not as smart as his brothers and not even a little bit as educated as Sarah, but Samuel knew much more than Tom did.  Tom was always busy with his mother in the store, or with his father at their home and it left very little time for him to see Mrs Tincup.  Tom never did seem to mind.  In fact, he disliked any schooling, but Samuel had always felt proud when he could show his father something new he had learned.

Father had always told him that an education was important to a man, so that he could measure the results of a day’s work and read the Imperial notices when they were tacked to the village board, should he feel the need.  Mother would agree when he said this, but add with a smile that news always moved faster over people’s tongues than paper.  Samuel knew this to be true, for the women of the village liked to talk very much and they always knew of things long before the men.

Jessicah was being schooled occasionally by a tutor that came to the inn.  She agreed to help Samuel and some evenings, when there was time, they would try reading the scraps of papers her father left around regarding his market orders and such, which was good because there were also sums and simple calculations on them.  Jessicah was much better than he was and Samuel was appreciative of her company and so tried very hard to impress her.  Even when he was frustrated, she was patient and considerate.  Samuel never saw her in a foul mood or heard her criticise others, as her mother and father always did.  She was always trying to find time to be with Samuel so they could play together for a few short moments, until, inevitably, her mother and father would call for either of them to do some chore or other.  Samuel sometimes wondered what they actually did for themselves.

Samuel quickly learned it was best to avoid his aunt and uncle as much as he could and, that way, his life was much easier.  They barred him from entering the inn because he always smelled terrible, and Jessicah suggested he should bathe as often as possible, which he didn’t like to do as the stable was so cold and draughty.  There were public bathhouses but, of course, Samuel had no money to visit them.  He could only throw water over himself on occasion and scrub his skin with the coarse, brown, smelly soap he used on the horses.

Alone in his stall, he ate the meals that Jessicah brought to him, but she was called away again almost at once.  Samuel’s aunt obviously disliked her spending any time with him and his uncle always found some reason to pull or slap his ear when he could.  Samuel wished he could at least have stayed with Tom and his parents.  He did not understand why he had to come and stay with such terrible people.  He did not understand why they were always so foul and bad-tempered towards him.  Jessicah was his only comfort.  If it were not for her, he thought, he would probably just lie down and die.

Samuel soon knew his way around the streets and markets and found pleasure in spending as long as possible on the occasional errands he was given.  This inevitably brought on more punishment, but it was worth a few more bruises or another laborious chore for a short bout of freedom.  He saw the other young boys playing games in the streets and, at times, they would let him take part.  His uncle and aunt always made comments on how slow and lazy Samuel was, but their comments, so often said, had little meaning for him.  If they had set an example, he would not mind, but they did little to help with the chores themselves.  He soon realised that he hated them and any time he heard that some guest had crept away without paying, or some other bad thing had happened inside, he felt jubilant and laughed aloud at their misfortune.

The guests of the inn were usually rude to Samuel, too.  It seemed to be the accepted way of treating stable boys and Samuel heard his uncle telling one customer to take to him with a stick if he was too slow.  The patrons were often full of precise instructions regarding their horses and Samuel quickly learned when to follow them with exactness and when to ignore them altogether.  He could tell that some people were fastidious and would check his work with strict scrutiny.  Others were either trusting or lazy and would never know if their horses were properly fed or not.

His uncle taught him how to check the horses’ feet, shoes, teeth and general health, but the lessons were never enjoyable with the ill-tempered man and most of the jobs ranged from difficult to impossible for Samuel as he was just too small.  Some of the horses were pleasant, quiet animals, while others matched the disposition of their owners—malicious, stubborn and prone to kicking.

One afternoon, long after he had lost any hope of salvation from his new existence, Samuel returned to the inn, having fetched a sizeable leg of salted ham from the butchers as he had been instructed.  He had spent probably five times longer than necessary on this errand and had only returned home when he had exhausted all other possible distractions for the day.

‘Uncle,’ Samuel called out innocently from beside the kitchen door.  Within moments, the door burst open and his uncle’s great hairy fist plucked up the ham, flinging it behind him onto one of the kitchen benches.  Samuel immediately recognised an evil temper and turned to be off.

‘Stay right there, you little son of a bastard!’ his uncle roared and Samuel froze in his steps.

The rotund man struggled out through the kitchen door and stood over Samuel.  He was sweating and stank, even to Samuel, who was criticised for his stench by strangers and locals alike on a daily basis.  His uncle’s hairy arm shot out with surprising speed for such a monstrous man, and threw Samuel hard against the wall.  Samuel gasped as his legs buckled underneath him.

‘You filthy little thief!’ his uncle yelled.  ‘Is this the thanks I get for helping my own flesh and blood?’  Spittle was flying thick and free.  Samuel stayed on all fours, not willing to get up and be struck again, hoping for the fire to burn down in his uncle’s temper.  ‘I’ve been worried sick that thieves had made off with my valuables and then I find one of my best lamps hidden in your room!’

A booted foot took Samuel by surprise as it came crashing into his ribs.  It made him yell and his eyes began watering, but Samuel refused to cry in front of his uncle.

‘If I catch you stealing again, the gods help me so I won’t kill you myself!’ He turned to move inside.  ‘Damned brat!’ he yelled and slammed the door shut.

Samuel slowly pulled himself up and limped back to the stable.  Every moment, every breath, brought a knifelike stabbing into his chest.  He sat on his cot, clutching his side and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands.  He would have his revenge on both of them, he promised himself.  He vowed they would regret the way they treated him and he began to imagine all the terrible things he could do to them.

‘Samuel?’ came a soft voice from the doorway, but Samuel turned away from her.

Jessicah came in and sat beside him.  She put her arms around him and said nothing.  Samuel’s stubbornness quickly dissipated at her touch and he began to cry in her arms.

‘Don’t worry Samuel.  I’ll take care of you.  It doesn’t matter.  It was only a lamp.  I’ll get you another.’

He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and looked away.  ‘I don’t care about it.’

She sat with him in silence while he cried out his tears.  When his sobbing had slowed, she spoke softly.  ‘I hear you late at night, Samuel.  It’s all right to cry.’

‘I dream about them all the time,’ he said, his gaze locked on the floor.  ‘I just wish so much they hadn’t died.  I wish they could come back.  I feel so sad, I just don’t know what I can do.  I hate it here.  I hate everything!’

‘Don’t worry.  I’ll take care of you.  We can take care of each other,’ she told him, and with her beside him, Samuel felt that he had one tiny little piece of family still left in the world.

She stayed long after her mother began calling, until a tall, thin silhouette appeared in the entrance tapping its foot, forcing her to depart.  If it were not for Jessicah, Samuel honestly did not know what he would do.

It was nearly a week before Samuel thought he was almost better.  His chest only hurt now when he rolled on it or moved too quickly.  Thankfully, he had barely seen his uncle the entire time, making sure to do all his chores quickly and without the need for being reminded.  The man had appeared in the yard this morning, smiling and in good humour, and had sent Samuel to the marketplace for some spice, actually patting him fondly on the head before Samuel could dart past.

As Samuel was hurrying along, he noticed some boys playing kick-ball in the street.  He was watching them from a distance when one boy broke from the others and ran over to him.  He recognised the boy.  They had played a few times before and his freckled, round face seemed friendly.  The other children were watching on and waiting expectantly.

‘Want to play?’ the boy asked, short of breath.

‘Yes, please,’ Samuel replied with an enthusiastic nod.  He was in no hurry to return to the inn and this seemed like a good enough distraction

‘Do you know how to play?’ the boy asked and again Samuel nodded.

He joined the freckle-faced boy’s team and the game began over.  There were a couple of rocks spaced a few paces apart at each end of the playing area, which acted as the goal.  There was a little rough play, but Samuel was not at all worried—in fact, he delighted in the rough and tumbling play.  He pushed just as hard as he was pushed and whenever they tumbled on the ground and began wrestling, he laughed with pure enjoyment, joining in for all he was worth.

Samuel had a strong kick, but an awful aim and each time he booted the ball towards the goal, he felt embarrassed as his teammates had to chase it and fetch it back.  One of the boys on the other team was older and considerably larger than his fellows and he obviously considered himself the champion of the game.  He became enraged and swore out loud for all to hear each time anyone tried to take the ball from him.  Passers-by in the square gasped and commented at the older boy’s language, but it only made the boy grin all the more.  Samuel was not keen to wrestle with him as he had seen him punch others in the nose and make them cry—not at all like the fun wrestling the others enjoyed.

‘Careful,’ the freckle-faced boy, Connel, said as he ran past.  ‘He’s lookin’ at you.’

Samuel looked to the rough boy, who was running his finger across his throat and pointing to him with the other.  Samuel swallowed hard.

As Samuel charged to intercept the ball as it spun free, his feet were abruptly knocked from underneath him and he collided harshly with the ground, cracking his chin onto the stones.  He yelled out in pain.

He could hear the big boy laughing and Samuel suddenly boiled over in a rage.  In a flash, he was up on his feet.  He turned to confront the bully, who grinned with glee and threw himself straight onto Samuel without hesitation.

Samuel was perhaps the more surprised of them both when he actually knocked the bully over and, after a brief moment in which they were both overcome with disbelief, they began wrestling.  Samuel drew a free hand and landed a series of quick, knuckled blows on the bully’s amazed face.  This was not his first tussle by any means and Samuel had been honing his skills by watching the drunkards fighting outside the various inns and alehouses around the town.  The bully was stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered and rolled over on top of Samuel, holding him easily.

The other boys all gathered around and cheered as Samuel’s arms were pinned beneath him, leaving him helpless, as the big boy set about clearing his throat.  With horror, Samuel realised what was about to happen and struggled frantically, kicking his legs and twisting about in vain as a large wad of thick, bubbly saliva slapped onto his face.  All the boys laughed and the bully fed on their attention, laughing loudly along with them.  Samuel was hoping the worst was over, but the bully was not finished quite yet.

‘This will teach you,’ he hissed and began slamming his fists into Samuel’s face and body.  Samuel yelled out with each blow until the bully tired of the task and climbed back off him.

‘Now, get up!’ the bully demanded, hands on his hips and waiting impatiently.

Samuel staggered to his feet and looked to the older boy with fuzzy eyes and a buzzing head.  His mouth was full of blood and his nose hurt terribly.  The injury in his chest stung most of all, making his breathing painful and difficult.

‘That’s what happens to uninvited guests.  If I see you again I’m gonna piss all over you!’ the bully stated with a grin and the others all hooted and laughed again.  ‘Now get out of here and don’t be thinking you can join in our games, pig-boy!’

Samuel limped away, clutching his face with one hand and his chest with the other.  The crowd parted with disgust-ridden faces as he made his way through, but their scornful comments passed over him without effect.

‘What have you been doing, you little monster!’ his aunty cried out when she saw him stagger into the yard.  ‘Where is my spice?  What a truly useless and wicked boy you are!’ she said, and turned away aghast.

Samuel ignored her ranting and shambled into the stable, pulling himself into his dusty stall and collapsing onto his cot.  He cried out again as his chest burned under his weight and he had to carefully roll over onto his back where he lay for the remainder of the day.  As darkness came, Jessicah appeared, shaking her head with worry.

‘Why are you always in such trouble, Samuel?’ she asked, setting down the tiny candle she carried.  ‘I’ll begin to think that Mother is right about you.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Samuel replied, wincing from the pain.

‘I’m only fooling you, Samuel,’ she said.  He could see her smile in the faint, flickering light.

She set about washing and cleaning Samuel’s face, humming softly to comfort him.  She had a beautiful, soft voice, and she could sing like an angel when she wanted to.  Samuel could barely carry a tune and was in awe of her whenever she broke into melody.

When she was done cleaning him up, she went inside and brought his dinner out to him.  He was famished and managed to wolf it all down, despite his pains.  If it were not for Jessicah, Samuel would surely be utterly and totally lost.

The town soon entered a period of heightened activity, with fairs and markets seemingly every second day.  Samuel heard some talk of a Moon Harvest, but he was not in the mood for such things, preferring to see to his chores and keep away from other nonsense that could get him into trouble.  All such things did was fill the streets with crowds and make his errands all the more difficult.

He was just carrying his water buckets on one such busy street when a hand reached out from the crowd and grasped him by the shoulder.

‘Wait one moment, young man,’ the stranger said, stepping out to tower over him, and Samuel halted nervously.  ‘I noticed your little scuffle in the square some time ago and I see you’re well back on your feet.’

‘Oh?’ Samuel began hesitantly, wondering whether or not to drop his buckets and run.

‘I was impressed with your footwork.  You’re a quick little nipper.  You just have to learn when to cut your losses and run.  It’s not often wise to take on someone twice your size.’

The man was neat and smart looking, a few years older than James.  James is dead, he was forced to remind himself.

‘You know, I could use the services of a high-spirited scamp such as yourself.  I have some errands that you could run for me—just when you have the spare time, mind you.’

‘I don’t often have spare time,’ Samuel informed him flatly.

‘Don’t be so eager to say no, young man.’  He then took a moment to look about the crowd before turning back to Samuel.  ‘You wouldn’t want to miss out on a golden opportunity, would you, Samuel?’

‘I suppose not,’ Samuel replied with a shrug.

The man smiled at this.  ‘If you can find your way to letting me know each time a certain person stays at your inn, I’ll make it worth a half-crown to you.  All you have to do is come to my office on your way to the markets and let me know.  It wouldn’t take you any longer or cause you any trouble—and you would be making a healthy profit for your efforts.’

‘How do you know where I live?’ Samuel asked suspiciously.

‘It’s my job to know everything that goes on in this town.  That’s how I make my living.  That’s why I need your help.’

That seemed fair enough.  ‘Who is it, then?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Who do you want me to watch for you?’  The thought of such a high reward for such a simple task was remarkable.

‘Do you know Mr Frost?’

‘Mr Frost?’ Samuel repeated.  ‘He has a curly moustache and a big fat stomach.  He speaks a bit funny.’

‘Yes, that’s him,’ the man confirmed with a smile.  ‘What do you say?  Do we have an agreement?  It couldn’t cause any harm, could it?  And we would both be on the receiving end of something useful.’

‘Very well,’ Samuel nodded.  The fellow was right—how could it hurt?

The man looked pleased and offered his hand.  Samuel set his buckets down and quickly rubbed his own on his tattered shirt to clean it; then he shook the man’s firm hand vigorously.

‘You can call me Mr Joshua,’ he said.  ‘I work upstairs in the building beside the Two Tigers Merchant-house.  Do you know the one?’

Samuel nodded.  He could probably find it.

‘Very good,’ said the man and pressed a coin into Samuel’s palm.  ‘I’ll expect to see you soon, then.  Let me know when he comes and, of course,’ he added, touching his finger to his nose and winking, ‘this is just between you and me.  Don’t let anyone else know about our little secret.  I’ll explain everything to you eventually if our arrangement is successful but, for now, you’ll just need to trust me—just as I will trust you.’

Samuel nodded and the man promptly continued on his way, leaving Samuel to pick up his heavy buckets and hurry back to the inn with glee.  After pouring the last of the water, he went to his stall and hid his crown up on a shelf under an old container.  It was the first money Samuel had ever had.  It seemed too good to be true.  For once, something exciting was happening to him.

The day Mr Frost appeared atop his large stubborn mare, Samuel could scarcely wait to finish taking care of it and barely had the animal in its stall before he was off down the street to find Mr Joshua.  He flew up the stairs and onto a balcony where several men were sitting idly about, rocking on the heels of their chairs with playing cards littering the floor between them.  Their conversation halted abruptly as they spied Samuel bolt in.

Samuel’s excitement vanished.  The men had cold eyes that crawled over him and left him standing nervously.

‘What do you want?’ one of them then asked, but his voice was not as horrible as Samuel had first expected.

‘Mr Joshua?’ Samuel asked sheepishly.

‘Josh!’ one called out and Mr Joshua curtly appeared from a back room, looking somewhat harried and bothered.  Upon spying Samuel, his frown changed to a look of jubilation.

‘Ah, my boy!’ he called, moving to Samuel and patting him warmly on the shoulder.  The men stopped watching him and one began scraping up the cards at their feet.  ‘How have you been?  I didn’t expect to see you so soon!’

‘Ah...very well thank you, Sir,’ Samuel stammered.  ‘I just thought I would let you know that...’

‘Ah, good, good!’ Mr Joshua interrupted.  ‘How happy I am to see you!  But, unfortunately, I don’t have time to chit-chat just now.  Now, next time you visit me, why don’t you to bring me some of that nice jam from the market?’  And he pressed a couple of coins into Samuel’s palms.

‘Um...which jam, Mr Joshua?’

‘Any jam will do—your favourite.  Now be off with you until next time.  Go on!’

Samuel left, bewildered, as he made down the stairs.  He examined his hand to find one and a half crowns.  Happy at his growing fortune, Samuel skipped down the last few stairs and trotted back home, rattling the coins within his fist as a long line of brightly garbed soldiers went marching by.

The months passed by and winter soon came and left again and the seasons seemed to flit by before Samuel could even notice them.  Sometimes, as he lay in the dark, cold or tired or aching in his muscles, Samuel wondered if he would spend his whole life there in the stables of the Three Toads Inn.  Resolutely, he decided that with all the money he had been saving from Mr Joshua, he would eventually be able to go out and find his fortune.  He had managed to gather quite a tidy sum, for he had never spent even a single coin, except for the one time he bought a tiny handkerchief for Jessicah.

She had remarked upon it in the market and had been overjoyed when Samuel had given it to her.  She had carried it ever since, keeping it tucked tightly in her pocket.

The following winter was a quiet time at the Three Toads Inn and so, on the odd pleasant day, Samuel and Jessicah would go walking down by the river and play in the fields on the other side.  Upstream, the river was shallow and swift and it was wonderful fun trying to get across the smooth, round stones without falling upon their backsides and getting wet.  It was on one such day as this that Samuel and Jessicah returned home to find a very angry uncle, indeed.  He came striding outside when he saw them approach and had a long, thin rod in his hand.  Jessicah squeezed Samuel’s hand and they walked in bravely.

‘You filthy dog!’ the big man roared, directing his fury at Samuel.  ‘Get inside, Jessicah!’ he commanded.  She gave Samuel a desperate glance before hurrying away inside.  Samuel did not mind.  He was used to the tempers of his uncle and aunt and preferred that Jessicah was not there to witness it.  ‘Thief! What have you been stealing of mine?’

‘Nothing, Uncle,’ Samuel stammered, wandering what was the root of the man’s fury this time.

‘Don’t lie to me!  Where did you get all that money?  Such a fortune for a brat like you.  Where did you get it?’

Samuel’s heart seemed to stop in place as he realised his savings had been found and, undoubtedly, plundered.  ‘I’ve been doing some work for a man in the marketplace,’ Samuel tried to explain.

‘Rubbish!’ his uncle spat, bright red in the face.  ‘No one would pay a fool like you for anything, and I’ve told you before not to loiter in the streets with my daughter!  I’ve had it up to here with you,’ and he gestured to his neck to illustrate.  He stood silent for a moment, as if trying to calm himself, before spinning about and stomping away.  Samuel did not know what to do.  He was filled with anger and disbelief.  He knew his uncle well and knew he would never see his money again.  He damned himself for not hiding it better.  A pain at his sides made Samuel realise he was squeezing his hands into fists and he had to deliberately force them to relax.  This time he was not sad.  He was filled with pure rage and wished he could strike his uncle dead.  Without a word, he ran back out into the street.

‘Samuel?’ Mr Joshua said, when he spied the boy waiting at his door.  ‘What brings you here today—and looking so bothered?’

Samuel edged inside Mr Joshua’s office and stood by the tall man’s desk.

‘Come on.  Open your mouth,’ Mr Joshua urged him.

‘My uncle found all my money and now he’s taken it,’ Samuel explained.  ‘I don’t know what to do.’

Mr Joshua looked very thoughtful.  ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ and he scruffed up Samuel’s hair playfully.  ‘Difficulties like this are what life is all about.  You can’t let them get you down.’  He then reached into his pocket and plonked a couple of coins on the desk before Samuel.  ‘I’ve grown quite fond of you, Samuel.  I know about your uncle and aunt and they aren’t the sort of people that should be responsible for good children such as you.  You’ve been working reliably for me all this time.  Take this money.’ And he pushed it towards Samuel.  ‘I know it’s small compared to what you’ve lost, but consider it a gift of goodwill to help you through the hard times, or a bonus for all your good work if you prefer.  You’re still a little young, but perhaps after a few years you can strike out on your own.  For now, it’s best if you go back to your uncle’s inn and stay there.  I know you don’t like it, but you don’t really have much choice.  You can save up a little money again and bide your time and, before you know it, you’ll have a fat purse under your pillow once more and a little house of your own.  How does that sound?’

Samuel tucked the coins into his pocket and felt much better after hearing Mr Joshua’s words.  ‘Thank you, Mr Joshua.’

‘But I think it’s best if I keep your savings here from now on, Samuel, given that you’ve already lost everything once.  Any time you need some money, you can and come see me.  How does that sound?’

‘Oh, I can’t thank you enough, Mr Joshua!’ Samuel responded.  ‘You’ve helped me so much.’

‘My pleasure, my boy!  Now be off with you and don’t worry about your uncle.  One day, you won’t need him or his inn.  But come back tomorrow!  I will have some errands for you, I’m sure.’

‘Of course!’ Samuel said, beaming with glee.  ‘See you tomorrow!’ And he scampered out the door, skipping like a youthful buck once again.

Samuel continued working at the inn and helping Mr Joshua whenever he could.  He learned to take his uncle’s ravings and beatings with barely a whimper, although these episodes became more frequent as Samuel vanished for longer and longer periods into the city before coming back to the inn.  He learned he could get up early and do most of the feeding and cleaning before even catching sight of his uncle and aunt, and then be out until well after nightfall, when he could carry water and finish the other chores.  In this way, his days became far more bearable, and he could run errands for Mr Joshua and build on his savings.

The months and seasons passed by steadily, but little else changed in the town.  However, with each new set of clothes he outgrew, Samuel also grew a little fleeter of foot and a little stronger in the arm and his day-to-day life became that much easier.  He could now heave the saddlery around with ease and his uncle had no need at all to step out into the stables to help him—which was exactly how both of them liked it.  He could finish his chores at the Three Toads Inn with little fuss and spend the majority of his time helping Mr Joshua.

Mostly, Samuel would run messages across town to other businessmen, or take them parcels.  Sometimes, he would be stopped by the town guards and they would ask him many questions and sometimes search him, but Samuel always had a ready excuse and the guards knew he worked at the Three Toads Inn, so it was a perfect pretext for running all over the town.  When he did have a parcel from Mr Joshua, Samuel knew all the ways to go about the city where the guards would not find him.  He was spry and as nimble as a cat and could scurry through holes and leap over fences in a flash.  Samuel knew the other errand boys of Stable Canthem and they would often sit on the rooftops, throwing stones into the alleys and talking about various happenings throughout the town.  They traded the secrets of Stable Canthem and all the ways to get from north to south and east to west.  They passed many hours playing their own games of kick-ball in the streets and squares and markets, and Samuel also had his fair share of scuffles with friends and adversaries alike, often resulting in numerous bruises, black eyes and blood noses.

Samuel had never dared open any of Mr Joshua’s packages, but the other boys told him they were just letters, documents and sometimes items or precious things—probably stolen, so the street boys would say, but Samuel was not so sure.

Samuel told Mr Joshua everything he learned from the other boys, for he considered Mr Joshua his friend, and Mr Joshua would laugh at most of the comments he heard.

‘Don’t think poorly of me, Samuel,’ he would say.  ‘Some of these stories have been exaggerated to the status of fantasy, but I must admit some are true.  I’m not a thief, but neither are the men of this town saints—especially those in command.  They’re all Imperials and they have little regard for those of us born of the land of Marlen.  Natives like me who try to do business have a very difficult time.  We have to work in secrecy, beneath the eyes of the Imperials.  If our governors had their way, they would send everything of value here back to Turia.  I take nothing from the poor or the needy—only the rich and pompous Imperials that no one here in Stable Canthem has any liking for.’

Samuel would nod at this.  He did not really care what it was Mr Joshua did.  He helped Samuel and gave him plenty of money, and Samuel liked to evade the town guards and race around with the other street boys.  It gave him some excitement and was far more interesting than staying at the Three Toads Inn.  More importantly, Samuel regarded his work for Mr Joshua as a means to escape his uncle and aunt.  When he had enough money, he could be free of them or even start some business of his own.

Occasionally, Samuel would sit down at the small town docks and watch the riverboats gliding by on the water.  They carried goods and people downstream to distant towns and cities, and Samuel dreamed of one day slipping aboard with Jessicah and disappearing from Stable Canthem forever.  He had heard tales of all the wondrous places in Amandia and of all the great lands out across the ocean.  He hoped he could one day be away with her and they would travel together and have great adventures and find glorious treasures.  He knew it was just a dream, but Samuel had little else to think about.  He kept counting his savings in his head and looking out after the boats as they slid away, wishing he was aboard one even now.

It was a cool and pleasant evening when Samuel was darting down an alley he used as a shortcut quite frequently.  He turned a corner, aiming to come out in the middle of West Street, and he ran straight into a wall of flesh.  He was knocked backwards and sprawled over, blinking with astonishment while he gathered his wits.  Rough hands picked him up and, with sudden dread, Samuel realised he had run straight into some of the town guard.  Three of them towered over him and a set of hands held him firmly.

‘So we’ve caught a street rat have we?’ the middle guard asked.  Samuel knew these men well.  They had chased him often and had caught and beaten many an errand boy.

‘I’m just on my way home, Sir,’ Samuel explained, bearing a smile.

‘Very well,’ the tallest guard replied.  ‘We’ll just see what you have to give us first.’

Samuel swallowed.  He had an envelope tucked into his shirt that was bound for Merchant Bellows and he dreaded it being discovered.  They must have read his mind because, as quick as a flash, the shortest guard had his rough hands rummaging about under Samuel’s clothes.

‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed and he had the envelope out and was tearing it open without a pause.  ‘I think it’s for me!’

‘Wait!’ Samuel cried.  ‘That’s for my uncle!’

‘We’ll see, lad,’ the central guard grunted, keeping a firm hold of Samuel’s arm, ‘but I’ll wager it’s no more for your uncle than I’m likely to wed your wretched aunt.

The short guard was squinting as he peered over the envelope’s contents. ‘It’s a title to some land signed in the name of Merchant Bellows.’

The men all laughed.

‘Well, not nearly as much of a treasure as I’d hoped,’ the short guard said, ‘but worth a coin or two, I’m sure.’

‘I’m sure the good Merchant Bellows will be happy to have it back for a price,’ the taller guard spoke.

Samuel gulped again.

‘We’ll go see him tomorrow,’ the central guard said.  ‘And now we have this brat, we’ll go get some coins from his uncle as well.’

‘Good idea,’ put in the taller guard.  ‘It’s been a while since he paid us any dues.’

They dragged Samuel back across town to the Three Toads with him kicking and swinging his arms at them all the way.

‘Don’t take me back!’ he cried out, and the three men laughed as one.  Townspeople giggled and sniggered at the sight and parted way as the boy was towed to his fate.

Samuel was thrown to the floor of the inn while the guards called out for his uncle.  His feet barely touched the ground before he was up and running, pushing past his bewildered aunt who was coming to see who was making all the ruckus.  He leapt out the kitchen door, eager to be away before his uncle learned what had happened.  Jessicah was there, throwing some bread to the chickens.

‘Jessicah!’ he said, panting and heaving.  ‘I’ve got to go!  I’m in big trouble now.  I think Uncle will kill me!’

‘Samuel, what is it?’ she asked him with obvious concern.

‘No time to explain.  I’m off.  I’ll come back and see you soon!’  And with that Samuel darted out into the street, narrowly avoiding being trampled by a team of oxen that was being herded along by a long-sticked shepherd boy.  As he scampered away, Samuel could already hear the howls of his aunt and uncle, cursing his name in every manner possible.

Samuel ran as fast as he could to Mr Joshua’s and bounded up the stairs into the first room.  As usual, the men were lounging around and they called casually for Mr Joshua on sight of the boy.

‘What have we here, Samuel?  Why such a dramatic entry?’  Mr Joshua asked as he led Samuel into his office.

‘The guards caught me,’ Samuel explained.  His eyes burned, but he refused to let any tears come, and he was furious and embarrassed by the urge to cry, which made him feel worse.  ‘They took the letter for Merchant Bellows and told my uncle about it.  My uncle will kill me if he catches me—I mean really kill me.  The guards said he would have to pay them because they caught me.’

Mr Joshua sat upon his desk and thought for a few moments, stroking his clean-shaven chin.

‘Well,’ he explained, ‘I’m afraid this marks the end of our business together, Samuel.  I can’t use you any more to run errands.  The guards will always be looking for you to make some money for themselves.  In fact, you had better lay low for a time.  I’m sure Merchant Bellows will want to get his hands on you, also—he knows you well.  This will cost me dearly in business, Samuel, but it’s not something I didn’t expect to happen eventually and it’s happened many times before.’  Mr Joshua walked around the circumference of the room, rubbing his chin in thought.  ‘You’ve been a good lad for me, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  Luckily enough, another opportunity of work has arisen and I have been mulling the idea over in my head for a few days now.  It seems this situation has helped settle the matter.  I know a man who owns another inn of sorts here in town and I know that he is currently in need of a new stablehand of your talents.  It will be much better than your uncle’s work and I am sure they will treat you well.  You can sleep here on my floor for tonight and tomorrow we’ll go and see about that job.  But for now, I must finish some business, so you can go wait in the town for a time,’ he handed Samuel a crown, ‘and come back after dark.  Remember, it’s very important that no one sees you, so go hide up on one of those rooftops of yours.’

Samuel couldn’t believe his luck.  He rubbed his eyes, feeling foolish at himself for almost crying like a baby, and thanked Mr Joshua wholeheartedly.

When evening finally arrived, Samuel returned to Mr Joshua’s office, walking past the card-playing men in the first room, and was overjoyed to see some thick rugs on the floor with blankets and a pillow.

‘Sleep well, lad,’ Mr Joshua said, opening the door to leave.  ‘I still have a little work to do out here, so why don’t you get some shut-eye and I’ll be back in the morning.’

With that, he closed the door.  Samuel extinguished the lantern and then pushed his way into his bed of rugs, amazed by its softness and warmth.  As he lay with his eyes closed, the voices beyond the door became a low buzz and he soon found himself asleep.  A strange sense of calm had replaced all the horrible dread and fears of earlier in the day and he felt comforted by the reassuring words of Mr Joshua.  The man was truly the first friend Samuel had found in a long time.

Samuel was surprised to be woken by Mr Joshua well after dawn.

‘Sleep in?’  Mr Joshua asked, stepping around Samuel’s bed.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well, thank you, Mr Joshua.’

‘That’s good.  We both have a busy day ahead so let’s go get some breakfast together and then we’ll see about your new job.’

Samuel hopped up and folded his rugs while Mr Joshua arranged some papers on his desk.  Samuel plucked up his bag and they both then went into the markets, where Mr Joshua bought them some fresh bread and fruit to breakfast upon.  As they walked to the far side of town, where the buildings and houses began to thin, Mr Joshua started to explain a few things.

‘You see, Samuel, not only do I trade in goods and items but in information as well.  I’m sure you realise the potential value of a good secret.  Mr Frost, for example, is a close associate of mine, but he works for a group of men that don’t like me very much at all.  I can’t meet Mr Frost directly, so whenever I knew he was in town, thanks to you, I could arrange to catch up with him in secret.  He would usually give me some snippets of information that I could trade or sell or simply use to gain more business.’

‘I’m glad I could help, Mr Joshua, but what will you do now?  How will you meet with him and do all your business?’

‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ Mr Joshua said kindly.  ‘You have done good work for me, but you are far from being the only one I have working for me.  Now, we have the opportunity to do each other a favour, Samuel.  I help you and you help me, Samuel—that’s the way it works.  Do you understand?’

Samuel nodded.

‘As I have already told you, there is another inn here in Stable Canthem where I can get you some work, but there are certain things you must do for me while you are there.  You see, this new inn is a little unusual.  It’s for men who belong to a rather peculiar organisation.  And if I could find out what their organisation is doing, I’d be greatly appreciative and, of course, it would help my business.  So, what I want you to do is find a way to get the names of the men who stay there—there will only ever be men—and tell them to me, as well as anything you hear them say about where they are going or what they’ve been doing.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘Are they Imperials, Mr Joshua?’

‘Hmm, many of them will be but some of them aren’t.  Their group is certainly Imperial, so you should be careful what you say to them all the same.  Now, here’s my friend, Mr Sparcock,’ Mr Joshua said as they met a man who stood idly by in the street.  He was a lanky, untidy-looking character who seemed nervous of everything that caught his eye.  He was holding a small bag loosely in one hand and Mr Joshua eyed the man’s appearance with some disdain.  ‘Mr Sparcock will take you to the inn and help you to get the job.  I cannot go, for I have other business to take care of—I’m still trying to undo some of the mess you have put me into.  Mr Sparcock should do well in my place.’  He stressed that point, eyeing Mr Sparcock directly.  ‘I want you to try very hard to get this job, Samuel.  It’s important to me, and for you, too.  Maybe it’s your only chance to get another job in this town.  And I want you to call Mr Sparcock, “Uncle”.  I think it will help you get the job.  Can you remember that?’  Samuel nodded.  ‘And can you, Mr Sparcock?’  The other man nodded back.  ‘Good,’ Mr Joshua continued.  ‘I wish you luck, Samuel.  Oh, and please don’t come and visit me any more until I send for you, Samuel.  Remember that.  I don’t want the guards thinking you are still working for me.’

Samuel nodded again and followed Mr Sparcock, weaving his way through the people in the street.

‘Here’s your bag, kid,’ Mr Sparcock said, pushing the small, black bag he was holding towards Samuel.

Samuel opened the bag and peered inside.  It contained a few items of clothing that Samuel could only assume were for him, judging from their size.  He slung the bag over his shoulder and followed on after the lanky man.

They soon came to a high wall on the outskirts of town and Mr Sparcock shook a small bell that hung at the gates.  After several minutes and several rings, a long-nosed, balding man opened the gate and examined them.

‘Yes?’ he enquired.

‘I hear you’re in need of a new stablehand,’ Mr Sparcock said in his thin voice, coughing and clearing his throat, ‘and I’m leaving town.  I thought my nephew could use the work.’

The man peered at them both for a few moments, looking doubtful.  ‘Come in,’ he finally said, sighing and shaking his head.

They stepped inside and found themselves in a great walled garden, with immaculately trimmed lawns, shrubs and flowerbeds.  They followed a cobbled path towards the greater central building, where their host led them inside through a set of doors.  They came into a study and, after offering them seats, their guide left them, disappearing back into the hall.  Shortly, an older gentleman with a pleasant face and clear blue eyes came in.  He was surrounded with a fine shimmering radiance, a healthy glow unlike any Samuel had seen.  Some people are far healthier than others, Samuel noted, but no one in Stable Canthem had a shine as tidy as this man.

‘I am Peter Kelvin,’ the man began, sitting opposite them.  His voice was slow and his words well pronounced and carefully spoken.  ‘I am the caretaker of this establishment.  I find it quite curious that you should know of my sudden need for a stablehand.’

‘Word gets around, Mr Kelvin,’ Sparcock explained, shifting nervously in his seat.

‘Yes.  So it seems, indeed.  Last night, my stableboy disappeared mysteriously and today a replacement comes knocking on my door.  Very curious, indeed.’  He turned his attention to Samuel.  Mr Kelvin looked as if to speak, but stopped with his mouth already half-open, as if caught by surprise.  For some moments, he scrutinised Samuel with a raised eyebrow, almost seeming to stare straight through the boy.  Then, he coughed and drew a handkerchief from his pocket to rub at his eyes, before continuing as before.  ‘He does seem a little young.  Do you have experience, young man?’

‘He does,’ Sparcock interjected.  Mr Kelvin raised an eyebrow at the comment before returning his eyes towards the boy.

‘Yes, Sir,’ Samuel began.  ‘I’ve worked at the Three Toads Inn for a long time now—ever since I first came to Stable Canthem.’

Mr Kelvin accepted the statement with a nod.  ‘Very good.  What about your parents?  Where are they?’ he asked.

Samuel looked to the floor.  ‘My family were all killed, so my uncle looks after me now.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.  Very well.  You shall do for the time being or until my old stableboy turns up again.  Kans may need to help you while you settle in.  I will pay two Imperial crowns each week, board and lodging inclusive.  Can you start at once?’

Samuel almost baulked on hearing the terribly low wage, but he had few other options at this point, so he had no choice but to accept.

‘I have my bag ready, Sir,’ Samuel declared, showing his bag to prove it.

‘He has his bag,’ Sparcock confirmed, nodding.

Mr Kelvin scrutinised Mr Sparcock with some contempt, his brow creased and wrinkled, before turning back to Samuel with a warm smile.  ‘Very well, young man, go out to the stables and become acquainted with the place.  Good day, Mr Sparcock.  Thank you for your visit.’

With that they all stood and Mr Kelvin let them out.

‘Well done, lad,’ Sparcock bent over and said in a whisper.  ‘Joshua will contact you when he needs you.’

Samuel nodded and wandered off to find his new workplace, while Sparcock was led by the long-nosed fellow out to the front gate.

CHAPTER THREE

Magician’s Lights

THE STABLES OF the Burning Oak were as clean and organised as his uncle’s were dirty and disorderly.  The floor was spotlessly clean and the half-dozen horses stabled there were all well bred, with fine posture and gleaming coats—not like the ragged nags he had always groomed before.  Beside the entrance, he found a small room with a proper bed and a shelf above it and a chest for keeping his belongings in.  The drawers were all hanging out as if the last stableboy had left in an almighty hurry, with one stocking still lying on the floor.  The room had a door he could close and was not at all draughty like the stall his uncle had given him—it was like a real room.

Samuel was putting his new clothes carefully into the drawers when a knock came at the door and Mr Kelvin entered, his hands clasped together in front of him.

‘Please forgive me for seeming a little absent-minded at times,’ he said, smiling down, ‘I do have a lot on my mind at the moment.  What is your name, young man?’

‘Samuel, Sir.’

‘Very well, Samuel.  Breakfast is served at seven, lunch at noon and dinner at seven.  Yours will be given to you at the kitchen door and you should bring it back to your room to finish.  Our guests demand the highest privacy and so you should not bother them in the slightest.  You may not wander around inside the inn, but you are free to roam the gardens as you choose.  Also, you strictly cannot leave the grounds without my approval and most important of all—should you learn or see anything that could be considered...well, let’s say, should you learn or see anything at all, you should not speak of it to anyone.  Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel responded with a gulp.

Mr Kelvin smiled then.  ‘Excellent! Here is your first month’s pay in advance.’ And he handed Samuel his coins and promptly turned and left, leaving Samuel grinning into his palms with glee.

It took Samuel several days to adjust himself to his new environment, with the long-nosed and ever-brooding servant, Kans, helping him begrudgingly whenever he had a question.  Samuel quickly learned the most surprising thing about the Burning Oak—everyone there wore entirely black clothes without exception and there were no women at all.  Unlike the men of the town, very few of them sported beards or long hair, seeming to focus fastidiously on keeping themselves well groomed, having everything combed and tucked into place.  Most came and went wearing an entirely black cloak that covered black shirt and black trousers, so that they looked very mysterious, and they spoke little, although they were usually polite and well spoken when he did manage to wrestle some words out of them.  Samuel was instructed to leave them be and not to bother them, which he thought was fine, because the few times he had tried speaking with the men, they had stared at him intensely—as if there was some bizarre object growing from the side of his head.  They would always say very little and then find some excuse to send him away again.

There was always much work to be done at the Burning Oak, yet Samuel found the experience very rewarding.  He actually took pleasure in keeping the stable neat and the horses well groomed and fed.  The guests of the inn came and went day and night, so that he was often woken at all hours. But they were always polite and patient with Samuel when he struggled with the saddles and harnesses, even helping him when he faltered, which was quite often at first, for many of these horses were tall—great mountains of muscle compared to the stubborn ponies he was used to.

Samuel was sometimes given time in the afternoons to do as he wished and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he found himself with more time than he knew what to do with.  Kans, somehow knowing when he was scaling the walls or adventuring within the branches of a tree, would scurry out from the inn and tell him off, saying how such conduct was intolerable.  Unruly behaviour was scowled upon by the inn and its guests and so Samuel was forbidden to make noise or do anything that might disturb their thoughts.  For a boy such as he, this meant anything remotely enjoyable.

Samuel had found a small box of chalk hidden away in the back of the stable and he pushed a few short pieces into his pocket.  That afternoon, he sat by the furthest wall in the garden and drew simple pictures with his chalk on the smooth paving stones at the wall’s base.  He thought it such a harmless thing, as he could always rub the marks away with his sleeve, but he was always wary of the guests, lest he should somehow disturb them.  He drew people and animals and beasts that he had heard of; battles and castles and rivers and moats.  Finally, as the afternoon sun waned and his hands and sleeves were white with chalk, Samuel lay beside his drawings and looked up at the sky.  He had not been allowed from the confines of the inn for all his time here so far.  He could often hear wagons and people passing by just beyond the wall, and longed to be away from the quiet, strange, black-clothed men and experience the colours and smells and sights and sensations of the town and the market place.  Most of all, he missed Jessicah and her reassurance.  He did not have to fear a beating from his uncle here, but neither did he have any friends to talk with.  Along with the boredom, he found himself feeling terribly lonely.

As his thoughts turned to Jessicah, Samuel sat up and began dragging his chalk once more across the stones.  He was surprised to look down and find that he had scrawled some letters and decided to see what words he could remember.  He wrote ball and boy and dog and bone.  He wrote three whole columns of the words he could remember, and then he began on the numbers, progressing from one to twenty, before a voice called his name from afar, and Samuel was up, scuffing quickly at the markings with his feet before running back to the stable.

Another guest had arrived and Samuel was summoned to care for the horse he had arrived on.  Kans came to help him check the animal over and the rest of the afternoon was taken up with a list of chores that Kans had produced from thin air.  As Samuel swept and brushed and polished and tidied, he scowled at the pointy-nosed man from afar.

The months, at first slow, had been passing very quickly and Samuel now felt quite proficient at his job.  He had found the perfect balance of busyness that kept Kans satisfied and also allowed Samuel free time to rest or do as he pleased.  The guests often commented on his good work and he was pleased when they did so.  Although he was now firmly set in a daily routine, something unusual began happening in the odd hours of the night.  Samuel found himself often waking for no apparent reason.  He would lie there, staring at the roof, unable to return to sleep for some time.  Perhaps he was catching a cold.  He had not been ill since leaving the filthy stall he had slept in at his uncle’s.  This room was like a real room in a real house, all cosy and comfortable.  It was the most pleasant room he could imagine, with a soft bed and drawers and everything he could want for.  His life seemed ever-changing, but at last it was changing for the better.

Samuel was bursting with excitement when he was finally given an errand to run to the market.  The cook at the Burning Oak was simply known as Cook, and she was chiefly responsible for ordering the food and wine to be consumed, but on this particular day, she had finished all her supplies of some particular spice, so Samuel had been sent to fetch some more.  She had given him a note with exactly what to buy, and how much, so he could not possibly make any mistakes.  He had been surprised, at first, to learn there was a woman in the Burning Oak, but then Samuel supposed that she was just a worker, the same as he was.  She was actually quite friendly and very talkative, so Samuel found himself often lingering outside the kitchen door or helping her in the kitchen with the peeling and cutting of vegetables.

Naturally, upon being set free back into the town, Samuel went directly to his uncle’s inn and, peeping through the door, managed to get Jessicah’s attention.  She nearly cried out with glee at seeing him and they dashed out into the street together while he told her all the news and what he had been up to.

‘How are Aunt and Uncle?’ Samuel asked at one point.

‘The same,’ she replied.  ‘They were so angry the day you left.  They had to pay ten crowns to those guards.  It’s probably best you did go, because I’m sure Father would have thrown you out.  But the next day, someone came in and gave my father a black eye.  He thinks that you put someone up to it, somehow.  Oh, I didn’t know what had happened to you, Samuel.  I’m so glad to see you!’

He told her all about his new job and the strange people and the beautiful garden.  After a time, he realised he had been away far too long and so he kissed her on the cheek and rushed off to find the merchant described on his note, promising to visit when he could.  It was by no means enough time with Jessicah, but if he was tardy during his first time out from the Burning Oak, they would be far less likely to let him out again soon, so he hurried on with his errand as quickly as he could.

As he hastened back with the large jar of odorous spice firmly under one arm, Samuel was surprised to find Mr Joshua waiting for him on the side of Darmour Street.  There was a boy with him that Samuel had played kick-ball with many times.  His name was Fennian and he was a year or two younger than Samuel—a strangely quiet boy.

‘Hello, Samuel,’ Mr Joshua greeted him warmly.  ‘I believe you know Fennian.  He’s doing a bit of work for me now.’

‘Good morning, Mr Joshua,’ Samuel returned.  ‘Hi, Fennian.’  The other boy raised his hand in greeting without any hint of interest.

‘How are your new employers treating you?’ Mr Joshua asked.

‘Wonderfully.  Of course, there’s lots of work, but they treat me very well.’

‘Good…good,’ Mr Joshua mused.  ‘So…can you tell me anything of interest?’

‘Only a few names, I’m sorry, Mr Joshua.  I’m not allowed to talk to the men there and I’m not allowed inside the inn, either.’

‘Well, names will do for now, but you’ll have to give me something else eventually.  Do you have a list?’

‘In my head,’ Samuel said slyly and Mr Joshua laughed.  ‘Let’s see.  Mr Kelvin is the boss.  He’s always there.  And so is Kans, his servant and Cook; she’s the cook.  The others are never there for very long at all.  Mr Reese, Mr Castle and Mr Finnius Ickle all left together last week.  Mr Wren came and left on the very same day, in an awful hurry, and now we have Mr Giles, Mr Geoffries and Mr Copperpot, a man called Malcolm Sloan and some other man whose name I don’t know yet; all staying for at least a week.’

Mr Joshua was very pleased.  ‘Just a few names, indeed!  You’re a very bright lad, Samuel.  That Mr Wren fellow interests me greatly and a few other names help, as well.  Keep trying to get more information and I’ll contact you soon.  Find somewhere safe for this,’ and he gave Samuel three crowns.  ‘You can’t come and see me, so you may need a little money.’

With that, he turned and left, with Fennian dragging his feet behind.  Samuel had to run as hard as he could to get back in good time but, when he did, Cook was quite surprised to see him so soon.  Apparently, the last stablehand was always much slower and took all day to run even the simplest errand.  Cook seemed very pleased.  Samuel smiled, making a mental note to take his time in future.

Samuel was kneeling in a flowerbed, pulling up weeds by the roots according to the precise instructions from Kans.  A small pile of plucked weeds was forming beside him and he was working quite carefully, yet somehow he had become dirty from head to toe.  He was having a busy day so far, with Kans giving him many a chore in the gardens, stating that he had much to do inside, himself.  Samuel was always itching with curiosity to see inside the inn.  Except for that first day, Samuel had set not a single toe on the finely polished floorboards inside, save for helping Cook in her kitchen.

Samuel wondered who the people of the Burning Oak really were.  The brightness around them marked them apart from other people, even more so than their drab clothing habit.  It seemed to be a sign of something different, something special and it made him more and more curious all the time.  He planned to ask some questions and try to learn something of the truth, but it would not be easy getting answers out of any of these elusive guests.

Footsteps beside him suddenly caught his attention and he looked up to discern the figure—its face a black silhouette against the bright glare of the sun.

‘Hello, Samuel,’ said the man.  It was Mr Kelvin.  He bobbed down to squat beside Samuel.  ‘You’re getting very dirty, indeed, my son.’  Samuel shrugged at this and wiped his running nose with his arm.  ‘I was walking in the garden this morning when I noticed some of your chalk-marks by the wall over there and I realised I’ve been irresponsible in ignoring your education.  The last lad here was much older than you, and admittedly quite a dense boy, but I think you have potential that should not be wasted.  You do fine work in the stables.  I think you should be rewarded beyond mere board, lodgings and your wage.  An education is far more valuable than any of these things.’

Samuel realised his sums and pictures, drawn time after time on the same spot, had been making a mess.  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Kelvin,’ he said hastily.  ‘I’ll wash it off at once.’

He leapt up, but Mr Kelvin raised a solemn hand.

‘No, my boy,’ he reassured.  ‘I don’t mind that, but I think I’ll get you some paper and a writing set, so that you don’t have to sprawl yourself out in the garden and I shall begin teaching you to read, write and calculate some sums, myself.  I have some free time on occasion.  Would you like that?’

Samuel was not sure.  His father had always been in favour of education and Samuel did enjoy it, but he had spoken little to Mr Kelvin and was not sure if he would enjoy such tutoring.  Most grown-ups, after all, had little patience for youth.  Then again, he supposed, he could always find a way to stop once he started.  He nodded to Mr Kelvin.

A smile beamed across Mr Kelvin’s sober brow.  ‘Very good.  After you finish here, go wash yourself, then fetch some dinner from Cook and I’ll come and see you.  It’s a shame you cannot come to my study,’ he said, half to himself, ‘but we do what we can, don’t we?  Goodbye, Samuel.’

With that, Mr Kelvin stood up and turned away, strolling in his usual unhurried manner back towards the inn, his black cloak hem just floating above the path.

Samuel was polishing a saddle by lamplight at the back of the stables, when Mr Kelvin appeared at the doorway, carrying an armful of rolled papers.

‘Ah, Samuel,’ he called, smiling and observing the walls around him.  ‘What a wonderful job you’ve made of this old stable.  Everything in its place!  Come, let us begin.’

Samuel carefully latched the lid back onto the jar of varnish and followed Mr Kelvin into his room.  Mr Kelvin was looking the place over.

‘This will never do,’ he remarked, shaking his head.  ‘I’ll arrange tomorrow for a study desk.  We can’t have you writing on your lap.’

Mr Kelvin sat down upon Samuel’s bed and laid out the papers.  He drew out a thin book, a small black jar and a feather that had been tucked inside his shirt and laid them out carefully.  Samuel sat next to him.

‘This,’ Mr Kelvin began, pointing to the jar, ‘is an inkwell.  The ink is very strong, so beware not to spill it or there will be a stubborn stain, indeed.’  Mr Kelvin carefully unscrewed the tiny cap from the jar and dipped the pointed end of the feather in it.  ‘You dip the quill, like so, with just enough ink on the nib and then you are ready to write.  It’s much better than dusty old chalk.’

He unrolled a piece of paper beside them on the bed and, holding it with one hand, drew a single short line; the number one, Samuel thought.

‘This will never do,’ Mr Kelvin muttered to himself, perturbed by the difficulties of writing upon a mattress.  ‘Tomorrow night I will show you properly, but tonight, I guess this will have to do.  Now, once you have written what you will, or the ink is exhausted, you blot the parchment thus, or it will run.’  He demonstrated by patting the ink with a small piece of blotting paper.

Samuel had seen all this before in Mr Joshua’s office, but he was intrigued with the precision and care that Mr Kelvin took.  Samuel had only written with chalk or a charcoal marker before.  He twitched with excitement.

‘Now, Samuel.  What do we have here?’

Samuel examined the writing paper.  ‘A number one?’

Mr Kelvin smiled and nodded.  ‘Very good, Samuel.  Number one.  It is the smallest number that can be, for before that, there is no single thing.  It is the beginning number.  All things must begin somewhere, and this is our beginning.  Before number one—there is nothing.’

Samuel was mystified by his comments, but then remembered something Jessicah had told him.  ‘But what about zero?’ Samuel asked.  ‘You can have zero crowns, can’t you?—even half a crown?  I learnt that before from my cousin.’

‘Can you?’ Mr Kelvin asked.  ‘Go get me zero sheep, zero ships or zero apples?  You cannot, for less than one of anything does not exist, except in our minds as a concept—for there is only something, or a lack of something.  You cannot cut a nothing in half and have half a nothing.  If you cut an apple in half, your mind tells you that you have half an apple.  In reality, you have one apple half.  You can never have less than one something, or you have nothing.’

Samuel was now very confused.

Mr Kelvin smiled.  ‘Let me try another example.  Of course, you can have a half-crown or a half a bucket of water, but again, these are only our own concepts.  Our minds attempt to simplify the world around us so we can better understand it.  A half-crown is only called a half-crown for that is what it is worth and, not too long ago, it actually was a crown that was cut in half.  Now, we actually have a coin with a half-crown value.  Tomorrow, try to think of anything you can find that is not a whole thing, or itself comprised of many, one things.’  Samuel was still lost and the more Mr Kelvin tried explaining, the worse it became.  ‘One is the only real number.  The others are merely for our convenience.’  Mr Kelvin finally realised he was talking above the boy’s head and changed his tack.  ‘I’m sorry.  These concepts are for future days.  Now, Samuel, I would like you to make me a one.  I know it is a simple task for you, but the beginning is always a good place to start.  That was actually the point I was trying to make before I so terribly digressed.’

He handed the quill to Samuel who carefully dipped the end into the inkwell and withdrew it again.  A great blob of black fluid hung from its tip.

Mr Kelvin drew a small rag from his pocket.  ‘Now, that is far too much.  It will puddle on the parchment and ruin everything.’  He took the quill from Samuel, wiped it, and then handed it back.  ‘Try again.’

Samuel did and this time Mr Kelvin nodded approvingly.  Samuel put the nib to the paper and dragged out a line.  The nib scratched loudly against the grain of the paper and the line resembled a wobbly twig.  Samuel was not happy with it at all.  He could do far better with his chalk on the stones.

‘That’s fine for a first attempt, Samuel,’ Mr Kelvin lauded, smiling.  ‘Only practice is needed.  Experience is the greatest teacher.  I can instruct you, but only you can learn, and practice, proper practice, is the surest way to learn.’

Samuel wished Mr Kelvin would talk more simply.  The man could not finish with yes or no, but insisted on tacking a whole lecture to the end of every sentence.

Mr Kelvin stood.  ‘I will leave these with you, Samuel.’

‘Is that all?’ Samuel asked.

‘Probably too much.  Practise your ones.  Get used to the feel of the pen on the parchment.  Fill about three pages for tonight and tomorrow we shall do more.’

‘Thank you, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel said.  ‘What is this book?’ he asked, holding the small object up.  It bore a single stylised word on the cover that Samuel could not recognise.

‘It is a lesson book.  It says introduction.  You may browse through it if you like, but don’t read too much for now or it will only confuse you.’

Samuel placed it back down.  ‘Thank you.’

Mr Kelvin nodded and turned from the room.  Pausing in the doorway, Mr Kelvin stood a moment and looked back at Samuel.  He peered in at the boy, as if trying to perceive some tiny detail, just as he had done on that first day.  Samuel tried to ignore the man staring in at him and looked down at his paper.  When he looked up again, Mr Kelvin was gone, with his boots sounding on the stable floor and then crunching out into the yard towards the main building, softer and softer until they became too distant to hear.

Samuel was excited to use his new quill.  He at once spread the parchment out on the floor and placed some objects on the corners to hold it flat: his shoes, a horseshoe and a couple of stones.  He held his lower lip between his teeth as he carefully scratched out a page of ones.  He often had to try and blot up a terrible mess or wipe the ink-laden quill.  When he was done, he examined his creation.  The page seemed scrawled with flattened, skinny slugs.  The next page was not nearly so much fun and, by the last, his ones were terrible, as it had become somewhat tiresome.  This learning was not as much fun as he expected.  With Jessicah, it was always giggles and games.

Having become bored, Samuel screwed the cap back onto the inkwell and rolled over, facing the roof.  He picked up the lesson book and turned to the first page.  It seemed aged, for the words were faded and the pages well bent.  It bore only a number one and below it was ‘one’ spelt out and below that was a picture of an apple.  The second page had number two with ‘two’ written below that and two apples.  It continued in that manner with numbers and apples up to twenty apples.  By then, the page was filled with apples and Samuel realised how much simpler it was to draw a twenty than to draw all those apples.  Samuel was confident up to the twelfth page, for he had practised counting to twelve often, but above that, it took him longer.  He tried opening to a page and covering the number before he could recognise it, and then counted all the apples, comparing his answer.  It usually took a few times to get the numbers in correct order and he had particular trouble with eighteen and nineteen.  Finally, he became tired, blew out his lamp and crawled beneath his covers, with numbers and apples fading from his eyes.

Samuel saw nothing of Mr Kelvin all the next day until, shortly after dinner, he and Kans came grunting into the stable, struggling with a desk between them.  Samuel quickly tidied a spot in his room as they shoved it in though the doorway and over into the corner.

‘Thank you, Kans,’ Mr Kelvin puffed, wiping his brow.

Kans turned and walked out wordlessly, not looking very happy at all.

‘Now, you can put your writing things on here and have somewhere proper to work,’ Mr Kelvin explained.

Samuel did so and by then, Kans had reappeared with a small chair.  After pushing it beneath the desk, he again stalked away, grumbling loudly so as to be well heard.

‘How did you fare last night?’ Mr Kelvin asked.

‘Not too bad, I suppose,’ Samuel answered and unfolded the papers for Mr Kelvin’s nodding inspection.

‘You supposed correctly, Samuel.  They are not too bad at all.  Did you read the book?’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I can manage up to twenty...almost.’

‘Show me,’ Mr Kelvin requested.

Samuel began rattling off numbers one by one until he reached sixteen.  After that, he had to think a little bit before the next came to him.  He knew he had done it correctly when there was nothing left but twenty to say.

‘Twenty!’ he said with glee.

‘Very good, Samuel,’ Mr Kelvin said.  ‘But what about thirteen?’

Samuel froze.  Had he forgotten thirteen?  He must have.  He had ignored it in his haste.  ‘Oh,’ he said with shame.

‘Don’t worry.  You did very well.  You have nearly mastered counting.’

‘Aren’t there a lot more numbers, Mr Kelvin?’

Mr Kelvin laughed aloud.  ‘Of course, but you don’t need to say them all one by one to know them.  It’s all very repetitive.  After tonight, you will see.  I have the next book.’  He patted his pocket.  ‘Now,  I would like you to write up to twenty for me.  Take your time.  I will help you.’

Samuel prepared his quill and then began to write.  He was amazed when his very first number, one, was straight and true.

‘I couldn’t do it that well last night,’ Samuel noted.

‘Practice,’ Mr Kelvin repeated, echoing his words from the night before. ‘Practice is certainly important but, once you become tired, it no longer serves its purpose.  Every stroke you made last night would have been better than the last, but the fact that your mind and body were both tiring made them appear even worse.  Now that you are no longer tired, you can do it with ease.  Now, keep going.’

Samuel continued writing and was happy to finally reach twenty.  Mr Kelvin had to coach him at a few points, but he finally had it right.

‘Now, Samuel.  You have twenty of these apples on your bed and I give another one.  What is twenty and one?’

Samuel knew that easily.  ‘Twenty-one.’

‘And one more?  What would twenty and two be?’

‘Twenty and two is twenty-two?’

‘Now, continue.’

Samuel surprised himself by counting all the way to twenty-nine, but then he baulked.

‘Thirty,’ Mr Kelvin instructed.  ‘What is thirty and one?’

‘Thirty-one?’

‘Correct.  Continue.’

Samuel went on until, ‘forty?’ he guessed.

A great smile covered Mr Kelvin’s face.  ‘Here I was thinking you needed tutoring when you know all this already.  It only has to be coaxed out of you.  Do you see the pattern?’

Samuel nodded.  ‘You just push the numbers together and say what they are.’

‘That’s very good, but addition is only the very first step in arithmetic.  Numbers have endless ways of being combined.  Tomorrow, we begin subtraction.’

‘Is that all for tonight?’  Samuel asked with disappointment.

‘Oh, no,’ Mr Kelvin said, shaking his head.  ‘Tonight, I want to see what you can spell.  Read this for me.’

He drew the next book from his pocket and handed it to Samuel.  This one had a chart on the first page, showing all the numbers from one up to one hundred: ten rows of ten numbers.  The next page had a picture of a ball and ‘ball’ was written beneath it.  Mr Kelvin was ecstatic when Samuel flipped each page and read the words out without hesitation.  His practice with Jessicah had prepared him for most of the simple words that seemed to be common, but a few were unfamiliar and Mr Kelvin helped him sound them out.  The last page had a short story regarding a boy, a ball and a dog.  With Mr Kelvin’s assistance, it took only a short time to read from beginning to end and Samuel was ecstatic with himself.

Lessons continued each evening like that.  Sometimes, Mr Kelvin would send Kans to deliver some instructions and a lesson book, as he was busy inside the inn, and Samuel was soon gathering quite a bookshelf upon his desk and regarding the first few in his collection with contempt at their simplicity.  He wished his father could see him now and see all that he had learned.  How Father would have smiled.

It was one very sunny afternoon after he had swept out the stables and was gathering up the rubbish that Samuel noticed several loose shingles on the rooftop.  He hopped onto the edge of the great big water barrel beside the stable and pulled himself up onto the stable roofing.  As he was pushing the shingles back into place, Samuel saw he had a clear view through a window into a large room of the inn.  He looked closer, for he noted at once that it was a curious room. There were half-burned candles placed at intervals all over the floor.  There was no bed, nor furniture of any description in the room.  It was completely empty except for the strange scatterings of candles.  Perplexed, Samuel finished his work and wondered what the strange, empty room was used for.

Late that same night, Samuel awoke.  He did not wake with a sudden frightful start, as he did whenever he dreamed of the tall man in his doorway, but rather he had simply opened his eyes as if it was morning.  Pins and needles danced madly up and down his arms as if he had been sleeping on them.  It was dark, but pale moonlight streamed in through the window.  He finally sat up and drank from the pitcher beside his bed, then rubbed at his arms to try dispelling the tickling.  Wiping his moist lips, Samuel listened for any noises that may have awoken him.  The horses were quiet and from the stable came only those occasional clanks and rattles caused by the soft breeze.  He got up and peered from his room down the length of the stable.  A long brown nose turned towards him and gave a snort.  Looking behind, out through the stable doorway, he could see that the grounds were dark and empty.  He checked the stalls one by one to see if there was anything strange, but the horses all seemed quiet and content, so Samuel decided to step outside.  The sky was clear and moonlit, with only a few pale wisps of clouds clinging to the starry heights.  Samuel yawned, stretching his arms out wide and curling his back, then scratched at his head.

As he opened his eyes again, something drew his attention towards the inn and he noticed a soft light shining from the small window he had found earlier that day.  It seemed strange that someone should be awake so late, for it was surely only an hour or two before dawn.  Samuel’s curiosity then had the better of him.  He went around to the stable side and hopped on top of the barrel, hitching himself up onto the roof.  He clambered carefully along the shingles until he could peer across into the window.

Someone was inside.  He was lighting all the candles one by one.  It was Mr Copperpot, Samuel finally realised, as the man glanced around.  When all of the candles were lit, he sat in the middle of the room, crossed his legs and waited.  Some time had passed, with Samuel still watching on, when Mr Copperpot straightened his legs out before him and bent his head down until his chin met his knees.  He proceeded to go through a number of such strange motions, before squatting right in the middle of the room, where he remained still for some time.  Soon, he began moving his hands up and down rhythmically and taking great loud, hissing breaths that Samuel could easily hear from his vantage point.  It was no wonder that he was woken with all that noise.

As he did this, Samuel could see the man’s natural shine bloom and intensify and become much more tangible than before.  It changed from a vague aura to a distinct fabric of colours made of very many fine and interweaving threads that were ever sliding and rippling.  It was the most amazing thing that Samuel had ever seen.

Finally, Mr Copperpot sat down again, crossed his legs and remained completely still for a good time as his glowing surround returned to its normal complacent state.  The man then extinguished the candles one by one and silently left the room.  Samuel was intrigued, but now felt strangely overcome with exhaustion.  He climbed carefully back down from the roof and returned to his bed.

Samuel thought about the strange event all the next day.  He peered closely at his own hands and wondered why it was that he could only see the glow around other people and not himself.  No one ever talked about the glow much and Samuel was beginning to think that most people could not really see it at all; they just talked as if they could.

‘Can you see my glow?’ Samuel asked Kans as the man was helping him carry in bags of dry feed.  Samuel carried the smaller tins of expensive butter-yeast, from which he had been instructed to put a pinch in each horse’s feed to makes its coat shiny and healthy.

‘What nonsense are you talking about, boy?’ Kans asked in his standard intolerant manner.

Samuel placed the tins he carried upon the stack in the storeroom and decided not to continue the conversation with the man any further.  He preferred to talk with Kans as little as possible.  The balding man peered sidelong at him for the rest of the morning, but said nothing.

‘Does everyone have a light around them?’  Samuel asked of Mr Kelvin as they hovered over pages of sums that evening.

Mr Kelvin seemed to start, but then took the spectacles from his face and sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful.  One of the two narrow arms that held his spectacles in place went absent-mindedly into his mouth and he sucked on it.  It was a habit that he had developed since beginning Samuel’s tutoring.  After a thoughtful moment, he spoke.  ‘That’s an interesting and often discussed question, Samuel.  All things are composed of and filled with energy, like the warmth you feel on your skin on a sunny day.  That’s one form of energy.  There are many others that we have discovered and examined or merely theorised upon.  It is too complicated to discuss with you now, but energy is always moving; that’s why we call it energy, I suppose.  Are you following me?’  Samuel nodded.  He thought he did, just a little bit.  ‘Good.  Now, energy in one place can often affect energy in another place without actually touching it.  It’s all to do with harmony and frequencies, but I’ll tell you about those another day.’  Mr Kelvin withdrew his spectacles and let them dangle loosely from his fingers as he quickly thought to himself.  ‘Oh, here.’

He thrust his hand into one of his deep pockets and rummaged around until he withdrew a fistful of tiny objects.  He poked through the lint and tiny pebbles that were amongst the other curious little objects there until he found what he sought and popped it on the desk before Samuel.

‘Look closely,’ Mr Kelvin instructed.

Samuel did, and saw a small, dark stone of squarish proportions.  Stuck to it were several tiny black grains.  Mr Kelvin used an edge of paper to knock the grains from the stone.  As they fell away and struck the desk, they immediately sprang back and stuck onto the stone.  Samuel was astonished.

‘The stone has become magnetised,’ Mr Kelvin informed.  ‘The grains are attracted to it because of their metallic properties.  Now observe.’

Mr Kelvin then pulled the grains off with his fingers and dropped them onto a thin piece of paper.  He then held the paper up and, with his other hand, held the stone to its underside.  As he slid the stone up and down under the paper, the tiny grains raced along, following the trail of the stone.

‘See, the energy passes between the two objects without their direct contact.  This is influence over distance.  The energy that exists in our bodies, although it is very different, can often affect other objects similarly, such as the space closely surrounding us.  Each person has a natural sphere of influence that surrounds them.  It is merely a side effect of our existence. Like the ripples that surround a pebble dropped into a still pool, so our existence affects our environment.’

‘Can you see my energy, Mr Kelvin?’ Samuel asked eagerly.

‘Oh, no,’ he laughed, ‘but I’m sure you have some.  This particular energy is invisible to the human eye.  Some have been said to have the gift of such sight, but they were among myths and legend.  Now, enough of such talk.  We must finish this division before we completely forget where we are.’ Mr Kelvin began to sort the papers he had disturbed for his demonstration.  ‘Now where were we?’ he asked of himself.

That same night, Samuel again awoke and again climbed up onto the stable roof, feeling sure that the tickling in his bones had some meaning.  Sure enough, the room was again lit.  Mr Geoffries and Mr Copperpot both were there, sitting with legs crossed, completely still except for the matching, rhythmical motion of their chests.  The energy that surrounded each man grew and spun with each deep breath, pulsing out and intermingling with the other’s.  Samuel fell asleep watching them, and only awoke sometime later when he nearly rolled off the roof.  Samuel looked up, but the room was again empty and dark and the night was cold around him.  People did have an energy around them and only then did the realisation sink into him that he alone, perhaps of all the people in the world, could see it.  He had some unique ability that no one else would even believe.  As Samuel crept back into his bed, his skin was bristling with goosebumps, but the cold of night had nothing to do with them.

It was some time later when a new rider entered the guesthouse.  As expected, he was wearing the same black clothes that the guests were always draped in.  He rode his horse directly to the stables and quickly dismounted, ignoring Samuel and rushing inside the inn.  Most curious of all was his dark skin.  It was not black like ink, as it was said some people were, but he looked tanned, as if he had been working in the sun for hours every day.  It was rare to see skin of such a deep colour.  After that, there was no sign of the man for the entire day and Mr Kelvin did not even send word of his lesson that evening, which made Samuel think that something important must be happening inside.

Samuel was wide awake all night, filled with some unexplained excitement, when some peculiar sounds from the inn brought him scuttling once more up onto his roof.  From his position opposite the window, Samuel found the candles already lit, and the tanned man was moving about and shouting in some form of crazed or drunken dance.  He was shouting and throwing his brown arms and legs about, turning circles and dropping to his knees, only to spring up and jump away again.  His glow was unlike anything Samuel had ever seen before.  Each set of motions set it spinning and pulsing like a nest of angry wasps, a flurry of dazzling lights.  The man performed an amazing set of leaps, especially impressive considering the lankiness of his limbs, and then, without warning, stopped dead still and calmly sat down.  He crossed his legs and closed his eyes and it took some time for Samuel to realise that nothing else was going to happen.  The aura that surrounded the man slowed and steadied, but it remained strong and vital, greater than when Samuel had first seen him in the room.  Samuel was curious and, as he dropped from the roof and went to his room, he pondered the man’s movements.  He put his face up to the tiny magnetic stone that Mr Kelvin had left for him and pulled the grains from its surface, watching them snap back.  He did it a few times, never ceasing to be amazed by the wondrous reaction, before slipping into bed and soon falling asleep.

The tanned man came to Samuel early the next day and asked with a calm voice for his horse to be readied.  He was patient and pleasant and his black cloak was of a fine material, which led Samuel to think that he was an important man.  Samuel even thought his features looked familiar, as if he had seen him somewhere before, but, even with such a striking colour to him, Samuel could not remember precisely where.

‘Excuse me, Sir?’ Samuel asked.

The man was startled for a moment, as if he had become lost in his thoughts and had forgotten Samuel was there.  ‘Yes?  What is it?’  There was some kind of accent in his words that was very different to the local folk.

‘Excuse my curiosity, but you seem very familiar to me.  You remind me of someone I saw a long time ago.  Have you ever been to Stable Waterford?’ Samuel asked.

‘Why, yes.  I often pass through there,’ he replied, bearing a kind smile.  ‘Why do you ask?’

‘When I lived there, I saw a man who looked much as you do, Sir, though perhaps much taller.  He was dressed quite strangely in purple and he performed tricks in the market and he was dark skinned, just like you.’

The man laughed and he nodded.  ‘Yes, that sounds like me, although I suspect it was some time ago.  I have not grown much taller in recent years and so I think it is more likely that you have grown quite a bit.  And fancy meeting you here!  This is quite a surprise.’

‘Were you poor then?’ Samuel asked.  ‘I remember everyone giving you some money.  I thought you were a beggar.’

Again the man laughed.  ‘You have a good memory, young friend.  In some places, I must sometimes travel in disguise.  Also, I enjoy entertaining the common folk.  People look forward to seeing me and enjoy seeing my tricks as much as I enjoy performing them.  I would enjoy talking with you more, but I must hurry.  Perhaps, in the future, we can continue the matter.  Are you finished?’

Samuel remembered himself and offered the reins to the man.

‘What is your name, young man?’ the tanned fellow asked.  The lines and slight wrinkles on his face told Samuel that he must be a genuine and kind man, for his smiles had marked him forever, as scowls and worry often marked others.

‘Samuel, Sir.’

‘Well then, Samuel.  I am Lomar,’ he added with a smile as he mounted his horse, ‘and I hope we can speak together again some day.’

Samuel nodded, and Lomar began away, urging his mount towards the front gate, which Kans was holding open impatiently.  As he passed through, the lights around Lomar seemed to seethe about him and then they quelled themselves again as he passed out into the street.

When Samuel was next sent into town, he wandered around the markets until, as usually happened, he found Mr Joshua leaning against a wall and waiting for him.  Somehow, the man always knew when Samuel was coming.

‘What news, young man?’ Mr Joshua asked.

‘Some nights, the men will sit in a candle-filled room for hours on end, and other nights they chant and shout and move around,’ Samuel said.  Mr Joshua looked very interested.  ‘It’s all very strange.  And last night a man named Lomar came and he leapt around like this!’

Samuel began to re-enact Lomar’s actions, jumping to and fro, but Mr Joshua held up his hands.  ‘Stop that!’ he hissed urgently, before slipping back into his usual calm composure.  ‘Please, don’t attract attention.  You can’t do these things in the open.’

Several passers-by were looking at Samuel curiously.  Samuel did not understand, but he nodded dumbly.  ‘And this morning,’ he continued, ‘he left in a real hurry.’  Mr Joshua was obviously pleased with the information.  ‘And Mr Kelvin is teaching me some geometry.’

‘That’s wonderful, Samuel.  Mr Kelvin is a good man to spend his time with you.  An education is a valuable thing and knowledge is invaluable.  I could have done with better schooling myself.  Good work, Samuel.  Try to come back within a week and tell me more about all this.  It seems you are starting to get to the bottom of things.’

Mr Joshua gave Samuel some more coins before patting him on the back and disappearing into the tides of passing people.  Samuel happily wandered towards the markets to finish his chores, jingling his weighty pocket.  There was a dress that he knew Jessicah would just love.

The days always seemed fine and sunny at the Burning Oak.  Of course, the winters had their share of rain, but Samuel always seemed to be catching himself looking up at the sky—clear and blue or filled with stars.  He was never particularly hot or particularly cold and he had every comfort that he imagined he could need.

During one such fine day, Samuel was helping Mr Kelvin in the garden.  Mr Kelvin seemed to have more free time than before and was enjoying getting on his hands and knees and doing some of the work himself, taking pride in his small, yet neat gardens all along the walls, and Samuel was happy for the company.  He was a terribly nice man and Samuel had never heard an ill word cross his lips.  He was always polite and considerate to everyone.  He was not as good as Samuel remembered his own father being, and was not as friendly as Mr Joshua was—buying him presents and such—but he was certainly much, much better than Samuel’s uncle.  Sometimes, Samuel wished he could have a whole afternoon free to himself so he could go and see Jessicah, or play with the boys in the streets, but Mr Kelvin always said that he was needed too much here and was not allowed to roam about in the town.  The guests could need their horses at a moment’s notice and it would not do to keep them waiting.  Samuel wondered why Kans could not ready their horses if they needed it.  It took Samuel far longer by himself, often having to use the stepladder to fix and buckle all the saddlery.  Most often the guests helped him anyway.  He began to suspect that Mr Kelvin just did not want him talking to people in the town about the inn.  Sometimes, it frustrated Samuel so much that he would tell Mr Joshua every little thing he could think of about the Burning Oak and its guests, even if it was only partly true.  Mr Joshua, however, had a way of telling when Samuel was exaggerating, but Samuel was getting better and better at slipping small ‘untruths’ past Mr Joshua without him noticing.  They were not big things—just little white lies and the odd exaggeration.

‘It sure is hot today, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel said, throwing some weeds behind him.

Mr Kelvin wiped his brow with his dark sleeves and peered to the sky.  ‘It is,’ he agreed.  ‘The sun is very hot today, indeed.’

Samuel plucked several more weeds before pausing and, looking thoughtful, he said, ‘Now I have a good question for you, Mr Kelvin.  What exactly is the sun?’

‘To my knowledge, no one has ever touched it to find out, but I suspect that it is a great ball of fire.  It casts heat, throws light and is yellow, just like a flame, after all.’

‘If it is a fire, then what does it burn?  Are there sticks inside?’

Mr Kelvin laughed.  ‘No, Samuel, I think there are not.  Or, if there are, they would have to be very big, or very many sticks indeed would be needed, for the sun is many, many times larger than the world on which we live.’

‘It doesn’t look very big,’ Samuel replied.

Mr Kelvin made a tiny gap between his fingers and peered through it at Samuel.  ‘Look, Samuel, it appears that your head can fit between my fingers, but of course I know it is not so.  The sun is merely very far away.’

‘It’s very high in the sky?’

‘So to speak, yes.’

‘And where does it go at night and where do the stars come from?’

Mr Kelvin chuckled and sighed.  ‘It goes below the horizon to light the other lands of the world, where there are different peoples with different languages and cultures.  The stars are always there, but they cannot always be seen.’

Samuel gawked up in awe, trying to spy the stars, but his eyes became watery and blurry and he had to look down.

‘Careful, Samuel,’ Mr Kelvin told him.  ‘The sun is like truth: bright and beautiful, but dangerous to behold.  Still, we all strive for knowledge even when we cannot understand what the answers will bring.  It’s better to hold a knife when you face the Devils of Korda,’ he then quoted, but after a moment, he noticed Samuel’s confusion.  ‘I’m sorry.  I talk too much sometimes, don’t I?  Don’t look at the sun, Samuel, or you will go blind,’ he finally explained.

Samuel was complete befuddled.  He looked up once more and blinked at the glaring sun, before rubbing his eyes and looking blurrily at the gritty soil below, purple streaks marking his watery vision.

On the occasional night, Samuel still found himself waking up, as if automatically, and so would crawl up onto his stable roof to see what was happening inside the inn.  Most often, the men would only be sitting still or walking about slowly and Samuel found himself longing for more men like Lomar, who would jump around and do more exciting things.  When he was sure no one was watching, Samuel would close the stable doors and try the same movements that Lomar had made.  He could only remember a few and so he made up the rest.  He knew they were entirely wrong and foolish, but he had a desire to learn more and this was the closest he could manage.  From then on, when he was awoken at night with the tingling in his bones, he would sit up on his bed and assume the same position that the men inside did.  He took deep, full breaths and, at times, it felt calming and peaceful and he would often fall asleep in that position.

Lomar returned on occasion and Samuel was always greatly excited when he did.  He was the one man who would sit and talk to Samuel, telling him stories of far-off lands and all the mythical fairy tales he had heard.  He surprised Samuel by even offering to play a game of kick-ball and they stood opposite each other for hours, sending the ball between them.  The other guests glared at Lomar as he did so, but Lomar did not seem to care what the others thought.  He also delighted in showing Samuel all his best juggling tricks, making his small red balls vanish and reappear with a twist of his hand, and Samuel enjoyed seeing the tricks just as much, trying every time to discover how it was that Lomar did them.  Lomar told of the strange ways and customs of foreign lands, but was ever evasive as to his reasons for travelling and of the other men of the inn.  When Samuel’s questions became too direct, Lomar would only smile and look away or make some comment on the bees or flowers.

One fine and warm day, three new guests came to the Burning Oak Inn, two middle-aged men and another absolutely ancient one, all wrinkled and with barely a hair on his head, save his bushy white eyebrows and his wispy old beard.  As they arrived, Kans hurriedly fetched out all the men currently staying from inside the inn.  There was a great hubbub as Samuel was called to fetch the guests’ wagon from the front entrance and shut the great gates behind it.  They all vanished inside as quickly as they had appeared and there was not a trace of anyone that night or the entire next day.

Not one person took their usual garden strolls and Cook said they barely even wanted their meals, calling for light snacks to be brought into the meeting from time to time.  The place seemed desolate.

Finally, just before twilight of the next day, Mr Copperpot and Mr Sloan sent word to make ready their mounts, and they soon left, dressed not in their black robes, but instead in normal garments of brown and grey.  They looked strange out of their usual garb and it made Samuel wonder what could be happening.

Samuel was awoken much earlier that night than usual, with pins and needles jabbing his whole body like skewers.  He almost tripped over himself in his hurry to get onto the roof.  He had not woken the previous night, but tonight he felt as if the air was rattling with excitement.

Peeping through the window, Samuel could see the old visitor sitting cross-legged on the floor and, one by one, all the candles in the room were igniting.  There was no one near them; they each simply burst into flame in succession, as if by some trickery.  Samuel was astonished and peered closer to try and spy any sign of someone ducking down and lighting them in secret, but there was none.  They truly were lighting of their own accord and Samuel could barely believe it.  He watched on with anticipation.  If this was only the start, even more amazing things were sure to come.  The soft hairs on his arms stood up like bristles.

The old man then began making broad, slow arm gestures and slowly, slowly stood to his feet.  He stepped forward and began the same set of actions that Lomar had first performed, although much slower—as if he was in no hurry to complete his exercises before the long night was even through.  Instead of jumping and spinning, he very slowly stepped and turned with effortless precision.  His arms moved and made circles and arcs in the air; sometimes as if carrying huge objects; sometimes as if doing delicate finger-work.  In some moments, it seemed as if he was struggling against great forces, pushing and striving to hold his ground; at other times, it seemed like he was weightless and about to sail up from the floor.  With each movement, the old man’s aura blazed and grew like a bonfire in a gale; his every footstep and gesture trailed countless azure ribbons billowing in the wind.  Samuel saw at once the many mistakes he had been making on his own and added as many corrections to memory as he could.

Eventually, the old man gathered himself back to his original position sitting on the floor.  Samuel could hear the loud, hissing breathing the old man was making, as if each breath was as full and slow and complete as he could possibly manage.  The energy around the man grew small again, wrapping tightly around his body and its intensity was astounding, almost blinding, making the old man at the core of the light appear as some form of silhouette by contrast.  But all that paled into insignificance compared to what came next.  Samuel’s eyes bulged with disbelief and he could not hold back a gasp as several soft balls of light bloomed into existence above the old man’s head.  They were not formed from the same substance as the amazing, scintillating aura that surrounded him.  They were real, visible lights like those of a lantern that any man or dog could see and they illuminated the room with a mystical, blue-hued glow.  They hovered near the old man like curious butterflies, shedding their light all around.  This was just like the magic from stories that Samuel had always imagined and he bit on the end of his thumb just to be sure he was not still dreaming.

The old man next pushed his palms together tightly and then, drawing them slowly apart, revealed that his hands were full of the same soft blue light.  His hands shook as if the drawing was some great effort and required all his strength.  His face was illuminated by the light and Samuel could see the exertion in the old man’s expression.  Then the old man relaxed and his hands clapped sharply together, as if pulled together by a sudden evacuating force.  The glow between them vanished, the floating lights disappeared and all the candles winked out at once.  A grey silhouette then stood up and slowly left the room.  If not for the white-hot aura around him, Samuel would not have seen the old man leave at all.

Samuel scampered from the roof and leapt into his bed, jittery with excitement, but somehow he could not keep the overpowering tide of sleep from taking him into its depths.  He could not tell if he was having dreams or nightmares, for the images in his head were both fascinating and terrible.  He dreamt of magic and monsters, of storms and oceans, of things from the skies and the deep.  All throughout his dreams, he could hear a voice calling for someone over and over again, but the words were just on the verge of his recognition—and incomprehensible.  A resounding thought burned into his mind and kept coming back to him through wake and slumber.  There is magic!

When the dreams had finally quelled and subsided, he slept soundly and deeply for the rest of the night, as if worked to exhaustion from a month’s labour.

The next day, all the men of the inn were again strolling through the gardens, as always dressed in their usual black.  Whether it was black shirt and trousers, black tunic, black cape, black cloak or long black robes, they forever seemed to be draped in the same monotonous garb.

The three new arrivals and Mr Kelvin were the only ones noticeably absent from the gardens.  There had never been so many people strolling around at one time and they each walked with brisk excitement.

Samuel decided to talk to Mr Geoffries and Mr Sloan, but upon detecting his approach, they ceased their conversation and smiled politely.  They were perfectly pleasant to him and asked him how he was but, sensing he was unwanted, Samuel wandered off again.  As soon as he was beyond earshot, they launched back into their energetic discussion.

It was the same with the other men, until Samuel gave up and pulled himself into the low bough of his favourite climbing tree to sulk.  He sat there, back against the trunk with his legs along the branch, until he spied the frantic form of Kans, whizzing from the inn towards the stable.

Samuel dropped down lightly from the branch and sped after the annoying man.

‘Oh, there you are, boy,’ Kans gasped, as Samuel entered the stables behind him.  ‘I have no time to hunt after you.  Ready the Grand Master’s wagon at once.  He will be leaving shortly.  And hurry up about it, won’t you?’

Kans then scooted past Samuel back towards the inn, all a fluster.

Grand Master? Samuel thought as he brought the two horses to the wagon outside.  They were perfectly helpful animals and Samuel had no trouble readying the vehicle in a short space of time.  When he was done, he climbed atop of it, released the braking lever and shook the reins up and down.  The horses lurched forwards, pulling the wagon across the grass to where he stopped them with a steady pull of the reins just before the main entrance.  He reapplied the brake, tethered the reins and dropped down beside the wagon, stroking the nearest animal’s sun-warmed coat as he waited.  It whinnied and stamped at the ground with a hoof in expectation of some exercise.

After a timely spell, as Samuel began to feel the heat of the sun himself, the doors opened and Kans came rushing out, followed by an ever-patient Mr Kelvin, still in discussion with the aged visitor and his two companions.  The men of the inn noticed the old man’s imminent departure and began to gather from across the gardens.

‘Is everything ready? Double-checked?’ Kans asked and began looking over Samuel’s work before even waiting for an answer, shaking anything that appeared remotely loose.

‘Well, this is goodbye,’ Mr Kelvin said to his guests as they reached the wagon.  The two younger men each carried a number of bags, which they began to pile in the back of the wagon; their clothes and luggage, by the looks of it.

‘It has been good to see you again, young Peter,’ came the old man’s smooth voice.  There was not a croak or waver to be heard.  His words came out like warm honey, slow and deep.  With surprising spryness, he lifted one leg to the step and hopped up into the seat.  ‘I hope to be back before winter so we can continue our game.  Be sure not to disturb the pieces,’ he said with a cheeky grin and a wave of one finger.’

Mr Kelvin laughed.  ‘I’ll try.  Have a good journey, Janus.’

The two younger men, still well aged by any measure, had finished with the bags and come to sit on either side of the old man.

The one closest to Samuel gathered up the reins.  ‘Farewell,’ he called.

The small assembly of men all gave their farewells as the wagon groaned and pulled away.  As the vehicle passed, Samuel spied the old man’s eyes flashing towards him from beneath a set of grey, woolly eyebrows—just for an instant.  His eyes seemed so deep and blue and clear and knowing, and they locked onto Samuel like an eagle spotting its darting prey, watching him intently.  Then, the moment had passed and the old man was again gazing forward, being jostled in his seat as he went.  The horses’ shoes clip-clopped upon the stone path and the wagon exited through the main gates, held open by a low-bowing Kans.  How he had managed to get over there so fast, Samuel did not know.

Mr Kelvin sighed and turned back into the inn, as did most of the others.  A few returned to the gardens, although the sense of excitement had at once diminished.  Before entering through the door to the inn, Mr Kelvin stopped and turned.

‘Samuel,’ he called.

Samuel was startled from his daydreaming.  ‘Yes, Mr Kelvin?’

‘Don’t forget your lesson tonight.  I’ll see you shortly after dinner.’

‘Thank you, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel replied happily.

‘And don’t forget to scrub out the floors,’ Mr Kelvin added, before turning into the inn and pulling the door closed behind him.

Samuel’s mouth dropped.  He had thought that with all the commotion, Mr Kelvin had forgotten about Samuel’s least favourite chore.  He dragged his feet back to the stable and into the rear-most stall.  He sighed wearily and reached up to get the largest scrubbing brush and bucket that hung there.

Over the nights that followed, Samuel practised everything he could remember the old man doing.  Many of the movements still seemed improper and half-forgotten, so Samuel tried sitting cross-legged and breathing hard.  Every minute or so, he would open one eye to see if the lights were there yet, but they never were.  Each night, Samuel would try harder to recall the exact movements the old man had done, as all the sitting and breathing quickly grew stale.  After a few nights, he thought he could remember about thirteen steps that he was sure were the same.  A few in the middle and at the end still evaded his memory, but he was sure they were somewhere at the back of his mind and he would soon be able to figure out what they were...roughly.

When in the markets next, he even bought several cheap wax candles and set them in his room to practise with, but no amount of gesturing or jumping up and down would light them without the added help of a tinderbox.  He would often pretend to himself that he had lit the candles with some magic, jumping up and lighting them quickly, before sneaking back to his place with feigned amazement at what he had done.  It was quite fun the first few times, but served only to remind him of his failure.

Mr Kelvin first regarded Samuel’s candle-lined room questioningly, but for only a moment.  He then sat beside Samuel and began the lesson without as much as a word about them.  The night after, he carried a lantern with him and hung it from a vacant hook on the wall.

‘You only have to tell me if your room is too dull, Samuel.  We don’t want you ruining your eyes,’ he told him and raised a curious eyebrow as Samuel chuckled.

After many weeks of vigilant practice, Samuel had his first incredible breakthrough.  As he sat and breathed slowly with his palms tightly together, he forgot completely about making anything happen, and instead relaxed and enjoyed the soothing sensation that had somehow washed over him as he sat listening to his own soft breath and feeling the rise and fall of his chest.  After some time, a line of goosebumps crept over his body, beginning at his wrists and running up his arms, over his chest and down to his ankles.  The prickling sensation became almost too much to bear and Samuel burned to leap up and rub his limbs vigorously to reduce it.

Instead, and with considerable restraint, Samuel carefully peeked through one eye and was amazed to see a faint blue glow seeping from between his pressed fingers.  It oozed out like some sort of shining water, dripping away in all directions before disappearing into nowhere.  Samuel slowly brought his palms apart and for just a moment, there was a warm, glowing light nestled between his hands, before it flickered and vanished from existence with a tiny, soundless pop.  Samuel yelled with excitement and jumped on his bed, hopping from one foot to another and giggling with glee.  After a short period of jubilation, he calmed himself down and dropped back into the sitting position, his heart beating madly.  He told himself to quieten down and concentrate and began again with the breathing exercises, but no matter how hard he tried long into the night, he could not repeat the feat.

He could summon no such light the next night, or the next, but Samuel could not bring himself to stop trying.  The thought of the amazing light spurred him on with excitement.  The very next night after that, Samuel again felt his body tingling and a familiar sensation filled his mind.  His hands glowed intensely, so that his fingers showed red at their edges.  Within his palms, the light existed, shining with a steady strength.  Samuel realised that the secret was to keep this frame of mind and not let excitement or other distractions get in the way.  He drew his palms apart some distance and the light remained there, forming itself into a spherical shape.  He kept the tiny ball floating between his palms for a few minutes, until, with some alarm, he realised it was growing smaller.  He tried and tried to make it grow back, but the more he tried, the more it died, until it flickered once, then again and finally vanished altogether for the rest of the evening.

The next morning, Samuel decided it was time to tell Mr Joshua of the astounding recent events, and so set out to find an excuse to go into town.  He stepped into the kitchen, where Cook began eyeing him suspiciously as she cut up a bucket of greens, not saying a word.

‘Cook?’ Samuel asked.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.  ‘Stop wriggling over my bench.  I’ve nothing to give you until lunch.’

‘Oh, I don’t want anything.  I was wondering if you had enough flour.’

Samuel edged around the kitchen, sliding open jars and peering into pots.

‘I’ve plenty of flour, thank you, Samuel,’ the sturdy woman replied.  ‘Now keep your fingers out of my jars.’

‘How about peanuts?  Or corn—or dried apricots?  Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you from town?’

‘That’s it, is it?’ she said, sliding sliced carrots into a bowl with the back of her hand.  ‘Needing an excuse, are you?  Very well.  I could use a bag of salt, now I think of it.  Perhaps you could be so kind as to fetch some for me?’

‘I’d be happy to!’ Samuel said with delight.

‘Here’s some money,’ she said, handing him a few coins.  ‘But don’t take too long or we’ll both be in for it when Mr Kelvin has to saddle his own horse.’

Samuel went to race out the door, when something caught his mind and he halted.

‘Cook?’ he asked and she looked up again.  ‘Do you ever notice a light around people?’

‘No,’ she said bluntly.  ‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘Don’t you ever see them glowing and shining?’

‘Only when they’re fairies—now get out and stop with your dreaming and leave me be.  And don’t be up to any mischief in the town!  Go do whatever it is you want to be doing, and I don’t want to hear anything about it or your fairies.’

Samuel laughed and left through the small kitchen door, running around the side of the inn.  He pulled open one of the sturdy gates and then closed it behind him.  The main road was filled with a good many people, carts and animals, all making their way along the busy highway into Stable Canthem.  Samuel made sure the money was deep inside a pocket, for he knew the town had many a pick-pocket, and hurried after the throng of people.

‘You there!  Boy!’ a voice called as Samuel trotted along.

Samuel stopped and waited for the puffing man.  Perhaps it was one of Mr Joshua’s men.

‘Boy, you are the stableboy in that guest house, is that correct?’ the man asked as he pointed back towards the tall walls of the Burning Oak.

Samuel nodded.

‘How would you like to earn a half-crown?’ the man asked.

Samuel quickly decided this was not one of Mr Joshua’s men—he was far too cheap.  ‘No, thank you, Sir,’ Samuel answered, and began to continue on his way.

‘Wait one moment.  Perhaps…stop!’ cried the man, as Samuel turned and fled into the town past curious onlookers.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder, but the man was not following, only shaking his head and turning away.  He may have been one of Mr Joshua’s men, but Samuel could not be told off just for being careful.  He would also be in awful trouble if Mr Kelvin found him talking to anyone about the inn.

Samuel decided he would first like to see Jessicah and so he ran to the Three Toads Inn.  He had to wait outside for some time until she came out to beat a rug on the banister.  Samuel raced over to her, well-wary of her father.

‘Jessicah!’

‘Samuel,’ she cried with excitement.  ‘How are you?’  And she placed a kiss on his cheek.

‘Very well.  Let’s go!’

Jessicah looked over her shoulder for any sign of her parents, and then dropped her beater and skipped away with Samuel.  They made for the river and sat on the grassy bank by an old willow, and sunned themselves and talked of each other’s events.  Samuel noticed for the first time how different she was looking lately.  She seemed to be filling out in all sorts of places—almost like a real girl.

Jessicah hung onto his every word as he told of the strange, robed men and the mysterious, magical things they did.  She laughed when he claimed to be able to do the same magic and when she asked him to demonstrate, his head sagged, for he knew he could not.

‘But they dance around like this!’ he called, leaping to his feet and whirling around and throwing his hands about.

Jessicah giggled and giggled as Samuel frolicked before her by the waterside.  It was only the sounds of talking that stopped him for, coming over the bank, was a group of local boys and at their head was a much larger, uglier boy whom Samuel had not seen in quite some time, but knew far too well.  They all looked much older, uglier and meaner than before, but they still had the look of bullies.  They splashed across the shallow river up to their knees and climbed the bank, making straight for Samuel and Jessicah with evil grins.  Samuel was not about to turn into a coward and so he stood his ground with Jessicah beside him, clutching his arm tightly.

‘What are you doing?’ the big boy asked impolitely.  The last time they had met, Samuel had been beaten badly, but much time had passed since then.  Samuel was not about to let his pride take a beating again.

‘Talking,’ Samuel answered bluntly.  ‘What do you want?’

‘Looked like you were dancing to me.  I haven’t seen you for a long time, but I never forget a face.  I do remember telling you that if I ever saw you again, I’d piss all over you.  Did you forget it?’ the bully asked, dragging his nose across his sleeve.  The boys were all grubby from playing in the dirt and one had dried blood under his nose.  They were all eagerly awaiting some entertainment.

Samuel said nothing, but Jessicah was tugging desperately at the side of his shirt.  ‘Samuel, let’s go,’ she was whispering to him.

‘You’re lucky I just pissed,’ said the bully with a grin.  One of his companions did appear damp and off-spirited.  ‘But I think I’m gonna have to beat you up in front of your girlfriend, anyway, just to teach you a lesson, so you had better run!’

The bully jumped forwards and threw his arms up, as if to frighten them, but Samuel stepped forward and smashed his fist up into the bully’s undefended nose.  The collision of nose and knuckles jarred Samuel’s fist, surprising him, but the pain that contorted the big boy’s face was obviously far greater.  The bully staggered back, clutching at his face and yelling in pain.

Samuel pushed Jessicah back.  ‘Run home,’ he told her, and she did, turning and hurrying away, leaving Samuel facing a line of angry young boys.

‘Now we’re gonna have to kill you,’ the bully snorted, still holding his nose. ‘No one hits me!’  Blood ran through his fingers.  He tried to sound menacing, but sounded more as if he had a bad cold.

The boys began scooping up river stones and moved to encircle Samuel.  Samuel stood his ground and waited for their first move, for he knew he could not outrun them all.  He watched closely as one boy drew his arm slowly back and then the missile came hurtling forth.  Samuel stepped neatly to the side, but an awful pain bit him in the back of the head.  He spun around in time to catch another stone with his face and was blinded by the pain.  The boys all started laughing.

‘Stone him!’ the bully yelled and rocks began pelting Samuel from all directions.

Samuel dropped to the ground and covered his face with his hands as the boys all laughed at him, blasting him with stones.  It only lasted a handful of moments, yet when they were done, Samuel had wet, salty blood in his eyes and his body rang with pain where the stones had struck bone.  He climbed to his feet while the boys were still laughing and watched them groggily, defiantly.  The boy closest to the bully scooped up one last rock, just to squeeze one last laugh from his mates.  His throw was hard and true and it was aimed directly at Samuel’s face.

There was a ringing in Samuel’s ears and everything suddenly seemed to be moving at half-speed, getting slower.  The bully was caught laughing with his eyes half-closed and his mouth wide open.

Samuel’s hand came up as the stone crawled through the air towards him and he plucked it from the very air as if it was hanging still.  All Samuel could focus upon were all the boys’ laughing faces, as if they were frozen in time, deformed and twisted.  It fired Samuel with contempt and hatred.  It filled him with blazing venom.

Time flashed back to its normal rate as, with a grunt and all his might, he threw the stone back towards them.  The stone narrowly missed the bully’s ear and whizzed past him so fast that it was halfway across the river before any of them could even turn their heads.  It struck the slow river and flew up again with a great hiss and spray of water.  They heard it strike a withered tree on the far bank with an almighty bang and a crack that echoed back towards them.  Then, to the disbelief of them all, the tree shivered and shook and then toppled over, crashing down the bank and rolling into the river with a thunderous clatter.

The boys slowly turned gape-mouthed back to Samuel and then looked at each other blankly.  The bully trembled, finally remembering to close his mouth, and looked wildly at his colleagues.  Samuel thought the gang was about to flee, but his glimmer of anticipation was abruptly dispelled.

‘Get him!’ the big bully yelled, and with a cry all the boys charged in and leapt on top of Samuel.

Samuel immediately fell beneath their weight and grunted as their bodies piled on top of him.  His head spun and his eyes fuzzed and he thought he was going to die, until, without warning, the bright sun was again in his eyes.  A tall black silhouette was clubbing at the fleeing boys and shouting like a devil.

‘Be away with you, you little dastards!’ the voice shouted after them.  A hand was offered and Samuel gingerly took it, being pulled to his giddy feet.  ‘Not quick enough again, Samuel,’ the man spoke.  ‘I saw you passing through the markets with your lady friend and thought I’d let you two be alone for a time, but when I saw her hurrying back in such a dither, I thought I had better come take a look.  Lucky for you, I think.’  The man was Mr Joshua.  ‘What an awful mess we’d both be in if I let you get injured or worse.’

Samuel nodded and tried to agree, but his throat would not make any sound.  Mr Joshua tucked his cudgel again into his belt and led Samuel back towards the town.

‘Let’s see to these cuts,’ he said and took Samuel back into his office.

The men there regarded the beaten Samuel with a mix of curiosity, concern and laughter, although a scornful glance from Mr Joshua quickly stopped all that.

In his office, Mr Joshua cleaned the cuts and grazes himself and picked over Samuel until he was sure he had seen and treated every little sore.

‘I can’t have my best man killed so young now, can I?’ he said as he worked.  Samuel shook his head.  ‘So, what news do you have for me? Anything?’ Mr Joshua asked as Samuel, trembling, drank from the cup Mr Joshua offered him.

Samuel told of the many frantic comings and goings of the Burning Oak recently, and of the ancient-looking old man who stayed whom they called ‘Grand Master’.  He told of the man who had offered him money and Mr Joshua cursed, saying it was no man of his, but some upstart trying to steal some of his business.  Samuel even mentioned the lights around the old man’s head, and Mr Joshua nodded and looked concerned, but Samuel said nothing of his attempts to copy them.

‘Are these men devils, Mr Joshua?  People say that only devils can use magic.  But they seem so nice for devils.’

Mr Joshua laughed softly.  ‘No, they’re not devils, as far as I know.’  His tone then became of a serious nature.  ‘Don’t worry about the man who met you today.  I think I know who he is and I’ll talk to him for you—let him know you don’t like to be bothered.  Just keep doing as you have and one day you’ll be a rich man.  There’s something special about you, Samuel.  I’m sure of it.’

Samuel nodded and, with a pat on his back from Mr Joshua, he left and returned towards the Burning Oak, suddenly dreading his lecture from Kans upon taking so long.  At least the cuts and bruises were evidence for his tardiness.

Samuel thought he would be too sore to get on the roof that night, but after unsuccessfully trying to make the light in his hands, Samuel could not resist.  He clambered onto the roof when he saw the faint glow of the candles shining out the high window and waited for whomever it was—Mr Took, it turned out—to practise his movements.

Samuel hoped to find some clue as to what had happened to him on the river-bank.  What strange power had filled him for that instant?

As Samuel watched on, entranced, a shout from below nearly brought him tumbling from the roof.

‘Samuel!’ Kans called from below.  ‘Where are you, boy?’

The sound of Kans walking through the stable and calling his name continued until he came out into the yard again and began calling there.  Samuel flattened himself to the tilted roof and lay perfectly still, in case Kans should look up.  It was a bright night, after all, and Samuel suspected he was perfectly visible if someone should look directly towards him.

Kans eventually gave up his calling and returned around to the front of the main building.  Samuel took advantage of the opportunity and shimmied down from the roof and scampered back into his room.  He dived into his bed and waited to see if Kans would return.

‘There you are,’ Kans said, striding angrily into his room.  ‘Where have you been?’

The boy sat up and tried his best to yawn and look tired.  ‘Oh, I was relieving myself, Kans.’

Kans nodded.  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’

Samuel looked at himself and had to subdue his panic.  He was still in his grubby working clothes.  ‘I...I was working late and was so tired, I must have forgotten to change.’

Kans scoffed and shook his head without any attempt to conceal his disdain for such behaviour.  ‘Quickly, then.  Get up and ready Mr Copperpot’s and Mr Sloan’s horses.  They are leaving within the hour.’

Samuel nodded and leapt to work.  He had the horses ready well within time, before the two men came rushing out and clambered onto their animals.  They galloped out the front gates, barely pausing to give their goodbyes.  Kans pushed the groaning gates closed behind them and then rushed back inside the inn.

Samuel returned to his room and changed into his more comfortable bedclothes.  He crawled into his bed and closed his eyes tightly, hoping for a restful few hours’ sleep before dawn when his chores began again.  He had no idea what was causing this recent stir amongst the men of the Burning Oak and his inability to find out was becoming more and more frustrating.

Weeks passed uneventfully after that night, with no further comings or goings and Samuel had plenty of spare time to spend with Jessicah, for Mr Kelvin had felt terribly guilty after Samuel’s beating and now allowed him to go to town three times a week.

Samuel spent every evening practising the movements and the breathing exercises he had learned.  Most nights, he could get the glow between his hands and sometimes even send it floating away to dissipate against the wall with a slow, blue splash.  It exhilarated Samuel to see the lights he could create, but he wished to know more, to be able to do more.  He never dared to try and make the light during the day, only when he was sure it was late and he would not be discovered.  He was sure he would be punished for spying on the men and learning their secrets.  Perhaps they would even lock him up or do something terrible to him.  When magic was involved, who knew what strange things the men could do?

‘Lomar?’ Samuel asked, as they both sat in the boughs of the Oldforth tree that stood amidst the gardens.  ‘Do you believe in magic?’

‘Of course I do, Samuel,’ Lomar returned, raising a quizzical eye from his drawing.  He had a charcoal marker in one hand and a piece of thick paper in the other, sketching a scene of the garden.  ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You tell me all those stories of other lands and myths and fairies and goblins, yet I have never seen any of those things.  Do they really exist, or are they just stories?  Is there really such magic?’

Lomar balanced his implements beside him, next to the row of coloured chalks that wobbled on the branch, and thought a moment.  ‘There is often a little truth, and a little mistruth, in everything that is said,’ he began.  ‘What is true in one circumstance may be false in another.  I have never seen fairies or goblins, but that is not to say they do not exist.  I thought dwarves were mere tales until I first saw one with my own eyes.  It is not unusual to see a small-person, as they prefer to be called, born to full-sized parents.’

‘How is that so?’ Samuel asked, curious.

‘It is just something that happens,’ Lomar replied with a bob of his shoulders. ‘Just as sometimes people are born with notable differences, some are born with unusually short stature, but they are normal people, just as you and I.’

‘Do they like to dig underground?’

‘Not overly, no,’ Lomar returned with amusement.  ‘So you can see how a fable has been created from truth.  There are, indeed, dwarves, but they do not congregate in underground cities and spend their lives whistling and digging for precious gems.  I think, too, that many other legends have had some root in truth.’

‘And magic?’ Samuel asked persistently with a glint in his eye.

‘People sometimes like to discuss whether or not magic actually exists.  You have seen my tricks, but that is not magic; it is merely a skill.  My hands are adept at hiding things before the eye can notice.  People cannot fly upon broom handles or turn others into toads, but, given practice, a man may accomplish tasks that seem absolute miracles to others.  Using talents that others find rare, men may name themselves magicians and call what they do magic, but it is all an extension of natural gifts which they have finely honed.’

Samuel’s brow was furrowed.  Lomar always answered with riddles and more questions.  Samuel had seen magic and he knew it existed.  He had even done some himself and thought he was getting quite good at it, too.

‘There are many magicians in the Turian Empire,’ Lomar added, having noted Samuel’s discontent and the boy then looked up with expectation.  ‘Mostly, they are welcomed and openly accepted, but here, in Marlen, we are quite far from the great capital and people still hold age-old contempt for magic.  The magicians that live here tend to keep to themselves.’

‘So there are magicians!’ Samuel spurted out with excitement and Lomar hushed him furiously with a wave of his hands.  Finally, Samuel had managed to squeeze the admission out of someone!  ‘Are you a magician?’ Samuel then asked, hoping for a continuation of his good luck.

‘You have seen my magic,’ Lomar returned with a grin, snatching up his brush and then making it vanish in his hands.  ‘So, obviously, I must be.  Now, enough of the matter.  I want to finish this drawing before I lose the sun, for tomorrow I must leave once more.’

Samuel felt as disappointed as ever.  Lomar had evaded him once again.  One day, he would have his answer.  These men were obviously all magicians.  Only making them admit the fact was proving difficult.  Creating lights and igniting candles was obviously magic and couldn’t be explained away as something else.  No amount of twisting of words or slyness of tongue could dissuade Samuel of that.  He only wondered what other amazing things they could do and how he could trick them into letting him know their secrets.

On one particular night, creating the glowing ball was especially easy and Samuel set it to rest just above his head, where, instinctively, he knew it would stay.  He summoned several other such glow-balls and placed those beside the first, so that they cast a ghostly blue-white light over his room as they slowly bobbed up and down.  Then, however, Samuel found it particularly hard to summon a fifth ball.  He had never done so many before and he decided stubbornly that tonight would be the night to do it.  He caught the sensation he needed in his mind and groped at it blindly with all his will.  The sensation of magic was as slippery as soap in a washtub and he fumbled after the elusive feeling as best he could.  Each time he nearly let it slip, he changed his approach slightly and pinpointed the energy once more.  Finally, with an almost tangible click, Samuel found the mindset he needed and he knew the magic was coming.  His hands vibrated with the resonance of his thoughts and he felt another glow-ball on the verge of manifestation.  The other glow-balls blinked out and vanished without warning and Samuel chastised himself in the back of his mind for this, but he forced himself to keep his attention on the task at hand, else all his practice would be for naught.

A new light then began to creep from in-between Samuel’s slightly parted palms.  There was a strange discomfort in Samuel’s head, but he ignored it, intent on perfecting this creation.  The light grew in intensity until it had surpassed any previous attempt in size and strength.  Still, however, Samuel could not coax it to become a self-sustaining ball.  He kept pressing his efforts between his hands, and sweat dropped from his brow and sizzled into vapour as it touched the burning light he had summoned.  An audible crackling and popping came from the air all around as if things were spontaneously coming into existence.  Slowly, as Samuel shook with the strain, he managed to draw his hands apart and the light wobbled and spun on its own, finally settling into a well-formed sphere.

Samuel relaxed and wiped his face dry with his arm.  He was sure he had never used so much effort before, and Samuel was completely pleased with himself.  With a fingertip, he nudged the ball up above his head.  He could feel that this ball was much stronger than the others.  It would probably last all night long before fading away.  He just hoped no one came before it did, for he had not yet discovered how to make his glow-balls disappear at will.  They merely faded after a time or when they felt like it, so it seemed.

Strangely, the new glow-ball hovered back down from the ceiling and refused to be sent back up, no matter how Samuel coaxed it.  He examined it closely with one eyebrow raised in curiosity.  It was such a strange-looking glow-ball.

‘Oosoo ahn...’ came a long, dry whisper and Samuel nearly jumped out of his skin with fright.

Two dark circles appeared on the orb, followed by a third beneath, which smiled.  The orb had a face!  Two long, pale arms unfolded from the central mass, and a long, legless torso tapered down behind.  Samuel was both curious and unsure and he stared at the thing with eyes wide.  A long-fingered hand stretched out and touched Samuel on the shoulder.  Its touch was needle-sharp and icy cold.

‘Oosoo ahn...’ again it called, soft and dry.

Samuel backed away, bumping into the wall, as the spirit began examining his room.  It looked at his bed and his desk, pausing to view the notes that lay all over it, seeming to read them and smiling with satisfaction.  It then noticed Samuel edging for the door and was at once on him, covering the distance between them in a heartbeat.  It slapped his chest with its claw-like hand and knocked Samuel down without effort.  In an instant, it was over him and gone out the door.  Samuel was horrified, but leapt up in pursuit.

The spirit danced around the garden, disappearing into hollows, and moving around the inn at a frightening speed, as if investigating every cranny.  It spied Samuel once more and raced towards him.  Samuel ducked and covered his head with his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.  When he opened his eyes again, the spirit thing was nose to nose with him.  It cocked its head sideways and repeated the words.

‘Oosoo ahn.’

In its outstretched claw, it held a handful of dirt.  The pieces of soil ran between its bon,y white fingers and dropped to the ground as it cocked its head sideways and watched on as if fascinated.

‘Er...’ Samuel began to speak, but the spirit tossed the dirt down and turned its face to the starry sky, mouth agape in silent wonder.

It then shot away like an arrow and vanished into the darkness over the inn wall.  The sound of the front door being unbolted sent Samuel scurrying back into the stables where the wide-eyed horses regarded him nervously.  He leapt into his bed as voices came from outside.  Footsteps approached the stable and a solid knock came at the door.

‘Samuel, are you awake?’ came the voice of Mr Kelvin.

‘Ah, yes, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel replied, trying to sound tired, and Mr Kelvin opened the door and came in, bearing a lantern.

‘Did you hear anything just now?’ he asked, peering into the corners of Samuel’s room.

‘Why, yes, Mr Kelvin.  Just now I thought I heard someone walking in the garden, but I thought it was one of the guests.’

Mr Kelvin nodded.  ‘I thought I heard someone, too.  Well, I’ll have Kans keep an eye out.  Good night, Samuel.’

‘Good night, Mr Kelvin,’ he called after his employer.

Far off from the direction of the town came the faint noise of a woman’s scream.  Samuel swallowed and hoped it had nothing to do with him.

Samuel did not dare practise for a long time.  He felt that Mr Kelvin suspected him of something, and he was also petrified of a recurrence of the event with the frightful spirit.  Samuel noticed that the guests threw occasional glances towards him as he worked, which he was sure they never did before.  More than once, movement caught his eye and he thought he saw something, like smoke, vanishing around a corner.  It could have been his imagination, but thoughts of the ghoulish spirit kept returning to him.

Samuel soon found himself unable to sleep and he craved to practise his movements and meditation with a hunger.  His mind was a riddle of confusion and he found concentration on any task at hand difficult.  Mr Kelvin was constantly finding errors in his studies.  He awoke in the middle of one night to find a glow just fading from his hands, and a string of words still on his lips.

‘Sohm pad e`num-toh jio-toh varnay,’ he whispered to himself.  Those had been the words he had been repeating in his sleep and those had been the words the old man, the Grand Master, had recited softly as he meditated.  He had never heard them spoken aloud, but somehow he knew these words by heart, as if he had written them down and studied them.

Waking again and again, night after night, Samuel finally could not resist and sat up in his cot and closed his eyes and crossed his legs and the words sprang from his lips as naturally as the next breath.  At first, he spoke them over and over again, repeating twice as he exhaled and then taking in a deep breath again.  It was as if someone else was moving him like a puppet, yet it felt to him that this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing.  His lips soon barely moved at all as the words echoed over and over seamlessly in his mind, until he lost all consciousness of himself and the words were all that remained.  The universe and I; everything and nothing.

Kans dressed and walked down the wide hall to the kitchen, his footsteps echoing after him.  After speaking briefly with Cook, who was well underway preparing breakfast for the Masters, he went about taking tea to Master Kelvin.  Kans entered silently and, as usual, Master Kelvin was tangled up with only his bed sheets; the blankets being all on the floor.  Kans placed the tray on the bedside table and carefully added the milk and sugar from the tiny pots, just as Master Kelvin preferred.

‘Master Kelvin,’ Kans called softly.  ‘Master Kelvin, it’s time to wake up.’

With a snort, Master Kelvin opened his eyes and sat up.  ‘What!  Oh, good morning, Kans,’ he said as he oriented himself and began a great, gaping yawn.

‘Tea?’ Kans offered.

‘Oh, good.  Yes, thank you,’ Master Kelvin replied, smacking his lips.  He took the tea, blowing on it and sipping carefully.

Master Kelvin then did something quite curious, something he had not done before.  He put his tea back down before finishing it and began getting dressed, oblivious to Kan’s presence.  He seemed to be examining the air around him as if looking for an irritating insect.

‘Master Kelvin?’ Kans enquired, a little unsure of his master’s behaviour.

Master Kelvin looked about himself once more, but then stopped, as if coming upon a vital realisation.  ‘Quickly!’ Master Kelvin instructed.  ‘Go check on the guests.’

Kans hurried out, spurred on by Master Kelvin’s concern and, knocking on each Master’s door, made sure they were awake and readying themselves for the day.  It took a few minutes and by the time Kans returned to Master Kelvin’s chamber, Master Kelvin was bursting out into the hall.

‘Well?’ he demanded brusquely.

‘They’re fine, Master Kelvin.’

Master Kelvin stopped still, thoughtful a moment.  ‘Go check on the boy!’ he urged.  ‘The boy, I say!  See to Samuel!’

‘Yes, Master Kelvin!’ Kans declared and hurried down the polished hallway and out the great main doors, spurred on by Master Kelvin’s alarm.

Kans returned after a short time in an even greater hurry and with even greater alarm written clear across his face.

‘Master Kelvin!’ he called out.  ‘Master Kelvin!’

All the Masters were gathered in the dining room, picking at their food, talking over each other and creating an excited hubbub.

‘Master Kelvin!’ Kans called again as he pushed his way into the room. ‘Master Kelvin, come quickly!’ he yelled.

The procession of black-clothed men scurried down the main steps and around the side of the building to the stable.  Master Kelvin hurried in and threw open Samuel’s door without a pause.  His own dismay was echoed by the gasps from those all pushing and clustered behind him in the doorway.

Samuel was sitting cross-legged—a scrawny and knobbly-kneed young scrap of a lad, caught at the turning of his youth— with his palms together and his eyes closed.  He looked quite peaceful at first glance, but the obvious source of everyone’s surprise was the fact that he was floating halfway to the ceiling.  The boy was bathed in a soft blue light that grew from all around him and cascaded up towards the ceiling, where it slowly splashed and dissipated.  Samuel’s body glistened with sweat and shook dreadfully, as if beyond exhaustion, yet his face held utter bliss and contentment.  His lips moved incessantly, muttering the words of some powerful mantra over and over again.

‘Oh, my,’ was all Master Kelvin could say.

Samuel opened his eyes.  His body hurt as if he had done an extra hard day’s work and then, to finish, had thrown himself down a long flight of stairs.  He was not in his own room, but instead found himself lying upon a large, soft bed with posts standing at each corner, within a finely polished timber bedchamber.  It was still dark outside, but a small lamp was lit upon the wall, lending its soft, golden glow to the room.

He managed to sit up and pushed a pillow into the small of his back so he was resting against the bedhead.  A low, hollow ringing droned in his skull and, along with the aching in his body, he thought he knew how his father must have felt on mornings after drinking.

Beside him, on a small bedside table, a glass and pitcher waited, so Samuel drank, refilled the glass and then drank again, quenching his parched, sore throat.  His bedclothes had been removed and a neatly folded pair of his trousers and shirt waited on a chest next to a shining new set of boots.  From the size of them, Samuel guessed they were meant for him.

There was a knocking at the door and Samuel groaned a feeble ‘come in’.  The knob turned and Mr Kelvin came in quietly, almost cautiously.  He drew a chair to the bedside and took a sip from the steaming mug in his hand, before setting it on the floor by his heel.

‘How are you, Samuel?’ he asked with concern.

‘I’m aching all over, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel managed to moan back.

Mr Kelvin nodded and picked up his mug and sipped carefully from it before placing it down again.  He peered long and thoughtfully out through the window into the still night.  ‘Do you remember what happened three evenings ago?’

Samuel thought for a time and then his memory started coming back to him, although somewhat dimly.  ‘The last thing I remember is checking on the horses and getting into bed.  Why am I in here?  Have I been sick?’

Mr Kelvin took another long, thoughtful sip.  ‘We found you in a catatonic state.  It seems you have learned more during your stay here than we would have guessed; much more than you should have.’

Samuel was surprised and did not know what to say.  He had finally been discovered.

‘Have you been watching the guests?’  Mr Kelvin asked soberly.

Samuel nodded, feeling small.

‘You know it is forbidden to do so, for your own safety.  It took hours to bring you back from the state you were in.  If we had not been fortuitous in our efforts, you would have spent the rest of your life being fed pre-chewed food through a funnel.’  Samuel gulped and Mr Kelvin was again silent for a time. ‘Lomar suspected that you had learned something, but I dismissed the fact as the normal curiosity of a young boy.  It now seems evident that you do, indeed, have some talent in the ways of magic.  Such talent, now tapped, but raw and untrained as it is, can be very dangerous, indeed.’  He again paused and looked thoughtful for a moment, even slightly pursing his lips.  ‘I think it is time you realised your potential and learned the ways of a magician.’

‘A magician?’ Samuel repeated, bewildered in his feeble state.

Mr Kelvin nodded.  ‘Magic is no childhood story, such as frogfolk and badgermen.  This is an inn for magicians, and all of us here, and everyone who ever sets foot within these walls, are magicians.  We only allow common folk to enter when we haven’t the time to attend to something for ourselves, such as with Cook and yourself.’

‘Even Kans?’

‘Even Kans.  It is my wish that you, too, should attend the School of Magic in Cintar.  You’re about the right age and it would be a sorry waste if you did not at least try.  But I reach too far ahead of us both.  I will talk to you of this again tomorrow, for it is late and you need more sleep if your body is to recover from the strains it has suffered.’

‘Lomar told me there was no such thing as real magic,’ Samuel said.

‘In some ways, that is indeed true, but I think that Lomar was merely protecting you.  It is not in most people’s interest to even know of the existence of magic, especially in these times.  Even if he guessed you had some pre-disposition towards magic, it is not always easy for one to come to terms with that fact.  It is not a whimsical ability as people think, but a challenging force which forever commands our mastery.  It is a skill such as any, but one which is rarer than most and more powerful than any other in the right hands.  Common folk find it awe-inspiring and therefore elevate the use of magic to levels of godlike or devil-like powers, but it is not really so.  For us magicians, it is merely a matter of fact, like tying your bootlaces.  It is, however, a great responsibility, for if magic were misused it could mean disaster for the common folk.  Come now, get some rest.  You will learn more soon enough—once you have recovered.’

Strangely, Samuel did feel suddenly tired again.  For a moment, he thought he saw a tiny string of shining aura flicker out from Mr Kelvin towards him, but perhaps it was his tired mind playing tricks on him.  He tried to mumble something, but his tongue was as heavy as his eyelids and neither would do as he wished.  He felt hands lower him back onto the bed and the covers being pulled high up around his neck.  Mr Kelvin then pushed his chair back and dimmed the lamp a little bit more and left the boy to his already deep sleep.

The sound of Kans fossicking around the room roused Samuel and, looking towards the window, he judged it to be very soon after sunrise.  His muscles still ached, but he longed to stretch his legs and be out of that room.  A ravenous hunger also had hold of him and Samuel could smell breakfast streaming in the partly open doorway.  Kans departed at the sight of Samuel stirring and left the boy to himself, closing the door softly behind.  Samuel sat up and felt all his muscles aching.  He clambered slowly out of bed and stretched his arms up towards the feeling.  Every muscle and fibre felt stiff and wiry, yet, beneath the soreness, there was also some excitement of being, as if he were a tightly-coiled spring ready to be released.

Closing the door behind him, Samuel in his new clothes and soft boots, found himself in the unfamiliar halls of the guesthouse.  Kans’ tapping footsteps approached and the wiry man, looking as sullen as ever, waved his finger towards a large, double set of doors before striding off again from view.  Samuel stepped over, his boots echoing in the polished hall and waited a moment.  For some reason, he felt nervous, for he wasn’t sure what could be waiting for him on the other side.  Taking a big breath, he pushed open the doors and entered.  He found himself in a grand dining room, filled with talk and chatter and where Mr Kelvin and the guests were just beginning to breakfast from a table full of steaming and delicious-looking foods.  They looked to Samuel with great interest and the excited talk only increased further.

‘Ah, sit down, please, Samuel!’ Mr Kelvin called. ‘You must be hungry and we are eager to speak with you.  I trust you are feeling well?’

‘Yes.  A bit stiff,’ Samuel replied, rubbing his arm just to emphasise his point.  His stomach groaned from the smells that filled the room and he quickly filled an empty seat.  Cook appeared and placed some steaming soup before him with a nod and a smile.

‘Samuel,’ she said in greeting, before hurrying back into the kitchen.  Samuel plucked up his spoon and began scooping the soup into his mouth like a sailor bailing water from a sinking boat.

‘Now, Samuel,’ Mr Kelvin finally said after Samuel had finished his second bowl.  The guests had been whispering and nodding towards Samuel throughout the meal.  ‘When we found you, you were saying something, some powerful words.  Tell us, how did you learn these words?’

Samuel bobbed his shoulders, still intent on finishing a large loaf that he had smothered in butter.  ‘I watched sometimes through the window above the stable.’ Samuel had already decided to accept any punishment and was too hungry to be bothered telling any stories.

‘From the stable roof!’ one of the men exclaimed excitedly.  ‘I often had the strangest of feelings that I was being watched.’

‘As did I,’ agreed another and there was much nodding.

‘And which words were you reciting?’ asked the first.

Again, Samuel bobbed his shoulders as he swallowed the last bit of crust and Mr Kelvin pushed the fruit bowl towards him.

‘I’d say the whole ordeal was subconsciously controlled,’ Mr Kelvin explained to the others.  ‘He was probably sensing ethereal vibrations and he memorised the words subconsciously.’

‘Why it’s fantastic!’ one man exclaimed and they all nodded and agreed to each other once more.

‘But I can sense no talent in the boy,’ a newcomer declared.  ‘And yet you say he was clearly several feet above the ground when you found him, and exuding power like there was no tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ Mr Kelvin replied.  ‘Several feet.  And, as for his aura, I can’t explain why he does not emanate even the slightest hint of energy.  I observed him the first day I met him and thought it was most curious.  I only allowed him to stay because I thought he would be interesting to study.  I was growing quite tired of every rogue in the town trying to get their spies through my door, but a curiosity like that was just too much to ignore.

‘You knew Mr Joshua sent me here?’ Samuel explained with surprise.

‘Oh, I have no idea of the workings of the town gangsters and scoundrels at any given moment, Samuel, but it is much simpler to let them put someone in here and feed them a little information as I choose, rather than have them cause more of a bother than it’s worth.’  Samuel was dumbfounded.  ‘You obviously seemed to be working for one of the more successful groups or you would have disappeared much earlier—like your poor unfortunate predecessor.  Now can you see why I didn’t want you wandering around in town? Now, we still have the question of your missing presence.  Indeed, such a complete lack of an aura is more than just a curiosity.  Even concealment spells can be detected under close enough scrutiny, but he has nothing.  It’s truly perplexing.’

Men nodded.

‘Can he do something now for us?’ the doubting man asked, but Mr Kelvin threw him back a dark look.

‘The boy needs his rest and it would be better if he did not use magic until under the supervision of the teachers.’

‘So you truly intend to send him to the School of Magic—to become a magician?’  The man sounded truly incredulous.  ‘He’s not even Turian!’

‘There are more students being accepted from the territories with every year.  With need, we find we are forced to break from our old traditions—and I think this is actually one of the better changes.’

‘And don’t forget about the Grand Master!’ someone else piped up from the back.

The doubting man humphed and then crunched into a juicy apple.

Samuel’s ravenous hunger was beginning to abate as he finished his second banana, but the sight of such a delicious apple had him reaching for one himself.

‘Samuel?’ Mr Kelvin began to question.  ‘Have you decided what you want to do?’

Samuel quickly swallowed his remaining mouthful.  ‘Do you think I should become a magician, like you?’

‘Well,’ Mr Kelvin said with a chortle.  ‘It takes a lifetime of study to reach our level of experience and you may never attain such skill, but you certainly have some potential, from what we have witnessed.  I think it would be a great loss if you did not at least try.  You can always return here if you find some problem.’

‘But how will I pay?’ Samuel asked.  ‘I don’t have enough money to go to school.’

Again, Mr Kelvin laughed.  ‘Oh, you don’t need money.  The Order of Magicians is very wealthy and you will be given an allowance to study, be it somewhat humble.  However, I think you will understand after a short time that magicians really have little use for money.’

Samuel considered and then agreed.  He would actually get paid to go to school?  And if he could always return here, then he had nothing really to lose.

‘Very good,’ Mr Kelvin declared.  ‘Master Goodwin is leaving this very day for Cintar.  Perhaps he can escort you.’

‘Can the boy ride?’ the younger, moustached Master Goodwin asked.  Samuel had only seen him on one previous occasion and he seemed even more mysterious than the others, rarely speaking—even to the other guests.

When Samuel shook his head, Mr Kelvin said, ‘Then you may take a wagon and we will have it returned another time.’

Master Goodwin seemed somewhat displeased with the idea, but nodded in agreement.

‘Well then, Samuel.  It is decided,’ Mr Kelvin spoke.  Then to Master Goodwin he turned.  ‘Go and tell Kans to ready a wagon.’

Samuel stood.  ‘I can do it, Mr Kelvin.’

‘No, no, Samuel.  You need your rest and, another thing—as you now have some knowledge of the Order of Magicians, you should call me Master Kelvin from this point on, as is my title.’

‘Yes, Master Kelvin, but I can do it,’ Samuel said, but Master Kelvin would hear nothing of it and set Kans to ready the wagon beside the stables.

Samuel spent the morning being questioned by the guests in the Burning Oak gardens, but he could not even begin to answer most of their questions.  He told them of his success in summoning the glow-balls, but kept his terrible mistake with the strange spirit to himself.  They even tried to convince him to summon some magic, against Master Kelvin’s wishes, but Samuel was adamant that he would not.  He was not even sure he could.

‘Why is Cook not a magician?’ Samuel asked Master Took, who promptly burst out laughing.

‘Women cannot use magic, Samuel,’ he replied.

‘It’s not their nature,’ Master Gunthem added.

‘Why is she here?’ Samuel asked.

‘We have studies and duties to attend to, young Samuel,’ Master Copperpot answered.  They were all crowding enthusiastically around him.  ‘None of us has the time to prepare food all day.  She is the niece of a mage and so we have no need to hide our true nature from her; though of course she doesn’t know our innermost secrets.’

‘What secrets?’ Samuel asked.

‘Ah, that would be telling,’ Copperpot returned mysteriously.  ‘You will learn everything in good time at the place where you are going.  Have patience.  All good things come to those who wait.’

‘Why do magicians have to be so secret?’ Samuel asked.

‘We are the very bastions of the Empire,’ Copperpot explained, ‘Although we do not display ourselves openly and do not have direct contact with the people like the Emperor’s armies, we are still a symbol of the Empire’s might.’

‘The very Empire that conquered these lands,’ Master Gunthem put in.

‘Yes,’ Copperpot continued.  ‘In Turia, we openly walk the streets, but here, far from the centre of civilisation, it is not wise for us to advertise our presence.  In fact, worse than the fact we represent the Empire, is the fact that we represent magic itself.  Magicians have been regarded very poorly in the past.  In some regions, we would be in mortal danger if we revealed ourselves.  We rarely go to such places, except when absolutely necessary and, even then, we must travel in disguise.  The Emperor has been trying to change the old superstitions, but progress is slow and people do not change their ideas easily.  We are only here to help people, but sometimes it can be very difficult to make them understand that.’

Samuel nodded.  It seemed very complicated.

‘Tell us, Samuel.  How did you start to use magic?’ Master Gunthem questioned.

‘Yes.  Show us what you can do?’  Master Took asked once more and Mr Copperpot raised an intervening finger.

Master Kelvin’s calling brought a sigh of relief and Samuel hurried back to the inn, with the magicians all trailing behind and bickering with each other.

Kans brought the single-horsed wagon to the front and, with his few belongings and his purse carefully packed, Samuel received a firm handshake from Master Kelvin and each of the guests.  It was strange to have men, who had barely granted Samuel more than a few words, now gripping his hand and shaking it like dear friends with beaming smiles.

Samuel finally hopped up beside Master Goodwin and they began away, passing through the gates past a grumpy, dirty-faced, Kans.  As the wagon passed through, Samuel shouted his goodbyes and Kans’ face showed the slightest hint of a smile, as he promptly shut the gates behind them.

Just then, Samuel remembered Jessicah and Mr Joshua.  In all the excitement, he had forgotten them entirely.

‘I’ll meet you at the bridge!’ Samuel blurted out to Master Goodwin and jumped down from the wagon before the man could utter any form of response.  He was away and zigzagging his way through the town streets in a heartbeat.

He was panting and breathless by the time he came to the doors of the Three Toads Inn.  A patron was just coming out, and Samuel spied Jessicah standing idly inside beside her father.  He carefully eased the door open a crack and waited for his uncle to disappear into a back room, before darting in and dragging Jessicah out by the hand.

‘Samuel!’ she said.  ‘It’s so good to see you!’

‘Yes, you too!’ he returned.  ‘But I must go.  I am going to Cintar to be a magician.’  She giggled at this.  ‘Really!’ he reiterated. ‘I’m leaving now and I don’t know when I will be back.’

‘Oh, Samuel.  That’s terrible!’

‘Don’t worry!’ he said confidently.  ‘I’m sure I can come back soon and see you.  I promise.’

‘Oh, Samuel,’ she said again and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

‘But I must go!’ he exclaimed.  ‘Master Goodwin is waiting for me, and I must go see Mr Joshua and get my money!’

‘Goodbye, Samuel!  I will miss you!’

‘Me, too!  Goodbye, Jessicah!’  And with that Samuel was off again.

‘Hey, Samuel!’ called a familiar voice, as Samuel was crossing the market square.  Samuel stopped and Fat Martin, a street boy Samuel knew well, came scampering up to him.  ‘If you’re on your way to see Mr Joshua, I’d think twice!’

‘Why is that?’ Samuel asked.

‘Some trouble.  The city guard are there.’

Samuel became worried.  ‘I’ll be careful.’  And he sped off again.

On nearing Mr Joshua’s office, Samuel slowed to a walk and carefully peered down the narrow street.  Two guards were waiting arms-folded by the entrance.  Samuel was sure more were inside, but he could not guess as to what they were doing—nothing serious, he hoped.  He was eager to get the savings that Mr Joshua had been keeping for him, but the guards left him no choice.  He waited a painfully long time, but the guards barely moved a muscle the whole time.  Samuel was forced to turn about and jog away to meet Master Goodwin.  His money would have to wait until he returned to Stable Canthem.  He had a little from his work at the Burning Oak, and Master Kelvin had said the school in Cintar would provide him with everything, but he still wanted his money.  Mr Joshua had been a good employer and friend, so hopefully he would not be too angry at Samuel’s sudden departure and would keep the money for when he could return.

Master Goodwin was waiting patiently at the north bridge, which crossed the Mentine River.  He did not ask a word when Samuel jumped up beside him and they set off at once.  Samuel thought he should feel saddened that he could not say goodbye to Mr Joshua, but he was filled with such excitement at this new adventure.

At first, Samuel was excited with crossing new lands, but he soon discovered that one part of the highway was much the same as any other—dusty and featureless.  It reminded him of his journey from Stable Waterford long ago; however, this time he was not fleeing from an abominable past, but headed for an exciting future.  When he was a magician, he would surely learn to fly through the air and battle great dragons that rose hissing from the sea.  The children in Stable Canthem had always talked of magic and the incredible things that magicians did.  How exciting to think that, soon, he would be one of them.  Then again, the guests at the Burning Oak were all magicians, and they were mostly grumpy old men.  Samuel would be an adventurous magician, he was sure—not at all like them.

Master Goodwin told Samuel to call him Tulan, and it soon became evident that once Samuel got to know him, he was far friendlier and much more genuine than all the other magicians had been—except for Lomar, of course.

‘So, are all magicians called Master?’ Samuel asked.

‘Most are,’ Tulan answered with some amusement at the question.  ‘It’s a title that the Magicians’ Council created many years ago to make us all feel better than the common folk.  You start as an apprentice magician and become an Adept when you are almost ready.  After a few years’ experience, you graduate and become a Master Magician.  The titles are often changing and are not really important as far as I’m concerned.  The Magicians’ Council is always fiddling and changing things without too particular a reason.’

‘So that’s not what they are supposed to do?’

Tulan snorted.  ‘Not really, no.  Politics, Samuel.  Everything has politics—even magic.  Once, I thought that magicians only did positive and wonderful things, but it turns out that we are governed by rules and bureaucracy as much as anyone—more so.  There are too many greedy sods in the Order trying to squirm into positions of power.  The Council is ever full of arguments and bickering.  I couldn’t believe it at first, but that’s just the way of things.  I try to ignore it as best I can.  Sometimes, I’ve even considered leaving the Order altogether, but we can’t let such things get us down, can we?’  And he gave Samuel his most optimistic smile.

Samuel nodded.  He had heard his father say similar things about the village leaders.  People always seemed to complicate even the simplest of matters, having meetings and discussions and all sorts of arguments when none were really needed.  Then something occurred to him.  ‘What would you do if you left the Order?’

Tulan looked at him with genuine amusement.  ‘There are some other groups I could join.’  He began to rattle off their names: ‘The Union of Modern Magicians, Rammel’s Spellcasters, The Magician’s Alliance...a few more.  But they are really only token organisations and most only have a handful of members.  The Order has the backing of the Emperor and is, therefore, the only one real association of magicians.  The others are allowed to exist merely for the sake of appearances—places to put troublesome magicians where the Order can keep an eye on them and they can do little damage.  No, the Order has its fair share of troubles and worries, but it is really the only way for a magician to exist in the Empire.’

Samuel nodded in understanding.  ‘I didn’t know it was so difficult.’

‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ Tulan said with a smile.  ‘I should not worry you with such things at such a young age.  My experiences have made me cynical, but you have your whole life in front of you.  It seems you have a decent talent.  I’m sure you will do your parents very proud.’  At that, Samuel’s face fell and, after a few moments, Tulan noticed his silence.  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked the boy with concern.

‘My parents were killed.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Samuel.  I didn’t know.  The world is a cruel and heartless place, despite its brief golden moments.  I see now that you have discovered this already.’

Samuel nodded silently, then settled back into his seat and let the dusty countryside slowly rattle by.

After only a few more days, Tulan announced they were within the borders of Turia itself, seat of the Turian Empire and home to the Order of Magicians.  The School of Magicians was located all the way in Cintar, the great capital, which would take them another two weeks to reach.  Samuel could not believe it.  He thought it could perhaps be a few more days, but another two weeks?  How could the land be so large?  Master Kelvin had shown him maps of western Amandia, but the scale had never really occurred to him until now.

‘This is the slow way to travel, of course,’ Tulan informed him, gesturing to the wagon beneath them.  ‘We could be a good way there by now if we were riding.  They will probably teach you to ride in Cintar at some stage.  It makes civilisation seem much more civilised when the towns with comfortable beds are not so far apart.’  Samuel nodded.  ‘But I still enjoy taking my time occasionally—it reminds me of my childhood,’ Tulan added after a few moments silence.  He had been scouring the open land with his blue clear eyes, watching the wind bend the reeds that sprouted tall along the roadside canals. ‘And it gives you time to think about things.’

They stayed at inns and occasionally at a magician’s guesthouse, similar to the Burning Oak.  Tulan was obviously well travelled, as he knew these unmarked buildings from the others on sight.  None had gardens as lovely as the Burning Oak, but all were lavish and splendid and they were afforded every comfort without any requirement to pay.  Tulan wore his black trousers and dark, buttoned shirt as they travelled and the further they went, the more people seemed to recognise him for what he was, calling him Lord or Master and bowing before him.

‘I hate all this business,’ Tulan told Samuel.  ‘They think we are nobles or saints of some kind.  We’re no more worthy of their praise then the next man.  Sometimes, I curse these clothes of black,’ he said, tugging at his clothing.  ‘It’s true we heal the odd gimpy leg or cure the occasional bunion as we pass, but the Empire can’t hope to undo what it has done so easily.  Don’t be surprised if someone throws a dead goat on our laps and expects me to heal it for them.  Although, this close to Cintar we shouldn’t be bothered.’

‘Could you heal a dead goat?’ Samuel asked, in all seriousness.

Tulan laughed and shook his head.  ‘Dead is dead, Samuel.  Not even magic can cure that.’

‘Tell me more about magic,’ Samuel asked as the road led them through a series of wide, flat fields along a valley bottom.  The hills all around had been tiered so as to be cultivated, making them all appear to be covered in great green steps.  Samuel had long ago tired of looking at them and so instead he filled the time by launching another volley of questions towards his new friend.  ‘Where does it come from and how does it work?’

‘Well, no one can say for sure,’ Tulan began, ‘but they tell me that magic is the underlying energy that comprises all things.  If you know how, you can channel and make use of this energy, but it’s like everything; some of us have a natural talent and are better than others.  My father sent me to be examined for talent when I was eight, not being able to support me himself.  He was hoping I would prove useful with magic, and he was right.  I manage to support him now he’s old and a little feeble.’

‘Can magicians marry then?’

Tulan looked sideways to Samuel with a questioning glance.  ‘Magicians don’t marry, Samuel.  Perhaps it’s the lifestyle or the study or something inherent in the magic itself, but magic dulls the greater emotions.  Magicians can’t hate and can’t love—not to the full extent of common folk anyway.  Something happens to the mind and body so that magicians stop thinking about the fairer sex in that particular way.  And even if a magician wanted to have children, he couldn’t.  Magicians simply cannot.’

‘That sounds awful.’

‘I suppose it’s a fair trade for the skills it grants us.  Don’t worry, lad.  Once it happens to you, you won’t notice any difference.  It comes on slowly, but if you’re naturally talented with magic as it seems, you probably aren’t capable of having children already—that’s just the way of it.  It does simplify the business a great deal and without the bother of families to deal with, we can do our work and studies without such hindrances.  Admittedly, it does result in a lot of fairly boring old men not getting particularly fired-up or interested in much of anything.  I sometimes suppose a woman or two in the Order would help to spice things up and make it more amusing—but that’s just not possible.’

Samuel mulled over the matter for a while until the solemn feeling left him. ‘Enough of that, then.  Tell me more about magic!’ he asked.

Tulan looked thoughtful a moment, then began.  ‘You like asking the simple ones, don’t you?’ Tulan stated with a sarcastic smile that peeped out from beneath his curling moustache.  ‘Magic is both a skill that we practise and an energy that we can harvest from within our deepest selves.  Magicians simply hone that ability as well as can be.  Magic has garnered such a mystic tone simply because commoners cannot comprehend the link between cause and effect.  It is invisible to them.  They see us twiddle our fingers and then something happens, but they don’t understand the mental and physical effort that is required for such feats.

‘People once thought that the space between objects was filled with a void, but we now know that air fills those gaps, or how else would we breathe?  We can use that knowledge to better ourselves—constructing windmills and sails and all manner of things that can help us.  So it is with magic.  One day, I believe everyone will use magic in their homes as everyone now brandishes fire.  It is only the difficult step from fear and ignorance to understanding that is required.

‘Everyone could probably do some small magic if they tried although, as you’ve found out, it can be dangerous to play with magic without proper guidance.  That is my misgiving with the Empire, Samuel.  The Order has been created not to propagate magic, but to contain it.  Instead of throwing light across the world, we gather the brightest sparks and keep them hidden away under blankets of black.  We are windmills of fire, Samuel, made to unburden the world with our brilliance, but greed and jealousy have mucked up our cogs.  It is such a pity.  If my magic had not hardened my heart, I would probably weep.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Samuel said.

Tulan’s melancholy air fell away as he realised Samuel had been hanging on his every word.  ‘Oh, no!  I am sorry for you, my dear Samuel.  It is unjust to burden you with my own bitter concerns.  The old should not throw such worries upon the young.  Please, forget what I have said.  The world is a playground of opportunity for the young such as you.  If you become a strong and wise magician, perhaps you can help to change these things of which I have spoken.’

‘So can you tell who is a powerful magician and who is not?  Master Kelvin said I didn’t look like a magician at all.’

‘The magic in things is tangible, Samuel.  It gives off vibrations.  Not ordinary vibrations like this wagon is currently supplying to us in generous proportions; more like creases in the fabric of space and time.  The more magic something contains, the more it resonates and can be detected.  It’s just like listening carefully for a soft noise.  Although, you can even see and hear and taste and feel magic once you know how, it’s not with your ears or your eyes or your body, but more with your mind—or spirit.  In your case, it’s a mystery.  I’ve tried several times since we left and I can’t even feel a hint of power within you.  You don’t feel like a magician.  You don’t feel like anything.  If I turned my back, I would scarcely even know you were there, which is very strange for a magician like me.  But don’t worry.  I’m sure it’s commonplace and the teachers will find a way to explain it all to you.’

‘And what can I do with magic once I learn how?’

‘Ah, now that depends.  It depends on your ability and your strength and where your talents lie.  Some magicians are stronger in some areas.  I’m good with divination.  I can find minerals and detect the weather, and tell what kind of magic is where.  I mostly help the Empire find its precious metals to mine—to keep its coffers filled.  I can also tell you that if we don’t make the next village in the next hour we’ll get wet.’

Samuel looked up.  The clouds were heavy and looming in from the west. ‘Even I can tell that!’ he declared with a laugh and Tulan looked at him seriously.

‘But do you know?  Would you bet your life on it?  Sometimes, I’m not always so sure, but right this moment, I know that it will rain before the hour is out.  The strongest mages can even push their will into the skies and control the weather, not just read it; but unfortunately, I’m not so generously gifted.’

Samuel was in awe.  It did rain as Tulan had foretold, hard and heavy, just as they made it to the next inn, and it set in for two days straight.  It was still raining when Tulan, with a knowing wink, told Samuel to pack his things.  Samuel stuffed his belongings into his bag, and, by the time they were downstairs, the sun was breaking through the clouds and the last glistening drops were dripping from the eaves.  Scant moments later, they were once again bound for Cintar.

CHAPTER FOUR

The City of Magicians

THEY FOUND FEWER villages as they plunged deeper into the heart of Turia, and came across more and more cities and towns.  Some of these had long-ago burst from their walls and ancient defensive structures, and now sprawled amongst the plains and valleys wherever they could.  Broken fortifications and ruined walls scarred the landscape and Tulan explained that Turia had been witness to more than its fair share of warring.  Times had been peaceful since the last great expansion of the Empire, but the brightly-uniformed Turian militia, ever-present, were a reminder of wilder days before the Emperor had united the lands of Amandia; warring days when the borders of nations changed almost daily—before the Empire had conquered them all.

On occasion, mighty cities loomed in the distance, but they didn’t enter even one.  Tulan warned that it was much quicker to go around them and he gave each one a wide berth.  The roads near cities became like rivers of overloaded wagons and animals and travellers.  As it was, smaller roads joined with the Great Southern Highway as it coursed ever northwards, filling it with crowds of people and herded livestock.  Great lines of soldiers would march past, clanking and stomping by.  Sometimes the soldiers would be atop great beasts of horses, which would snort and whinny and throw up thick clouds of dust as they thundered by.

‘Not far now,’ Tulan said with a smile.  ‘You’ve missed a few good months of schooling already, but I’m sure, with some hard work, you can catch up.  If not, you’ll soon be back to Stable Canthem.’  Samuel nodded and smiled as he once more imagined what sorts of fantastic spells he would be learning.

Finally, they crested a hilltop and the smell of salt was strong on the wind. Suddenly a great city filled the landscape, laid out before an endless blue expanse of water that sparkled like rippling silver.

‘There she is,’ Tulan stated.

Samuel was spellbound by the sight.  The city was twenty times larger than the biggest towns he had yet seen, surrounded by an enormous wall and with a spectacular, many-towered palace clearly visible thrusting up at its centre.  It was not just a city—it was a city of cities.  Smaller towns in the distance, vast-looking by themselves, were joined to it by lengths of road that scarred the fields and paddocks.  A wide river ran from the hills in the east and a bridge spanned it where it was narrowest, giving rise to another string of buildings on the far banks.  For all these sights, for all the grandeur of what man had created, it was the great, blue ocean that stirred Samuel’s blood most.  It ran from as far as he could see from north to south and stretched out westwards to where the world seemed to somehow bend at its edges and vanish.

Horizon, Samuel thought to himself.  He had heard tell of such a thing, but having lived all his life amongst the mountains, he could never have imagined how incredible it looked.

Water spat and foamed just out from the city where the rolling sea heaved upon dark, jutting rocks and the tiny shapes of great ships dotted its surface.  Seas of cloth were strung from their towering masts to catch the wind.  Samuel could not remove his eyes from the sight as the ships crawled slowly around the bay like ants roving idly around one of Master Kelvin’s flowerbeds.  He had only heard tales of the sea, and nothing at all could have prepared him for such a sight.  He almost had to remind himself to breathe again, startled back to reality as the wagon struck a bump that threatened to launch him from his seat.  They started down the last sloping hillside towards the great city, and the ocean began to sink from view as the city continued to grow and grow before them.

As they crossed the open fields, the great walls of Cintar seemed to loom above them, until they blocked the view of everything else beyond.  They were mountainous structures, made of some smooth, pale stone, without any hint of joint or mortar.

‘Everyone must live within the walls,’ Tulan explained, noting Samuel’s scrutiny.  ‘This city is the heart of the Empire and no precaution is ignored in its defence.  They are many other towns nearby, but nothing may exist on the plain unless it is within these walls.  The Emperor is very protective of his home.’

More and more people had joined the road beside them and it only became more crowded as they all pushed towards a single great opening in the walls.  All the people around them made a deafening throng.  When they reached the open city gateway, Samuel craned his neck right back to look up at the wall’s dizzying heights.  Passing through the gates was a spectacle in itself.  Samuel would not have believed it was possible to even open and close such monstrous constructions.  Teams of soldiers kept people moving along and tried to keep general order, barking orders and yelling at the people, while hoards of officials watched on, vigorously scribbling on their piles of papers.

‘You need a pass to enter the city,’ Tulan explained.  ‘There are too many beggars and vagrants inside already.  Space is precious in the city.  You even have to pay just to visit relatives.  It’s the greatest city in all the world!’ he added, gesturing splendidly.

‘But I don’t have a pass,’ Samuel stated with some alarm.

‘We don’t need a pass,’ Tulan explained with a knowing smile and tapped his black cloak in way of explanation.  ‘You are magician, Samuel, or at least you will be soon.  We can go anywhere in the Empire without question.’  And they passed into the entry way unheeded, almost as if they were invisible amongst the throng.

Passing that threshold was almost like stepping into another world.  The air became cold and dark and people and animals alike seemed to drop to a hush, as if they all felt something chill and eerie in that boundary between all that lay within the city walls and all that was kept outside.  Samuel kept his arms folded tightly across his chest and looked to the heights above him nervously as their wagon carried them on.  Great slabs of stone looked down upon him, set firmly in place as if they had guarded the city for time immemorial.

As they emerged from the tunnel mouth and returned to daylight, the world leapt back to normal and the heat and the noise of the city fell upon them like a crushing blow.

It was a scene of apparent mayhem within the city walls.  People, livestock, wagons and goods surrounded them in all directions and the noise was incredible.  People were pushing and arguing and the crowd seemed to be surging in every direction at once, pressed up against the immovable barrier of the great wall.  Was there a riot in progress?  Samuel had to put his hands over his ears, but the din was still far too loud.

‘It’s quite busy here, today,’ Tulan yelled over the noise and Samuel nodded quickly in agreement.  ‘But it’s not so bad further along.  We just have to get away from the gate.’

Then, as if by magic, the crowd opened around them and Tulan urged the wagon forwards through the throngs of people.

‘Being a magician has many privileges,’ Tulan explained.  ‘It can take hours to get through that gate on a day like today.’

They had moved a few streets away before the crowds lessened and the noise became more tolerable.  Samuel was spellbound by the sights around him, never imagining that a city could be so much bigger than Stable Canthem.  The buildings were mostly square and plain, constructed of stone and reaching up three storeys and more all around, and many were lavish, being brightly coloured and decorated.  Large, stone slabs paved the streets and were worn smooth with the countless passing of wheel, hoof and foot.  Their horse towed them through a maze of streets, through the clamour of shouting vendors, through squares of spice sellers and sugar merchants, exotic animals and markets of fresh and preserved foods.  Great swathes of coloured cloth flapped in the breeze and enormous jugs, jars and urns lined the street-sides, along with many things so strange that Samuel had no idea what they were.  Everything imaginable could be bought, sold or traded, or so it seemed, and this was all only from his first few minutes within the city.

‘Take a good look, Samuel,’ Tulan told him, ‘because once you enter the School of Magic, they may not let you out for quite a while.  The city has far too many dangers and temptations for a new student.’

On the occasional corner, a few armed soldiers milled about; no doubt keeping a presence to maintain law and order, for if this city was anything like Stable Canthem, it would have more than its fair share of thieves and cutpurses and on a much grander scale.

The quietest areas were those where they passed vast, looming warehouses, or where tradesmen were labouring away in their workshops.

‘Try not to get lost,’ Tulan instructed.  ‘And, if you do, just ask for the School of Magic.  Everyone knows where it is.  I recommend that if they do let you out, you don’t travel the streets late or alone.  You should be fairly safe, being a magician, but it’s a big city with many strange people, so it pays to use some caution.’

The School of Magic was itself a walled-off region, although these walls were miniature compared to those around the city.  The iron gates—more decorative than functional— lay open and unguarded, almost invitingly.  Young men, a few years older than Samuel, trotted over to care for the horse and wagon and carry their belongings, their black shirts and trousers marking them as magicians.  Samuel and Tulan climbed down from the wagon and they made their way across the grounds.

‘You must study very hard, Samuel,’ Tulan explained as he led them to one of many ornate buildings, ‘but most of all, I recommend you keep your head down.  I’m sure if you just do your best and cause no trouble, everything will go smoothly for you here.  The Order has many good people, but also many selfish ones.  If you do anything to get yourself noticed, it could make your life here more difficult.  I’m not trying to scare you.  I just remember what it was like when I was here.  I hope you can try your best to be one of the good people, Samuel.  The Empire has enough of the other kind already.’

They presently came before a large building with a sturdy-looking wooden door.  Tulan pushed it open without delay and they entered a long room, a gigantic study of sorts.  Many old men were sitting at numerous long tables, talking or reading from great books, and they glanced over momentarily as the pair entered.  A good number of them sported dangling, white beards but, in the manner of the Order, each was groomed to the highest standard, looking wizened and sober.

Samuel squeezed his eyes half shut, for with all the magicians in the place, the room seemed full of sizzling lights.  Energy burst from them all and filled the air, like furious brilliant insects swarming around them.  Obviously, no one else could see it, or surely they would have been swatting madly at themselves.  Slowly, as if his thoughts themselves had sparked some reaction, the light faded almost entirely away and Samuel could open his eyes fully once again.

‘I’ll introduce you to the record-keeper and then I must go attend to my business,’ Tulan said.  ‘I’ll not be seeing you again—for a time at least—so good luck to you and welcome to the Order of Magicians.’  He smiled and offered his hand to Samuel who shook it firmly.

They wove between the tables and approached a simple door at the rear of the room.  Some of the old men watched them as they passed with a mixture of expressions.  Some seemed curious, others smirked, while others merely glanced up momentarily before returning to their own affairs.  Tulan knocked three times on the door and, after some moments, a voice called to enter.

‘This is Master Salmus Dividian,’ Tulan whispered as they stepped through. ‘He is Custodian of Records and therefore in charge of student admissions.’

They entered into the brightly lit study where within, an aged man wearing spectacles right on the tip of his pointed nose was busily scribbling notes on a parchment.  His beard was thick and curly about his chin and his hair was edged with grey.  He put his quill aside and turned his attention to the newcomers, coughing to clear his throat and removing his spectacles to peer over his nose at them.

‘Ah, Master Goodwin,’ he called with a throaty voice.  ‘How pleasant to see you again.’  He did not sound at all sincere.  ‘And what do you have with you?  A new student, perhaps, or a new worker for the kitchens?’  Master Dividian laughed heartily at this and Samuel could tell it was not something he did often.

‘This is Samuel, Master Dividian,’ Tulan introduced and the older man’s eyes flicked briefly to Samuel.  ‘Master Kelvin has sent him with his best wishes and proposes to sponsor the boy.’

‘But this boy has no talent at all,’ Master Dividian grumbled.  ‘How can Master Kelvin expect me to waste my time?  I thought the man would have more sense.’

Tulan spoke again. ‘You will find that he does have some talent, Master Dividian, but of course he needs training and some refinement.  I’m assured he has the potential to be a gifted magician with the proper schooling.’

Dividian looked unconvinced and sucked at his cheek.  ‘If it is Master Kelvin’s wish, than I shall grant the boy an opportunity to prove himself, although the last thing we need is another outlander.  Why can’t you find me more decent Turian apprentices?’ he said with unhindered disdain.  ‘I’ll give him a cot with the others in the foreigners’ dormitory.  He’ll have to do his best to catch up and if he can’t, I’ll put him out the front of the city to find his own way home.’  With that, the man replaced his spectacles and searched the papers on his desk until he found the sheet he required. ‘Samuel,’ he spoke to himself as he scrawled down the name beneath a host of others.  ‘That was my old mule’s name.  Good day!’ He then called out and waved at them dismissively, without looking up.

Tulan returned a half-hearted ‘good day’ and they left the room.  ‘So that is what you are up against, Samuel,’ he said.  ‘Just do your best to ignore him and try to keep out of his way.  If you get on his wrong side, it will make your life here much more difficult.  Imperials like him will always treat outsiders like you with contempt, so just do your best to avoid them.  Having outlanders in the Order is still considered something of an inconvenient necessity and is not looked upon favourably by most.  Times are changing,’ he sighed, ‘but ever so slowly.’

Samuel nodded and followed Tulan back across the room.  More glances were applied to him, followed by the same mumbling, scowls and sniggers.  He was starting to feel that this place was not really as wonderful as he had expected at all.  In Stable Canthem, they would talk about the Imperials and laugh about them.  Here, he was the one being singled out.

‘I am long late already, Samuel, so best wishes to you,’ Tulan said and gave Samuel directions to his lodgings.  ‘Although it has been my pleasure to escort you here, the task has not been kind to my schedule and I must rush.  Take care and I look forward to meeting you again in the future and seeing what marvels you have accomplished.’

‘Thank you, Tulan,’ Samuel said with gratitude, and they shook hands again warmly.

‘I’m sorry I must rush, but you will be well taken care of here.  Goodbye.’ With that, Tulan walked back towards the school gates, leaving Samuel to fend for himself.

Samuel looked around.  This was a strange place, indeed.  Old men, young men and boys alike eyed him like a circus spectacle as they passed.  They were all wearing black garments, while he still stood in the brown trousers and white shirt that Master Kelvin had given him, so he supposed he must look greatly out of place here.  Gathering his wits, Samuel began moving between the various buildings, as per Tulan’s instructions, eventually finding the appropriate one.  It had ‘Apprentice Dormitory Three’ ornately carved on a decorative sign by the door, with curling golden letters that almost seemed to burn with fire upon the wood.

Stepping inside, Samuel found himself within a great, two-levelled room.  A kitchen and tabled area covered the bottom floor with many chairs and places to study, while a balcony, ringed with many narrow cots, hugged the walls above.  A spectacled young man a year or two older than Samuel was the building’s only inhabitant and he sat at a table reading with his arm in a white sling, hanging across his chest.  The boy ignored him completely as Samuel climbed up the steep stairs and threw his belongings onto an apparently vacant cot, no possessions by its side.  A window nearby revealed another building, a twin to this one, only a few strides away.

Not knowing what else to do, Samuel lay on the cot—it was surprisingly comfortable—and rested, thinking about his strange, new surroundings.  He hoped the people were friendlier than they seemed or he was surely in for a miserable time.

Eventually, with nothing else to do or fill his thoughts, he swung his feet back to the floor and went back downstairs to speak with the other boy.

‘Just arrived?’ the boy stated as Samuel approached, not even glancing up from his book.

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied.

‘You could have been from Hammenton,’ the boy continued.  ‘They had a small school there, too, until just recently.’  The boy finally looked up to meet Samuel’s gaze.  ‘But you’re not from there.’

‘No,’ Samuel replied.  ‘I’m from Stable Canthem, in...’

‘Marlen,’ the boy finished for him.  ‘I’ve heard of it.  I’m Eric Goodfellow.’ He offered his good hand to Samuel and they shook.  His sandy hair was cut straight across, just above his glasses, as if edged off with one quick snip of a pair of scissors and the rest of his hair looked like it had been modelled from a bowl.  It was not a fashion that Samuel would have chosen for himself, but at least this boy was being polite, although admittedly a little strange.

‘I’m Samuel.’

Eric nodded and returned to his book, reading a few more lines before setting it down upon the table.

‘Do you have some talent already?’ Eric asked.

‘They said I do, but I’m not sure about this whole magic thing.’

‘Well, you’ll find out soon.  You won’t be here long if you don’t have at least some skill with magic.’

Samuel nodded in understanding.  ‘What happened to your arm?’

‘I broke it a few days ago.  I managed to levitate to the ceiling—but then I got nervous and couldn’t hold my spell.’

‘I think I did that once,’ Samuel stated.

Eric adjusted his eyeglasses and examined Samuel more closely.  ‘You must have some ability, then.  The others are with Master Glim.  I’ll introduce you when they return.  So, what have you learned so far?  What can you do?’

‘They told me I’m not allowed to use any magic until I get taught how.’

‘Of course.  It’s very dangerous to practise magic without proper supervision.  I heard about one boy who was practising in secret and lost control.  He was covered in mage-fire.  It’s a terrible kind of fire made of uncontrolled magic.  It burns your skin and flesh and damages your mind in dreadful ways.  He left soon after—terribly scarred and unable to communicate in any way.  I hope that doesn’t happen to you.’

‘So do I!’ Samuel declared.

Eric laughed.  ‘I’m sorry.  I’m not trying to scare you.’  For the first time, the boy actually looked welcoming.

They talked for a time until, towards mid-afternoon, a collection of tired and limping boys came in and sat at the tables or crawled up the stairs and collapsed onto their cots, each dressed in near-identical sets of black shirts and trousers.

‘This is Samuel, everybody!’ Eric called loudly.

A few boys waved in greeting or gave a welcoming moan.  One boy came and sat with them.  He was bright and energetic with his short, black hair combed neatly into place.

‘Hello,’ he said.  ‘I’m Eric.  Eric Pot.’

‘I’m Eric Goodfellow,’ the first Eric explained, noting Samuel’s look of bewilderment.

Samuel then introduced himself and shook the new Eric’s hand.

‘Most people call me Eric and him Goodfellow, just to save from confusion, or else we get full names.  You know, like Eric Pot or Eric Goodfellow.  Some people call me Pot, but I must admit it sounds a bit awkward.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel said.  ‘In my hometown we had two Toms.  It was confusing, but sometimes you could tell who they were talking about by the way they said it.  You know—Tom and Tom,’ and the other two nodded in understanding.

Just then, a middle-aged man came in and approached them, dressed in the black-robed attire that Samuel had grown accustomed to seeing at the Burning Oak.  His face was warm and pleasant, seemingly moulded from years of smiling.

‘Hello?’ the man said, addressing Samuel with a raised eyebrow.  ‘I am Master Glim.  And you are?’

‘Samuel, Sir.’

Master Glim seemed amused.  ‘I’m not a Sir or Lord or anything else, so you don’t have to call me that.  My real name is Dannidin Glim, but only my mother still calls me by my first name.  Given that you are obviously not my mother, I guess you will have to settle with calling me “Master Glim”.  Have you made yourself at home?’

‘I have, Master Glim.  I chose a cot up there.  Eric says it’s free.’

‘Good.  I’m sure the two Erics will set you straight.  I’m glad to see you’ve already fallen in with the brightest of the bunch.  The next class is with Master Sanctus tonight and then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.  Just follow these two and I’m sure they will take good care of you.  Oh, I nearly forgot.’  Master Glim went over and retrieved a set of black shirt and trousers from a chest in one corner.  They were identical to those Samuel had seen on the other boys here, and he gave them to Samuel.

‘Wear these for now,’ Master Glim explained.  ‘Some of the more cantankerous Masters have been known to cast horrific-smelling curses upon poor city folk who blundered into the school.  You wouldn’t want that on your first day, I’m sure.  Now, the boys can organise some more things for you tomorrow.’

Samuel looked at the clothes with interest. Despite their apparent simplicity, the material was thick and fine and the craftsmanship was detailed.  With that, Master Glim bade them farewell and Samuel changed into his new clothes, putting his old ones into the small chest by his cot.  Then he ran back downstairs and the two Erics set about showing Samuel the remainder of the school grounds.

Young and old men alike strolled around in their dark clothes, some with black shirt and trousers, others with flowing robes cascading almost to the ground and flowing behind.  A long, dark cloak or cape decorated the occasional man and Samuel wondered how it was determined what each magician should wear.

‘Ah!  It keeps getting under my feet!’ Samuel declared.  His trousers were a little too baggy and the hem kept dragging along the ground.

Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow laughed themselves hoarse.

‘Don’t worry, Samuel’ Eric Pot chuckled.  ‘We’ll get you some better fitting clothes tomorrow.’

‘Is it true—we can’t go into the city?’ Samuel asked them.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ Eric Pot replied, ‘for the time being.’

‘I’ve been here nearly four months and I haven’t been outside yet,’ Goodfellow added.

‘We’re supposed to focus on our studies,’ the other Eric noted sourly. ‘Apparently, the teachers will allow all of the apprentices to leave the school only once we have proved ourselves responsible and diligent—or so Master Dividian says.’

‘Although occasionally, we may be taken out of the city to practise our spells, but it’s not very often,’ Goodfellow said.

Samuel nodded in understanding, secretly wishing that he had seen more of the city before coming to the school.

They showed him another bunkhouse where the older, more advanced students lived.  It seemed that schooling depended on skill more than age, but in general, both were closely entwined.  The Adept, as they were called, looked up from their studies as the boys peered in and returned contemptuous looks.  They looked statelier and much more mature than the boys in Samuel’s dormitory.

‘The Adepts are pompous asses,’ Eric Pot whispered.  ‘Some are actually not too bad, but it’s generally better if you just keep away from them.’

‘Avoid them whenever possible,’ Goodfellow agreed, ‘or they will give you their chores.  You have to obey an Adept, and they are usually far too lazy to do their own work and they pick on all of us in the foreigners’ dormitory the most.’

They backed out of the dormitory doorway and the two Erics continued giving their tour of the school grounds.  There were lodgings for teachers, researchers, administrators and visitors, and lodgings for those who just lived on the school grounds.  There were, however, no lodgings for common folk.  Everyone who lived in the School of Magic was either a magician or learning to be one.  There were some cooks and other workers who came each day to serve the Masters, but if there was some generic menial task to be done, the apprentices were called upon to do it.

The Erics explained that some magicians lived in the palace and a few in the city itself, but most lived within the confines of the school.

They showed Samuel the common room that he had first seen, where the older Masters lingered to study and converse, heckling any apprentices who dared to enter.  Another large building housed the Great Hall, with enough seating for several hundred students around the curved walls and where the Emperor of Turia would sometimes come to be entertained with displays of magic.  Several bathhouses were found in the school, one for the apprentices, one for the Adept and one for the Masters.  They had great boilers that the students lit each day to produce copious amounts of hot water for washing.  There was a large stable, in which horses and carriages and all manner of conveyances were kept.  There was the Great Library, which had shelves and shelves of ancient manuscripts and handwritten books, and Eric Pot said that a cellar underneath held all the most amazing books, books that were reserved for the Masters only.  Some of the Adept were allowed to read them, but only once they had proved themselves responsible.  Of course, all of the Adept claimed to have free access to the cellar and declared its contents to be most astounding and wondrous.  Typically, they were never more detailed than that in their descriptions, so Eric Pot was sure they were making it up.

They had seen just about all the grounds before they noticed that the sun had dropped below the walls and they hurried back to their dormitory to prepare for the evening lesson.

The evening class consisted of all forty-eight apprentices from all three dormitories gathering in the Great Hall, barely even beginning to fill its many curved bench seats, and listening to a lecture by Master Sanctus.  He was an old and balding man with a bulbous, red nose and drooping ears, and great white whiskers across his chin.  He looked more like a vagrant who’d wandered in off the city streets and stolen into Order clothes, but Samuel supposed the old man must know all sorts of incredible things, despite his appearance.

If he noticed Samuel, however, Master Sanctus showed no sign of it, and spent several hours lecturing on the way of a magician’s life, on how it must be pure and good, helping the rich and poor, nobleman and common folk alike, but serving the Emperor and Empire above all.

There was not one mention of anything magical or mystical and, each time he mentioned some particular point, he would take great pain to explain the reasoning behind it and thus lose the actual purpose of his sentences.  From the drowsy expressions of his fellow students, Samuel concluded this was not the first time they had heard such monotony from Master Sanctus and his lecture went long into the night until everyone was nearly asleep in their seats.

Samuel slept soundly that night and awoke at first light as the other students were also slowly rousing themselves.  It was his first morning in the School of Magic and he excitedly pulled on his new clothes and hurried down the stairs.  The two Erics demonstrated the rules of the kitchen and fried them all some eggs.  There was a larder outside, beside the Great Hall, that was brimming with delicious foodstuffs of all manner and everyone could help themselves to it whenever they felt hungry.  Samuel thought it was the best news he had ever heard.

Goodfellow explained how the roster of chores worked, with each student doing various tasks each day.  No one actually enforced the roster, but it was considered the worst behaviour to deviate from it without a good excuse.  Samuel would not be expected to begin any chores until the next week and so he considered himself fortunate, as he could relax and take time to come to terms with his new surroundings.

‘I have to go to stable duty this morning,’ Eric Pot explained, ‘so let me know what happens in class.’

The class with Master Glim was as interesting and exciting as Master Sanctus’ classes were not.  They left their notepaper and quills behind and found an open patch of lawn by the tall, stone wall and Master Glim went into the intricacies of magic.

‘It comes from within,’ he explained, striding back and forth before the wall, ‘but that is not the source of magic, merely its channel.  Our minds are like veins, with magic being the blood.  If you are feeble and shallow-minded, the veins are narrow and magic may only just trickle through, but if you are fit and quick-witted—’ here Master Glim leapt up and clapped his hands with a thunderous slap.  When he landed neatly back upon his feet, there was an enormous blue butterfly resting on his finger, gently beating its wings.  Everybody, including Samuel, gasped in awe.  ‘—then magic roars in your ears and you can channel it with a whim,’ he continued.  He closed his eyes and the butterfly grew into a surprised-looking cow, balancing precariously on his hand.  It then transformed into Master Sanctus, complete with an enormous cow’s udder and everybody bent over laughing.  The illusion then vanished and Master Glim sat cross-legged on the grass once more. ‘Your mind must be keen and your body must be strong.  Each supports the other.  Magic is energy and energy is life, we are all made of it.  There is power in thoughts and words and movements, in shapes and patterns and pictures and music, in places and times and events.  If you remember this, your magic will be much stronger.’

Everyone nodded in understanding.

‘You may have heard that the stones of our walls were brought from distant lands, hundreds of years ago.  It’s true.  Early magicians recognised that stone is a lasting thing, and the ebb of the earth runs through some stones for many ages, before the wind and rain can wear them away.  These stones were found in a place of naturally high energy, and this energy had filled the rocks and made them magically powerful.  The magic has faded much over recent years, but these walls are still virtually impregnable to axe or pick and no spell can pass directly through them without great effort.  The city walls are great in strength, but our school’s perimeter, though tiny in comparison, should long outlast them.

‘It takes a keen eye, of course, to tell a natural place of strong energy, for these areas of magical energy slowly move around the earth over the ages.  Our wall is slowly seeping power, but this power is then available for us to use, increasing our magical strength while we are here in the school.  The closest natural magic well is far, far away now, but, in a way, we have created our own, here.’

Samuel was impressed.  The walls of the school were flawless—as clean and smooth as could be and seemingly made from a single, faultless piece of stone.  It made him curious and a question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

‘How did they cut the stone, Master Glim?’ Samuel asked.

‘Well, Samuel, this stone was cut with the aid of powerful magic and moved here in manageable blocks.  The sand made from cutting the stone was brought in bags to be used as mortar and more spells were used to bond them all together as one piece again.  It would have taken a long time, but it was so long ago that we don’t really know any more than that.  But the interesting thing is that the act of moving the stones actually made them stronger—for movement creates power. It is like dragging a flint across stone, and it produces magical energy within us.  Of course, we are always producing our own energy, but travelling is a way of energising and stirring ourselves to create even more.  This is why we magicians try not to spend too many years in one place, as it lends staleness to the mind and magic.  Now, enough talk.  Let us go to the hall and practise.’

They left the grassy spot by the wall and filed into the Great Hall, now warm and inviting with sunlight streaming through the windows, compared to the chill of the night before.  Master Glim seemed to lend warmth and vibrancy to the place, just as Master Sanctus had radiated chill sterility.

‘Revision!’ Master Glim announced and stood at the front of the room, facing his students with his hands set upon his hips.

They each in turn sat and crossed their legs on the open floor at the centre of the room and let their hands rest lightly upon their knees.  They all seemed to know what to do and so Samuel copied them, looking left and right to be sure he was following suit.

‘Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing,’ Master Glim called softly.  ‘Let the air come in your nose and feel the energy course down your spine and into your hands and feet.  Hold the breath and then let it out, taking all the corrupted energy out with it.’

The sound of an instrument seemed to emerge out of the silence, and Samuel could not resist opening an eye.  Master Glim had tiptoed away and returned with a many-stringed instrument, which he was now strumming lightly and slowly.  He made no particular tune, but more an array of harmonic noises, and from time to time he tapped on the wooden body of the instrument to produce strange echoes.  He noticed Samuel watching and gave him a stern look that obviously meant close your eyes and concentrate!

Samuel did so at once and soon found the voice of the instrument soothing.  He realised that Master Glim was also singing, a soft wordless hum that was barely discernible from the instrument itself.

‘Feel the energy within you,’ Master Glim then whispered, and his voice seemed to come from all around.  ‘Let it become part of you, and you of it.  Let the sound guide you.’

Samuel felt that the music could guide him as it resonated in his chest and ears.  He felt very relaxed and memories of his meditation in the Burning Oak came back to him.  A string of strange words was at the verge of remembrance.

‘Keep your eyes closed,’ Master Glim whispered.  ‘Relax and forget your breathing, forget your heartbeat, forget your body.  Become the energy—and now, concentrate the energy on a space just before your eyes.  Open your eyes slowly and continue to feed your power into this spot; feel it burn and glow with energy.  Feel the light before your face.’

Samuel opened his eyes and was surprised to find his hands had moved from his knees, where they had begun, to the palm-together position he had learned in the Burning Oak.  A tingling ran up his spine, as a boy diagonally in front of him spontaneously created a tiny ball of light.  The boy’s aura had flickered and bloomed and then a sizzling spark of light had sprung away from him, hanging in the air and unfolding into the glowing ball.  The boy then pushed it up into the air, obviously having done this before. There it hovered and shone.  Samuel looked up and saw it being joined by a host of other shining spheres as the students all around cast their spells.  He held his palms together firmly and searched for the way to create his own.  The feeling he needed bathed his mind, but then he wasn’t sure if it was the right one or not.  A moment of fear overtook him as he remembered the awful spirit that he had summoned at the Burning Oak.  It took great effort to calm down before he could start to regain a relaxed state of mind.

‘Those who can,’ sounded the voice of Master Glim, ‘move your mage-lights together and feel the energies of your friends.  Each is distinct and individual.  If you’re having trouble, don’t worry, just relax and feel the magic around you.’

All the spheres in the room began to move to the centre, all hovering together and mingling just below the ceiling.  Samuel refused to be embarrassed by his failure and renewed his efforts.  Without warning, his head tingled and a surge of energy coursed through him like a river breaking its banks.  He was sure he had done it, but when he peered though half-closed eyes, his mage-light had still not appeared.

‘Each effort teaches you how to affect the natural flow of energy,’ Master Glim told them.  ‘Each beat of your heart brings you closer to fulfilling the potential locked inside you.’

Samuel pushed harder and harder, growing impatient at his magic for not doing as he willed.  He gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts.  I will make a spell, he told himself.  I will make a spell!

A strange snap then occurred in Samuel’s mind and an amazing torrent of magic fell through him, making him dizzy and light-headed.  It was more energy than he had felt before and it filled him with strange exuberance.  He realised he was grinning like a fool before he finally regained his composure.  This time, Samuel was not at all disappointed at failing to cast his spell, for the feeling inside him made him giddy.

‘Now, let your magic dissipate and we’ll finish,’ Master Glim finally called.

Samuel released his efforts and opened his eyes again, shaking his sweaty hands.  At once, the pleasant feeling vanished and Samuel’s head cleared.  He could feel the energy calling to him, pulsing like a river that lay just underneath the ground, its pressure shaking the soil and threatening to break through.  It was difficult to put the power to rest, for the feeling had been wonderful and exhilarating.  He had to calm himself several times and push his magic back deep within himself.  A horrible image of a boy catching on fire came to mind and the thought caused his power to flicker and vanish.

Samuel gave a sigh of relief and looked up as the mage-lights above grew dim and faded one by one as the boys all ceased their spelling.

‘Well done,’ Master Glim said.  ‘Those of you who managed and feel confident may practise in your own time.  Those of you who did not may practise breathing techniques, but do not try to channel power until we next meet.  That is all.  Master Sanctus has you all day tomorrow.’

There was a groan at this and all the boys began to file out.  Samuel did not leave at once, but instead went to Master Glim’s side; his teacher was replacing his instrument into a small cupboard.  Peering past him, Samuel could see all manner of other curious things tucked inside.

‘Master Glim?’ Samuel asked.

‘Well done, Samuel,’ Master Glim said, closing the door and turning to face his student.  ‘I felt some magic in you at the end there.  Just a touch, but enough to let me know you have good potential.  Do not worry that you could not do anything today.  It never comes at once.  You did well just to breathe properly and relax.  Have you practised before?’

‘A little—but I want to ask you—I was wondering about magic.  I felt very strange just now and a little sick.  I heard about the boy that caught fire and I wondered if that’s what it felt like.  Can you let too much power in?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Master Glim conceded. ‘That can happen to untrained magicians and, unfortunately, seems to be happening more and more of late.  If one lets too much magic in and not enough out, the power can be dangerous—overwhelming.  If too much magic fills you, burn it out somehow while you temper your connection to the source.  Make a knot of power as we have today and throw it away.  Cast it out into the sky, for magic must be consumed once summoned or it will consume you.  And magic will not return to the ether easily.  It is a skill that must be slowly developed.  All this is why you are here, to learn the simplest yet most important of lessons: you must master yourself if you are to master your magic.’

Samuel thought he understood some of what Master Glim told him, but his mind was focussed on a terrible image of wild, uncontrolled magic tearing across his skin.  He only hoped it never happened to him.

****

Archmage Ordi hurried out onto his balcony, perched high atop the Mage Tower, where he very often felt like a god looking down upon the earth.  Such feelings of grandeur, however, were far from his mind at present, as something powerful and unsettling had disturbed him from his napping and had brought him rushing outside.

It took only a glance over the city to see what was tugging at his senses, for hovering above the School of Magic was an enormous blue sphere of extraordinary power.  It paled the sun and the streets below were suddenly still and quiet as every person in view shaded their eyes and gawked at the spectacle.  The city folk were used to occasional mystic events from the magicians, but this was a wondrous display and the denizens of Cintar had all stopped in place to observe and marvel.

The Archmage stroked his long, gnarled, wooden staff absentmindedly, with his thumb, and watched on thoughtfully as the spell flashed and glimmered below him.

The fiery sphere then flashed from existence and was gone, leaving the world dull again and pale by comparison.  The throngs of people below all at once lowered their gazes and went back to their scurrying and shouting and selling and bargaining, and the spontaneous wonder was quickly forgotten.

If this was meant to be some sort of display from Grand Master Anthem, the Archmage was not impressed.  The man had been a thorn in his side for far too long and he had long since stopped believing that the wily old Anthem was as passionate about the Empire as he claimed.  No, Anthem had dipped his fingers into too many cookie jars and the time of his comeuppance was quickly approaching.  He had been given more than enough time to prove his worth—years and countless resources—but still there was nothing to show except more excuses.  Old Anthem was quickly losing all precious favour with the Emperor and all such past gratitude would soon be worthless.  Archmage Ordi knew it had been a mistake from the start.

The Archmage slowly scratched his chin and went to adjust his splendid purple-hemmed robes, before realising he was completely naked.  In his hurry to get to his balcony, he had leapt straight out of bed without thinking.  Chuckling to himself, the bony old magician strolled back inside.  He put his staff back in its place beside his great bed, before crawling back onto the mattress and pulling the masses of thick and fluffy blankets back  on top of himself and preparing to continue his comfortable nap.  There was no need to hurry.  He had waited a long time already and events would unfold of their own accord soon enough.

Lessons with Master Sanctus were hideously tedious.  He was responsible for teaching the apprentices to speak in the Old Tongue, the language of magicians.  The Old Tongue closely followed the lines of power and was, therefore, more useful in magic than the Turian language that was now common about the land.  Samuel was well behind in the lessons and realised he would have to spend all his free time studying to catch up, although the two Erics both said they would help.  The Old Tongue was strange and alien to him, difficult between his lips.  Other students were already forming sentences and starting to converse with it, while Samuel stuttered and baulked on the simplest of words, like talinyi—hello.

He managed to spell a splendid mage-light the next day and Master Glim was very pleased.  It actually felt much easier than the time before, and required much less effort.  In the following days, however, he found he was far behind in every area of his studies.  He had history lessons with Master Kalbak, mathematics lessons with Master Fraser, literature with Master Yule and magic lessons with Master Glim, although the teachers all seemed quite flexible and exchanged roles on occasion.

Samuel spent hours every day in the Great Library, jotting notes and such, trying to get his mind around the perplexing mannerisms of the Old Tongue.  To help him improve, Samuel and Eric Goodfellow made a resolution to initially say everything in Old Tongue, and then only in Turian if one of them did not understand.  It was ridiculous at first, as Samuel never understood what was being said, but even after a few days, he began to notice some improvement, recognising some of the basic phrases.

Samuel also spent considerable time in the Great Hall when it was empty, practising his mage-lights.  Day after day, he practised in every spare moment.  He was not happy with just making one or two, and he forced himself to keep trying until he could make up to a dozen.  He felt quite proud at this one accomplishment and finally began to feel all his extra study was starting to show results.  Soon, he found he could manipulate the shapes of his lights, giving them different tones and colours.  Blues spheres became green ovals, yellow squares, and red triangles.  By combining the shapes and colours, Samuel could make the semblance of a tree or flower or even a basic man.

Every few months, one teacher would leave or another would come, but Master Glim and Master Sanctus still led the bulk of the lessons.  They received new classes from Master Rubrick and Master Jod.  Every teacher had a different perspective to share regarding their education and would instruct them on every conceivable aspect of being a magician.  Master Dividian even began teaching them the history and philosophy of magic.  Most students found these lessons tedious, as Master Dividian was a self-important and pompous old man.  Not all the teachers were as popular as Master Glim, but Master Dividian was as far from likeable as any student thought possible.

Master Rubrick would teach them all the ways of positioning the body, so that magical energy could be gathered more efficiently.  Samuel recognised some of the strange positions and movements he had seen in the Burning Oak.  Some were low, almost squatting positions with arms and hands all curled and bunched up, while others were tall, outstretching, even one-legged stances.  Samuel could feel the magic course through him whenever he practised these positions.  He remembered the deftness with which Grand Master Anthem and Lomar had performed the movements and vowed to be at least as good as them.

Master Jokkle later arrived to take over all their intermediate schooling, such as grammar, science and mathematics.  He was an energetic and dedicated teacher and seemed to enjoy any gains they made, so it made the classes more interesting.  Some students objected to such mundane lessons, but Master Jokkle always managed to think of some example where a magician with good schooling was better than a magician with good magic.  They did not need to reach the level of the scholars in the Emperor’s university, but many members of the Order did lecture there, such was their considerable knowledge.  Samuel could see the point of all this, but somehow, the three-four-five rule for squaring corners just did not compare to the ability to lift and move objects with a magical spell.

They even received lessons in riding and horsemanship, as this was the chief method of transport around the inland regions of the Empire.  A magician, especially in his early years, would be expected to travel far and wide performing the various duties of the Order.  Samuel’s experiences from his youth actually helped him greatly, and although he had spent much more time under the animals than on them, he quickly found himself becoming a fairly competent rider.

One sunny afternoon, Samuel and many of the apprentices were resting in their bunkhouse—either lying idly in their cots or studying at the tables below.  Samuel was leaning on the balcony rail, staring out into space and thinking about some new spells he would like to try, when he noticed an old man come wandering in through the bunkhouse door.  The man wore a simple surcoat down to his knees along with some stockings and buckled shoes, and he was peering around the room almost as if he had lost something.  If not for the fact that his clothes were all of deepest black, Samuel may have thought the man an old vagrant who had wandered in off the streets.  Taking a closer look at the fellow’s wispy, white hair and straggly beard, Samuel was taken by surprise as he realised they had met before.  It was the old man from the Burning Oak—the one he had first seen do magic.

‘Grand Master!’ some boys exclaimed and hopped up from their bunks and raced down the short stairs.

The old man laughed as he was quickly surrounded by all the boys in the room.  Samuel made down the stairs after them and stood at the edge of the small crowd, waiting expectantly.

His voice was as warm and youthful as Samuel remembered.  ‘It’s good to see you all again; each taller and more manly than before, as I can see.  I’ve been away far too long once again.’

‘We’re happy to see you again, Grand Master,’ Goodfellow declared.  ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Oh, I’m always being sent all over on Order business these days,’ the old man replied.  ‘Almost too busy to care for my precious school—it’s criminal.  But I shall remain here awhile now.  Now, what can you show me?  What have you learned since I last had time to visit you?  I’ve been away far too long.’

‘Look, Grand Master!’ Chadly Doon, a blond-haired boy, exclaimed and immediately created a star-shaped formation of lights above them.

‘Look, Grand Master!’ called another, making a spell of his own and letting a plateful of beans go hopping and jumping across the table.

‘Look! Look!’ they each cried.

‘Calm now, calm now!’ retorted the Grand Master, holding up his hands. ‘Hold your spells for the moment.  Go back to your places and I will come and chat with each and every one of you before I leave.  Go on!’

The boys all dispelled their magic and slowly dragged themselves away back to their cots and tables.  Samuel returned to the second floor and looked down upon the old man as he made his way amongst them all.  They would chat a few minutes before each boy summoned his best spell and the Grand Master would nod and exclaim ‘wonderful!’  From time to time, the old man would look around the room, as if looking for something, and the smile on his face would fall away for the briefest moment, showing some dark concern.  Then, he would laugh and make some joke with the boys and his face would be free of its fleeting vexation.

Samuel soon became bored of watching on and collapsed onto his cot.  It was wearisome watching all the boys fawning over the old man with their tired tricks.  Fetching some notes out from his chest, he lay on his back and began practising some Old Tongue.

After some time, a deep smooth voice sounded beside him.  ‘Now whom do we have here?’

Samuel dropped his notes and quickly sat up as the Grand Master sat down beside him at the end of bed.

‘Grand Master Anthem,’ Samuel greeted.

‘So you are the boy who liked to spy through the window?’ the old man said, and Samuel immediately felt his cheeks burning.  ‘Samuel, isn’t it?  I heard you had joined us here in the school.  You seem to be fitting in well enough.’

‘Yes, Grand Master.  I like it here very much.’

‘And what about your studies?  I hear you had some catching up to do?’

‘Yes, but I am studying very hard,’ Samuel explained.

‘Well let me see what you have learned.’

‘I don’t know what to show you, Grand Master,’ Samuel admitted.

‘Now don’t be shy, my boy.  Just some small thing is fine.  Any trivial spell you care to muster up,’ the Grand Master urged him.

Samuel thought a moment and then created a few coloured mage-lights in the air beside them.  They looked somewhat pale in the afternoon light.

‘That’s it?’ the old man quizzed him disappointingly.  ‘I’m sure you can do better than that.  I can tell that took you no effort at all.’

Samuel dispelled his lights with a gesture and paused again to think.  Gathering himself for a moment, he put out his palm and began to spell.  A tiny speck could be seen in his hand.

‘Oh?’ said the Grand Master quizzically and bent his head to look closer.  ‘What’s this?’

Soft light began to shine from Samuel’s palm and the speck began to grow and became a short green sprout.  Samuel poured his magic into the spell and the thing became as tall as his longest finger, then buds and leaves began to form.  Slowly, the sprout thickened and the tiny leaves became fuller and the stem wider until Samuel finished and a small shrub sat in his palm.

‘Wonderful!’ Grand Master Anthem exclaimed.  ‘Quite a complex spell.’

‘It’s an apple tree,’ Samuel stated.  ‘A very small one.  I’m still experimenting.’

The old man leaned in even closer to inspect the creation.  ‘Why, it even has tiny apples.  Samuel, what a marvel!’

Samuel laughed.  ‘It’s only simple.  I have a lot of work to do to make it better.’

‘Nonsense, boy.  It’s a grand illusion.  You just need to work on it a little more and make it a bit bigger.’  With that, the Grand Master stood.  ‘Well, I have a few more boys to chat with.  I will keep an eye on you and talk with you another day, young Samuel.’

The old man then took his turn to sit with Eric Goodfellow and then Eric Pot, who took great relish in showing the Grand Master his favourite trick: making a pebble leap magically between his two clenched fists.  After the aged magician had done with them all, he started back down the stairs, grasping firmly onto the rich, hardwood hand-rail as he went to help him descend.

Samuel was somewhat disappointed and placed the plant on the floor beside his chest with a few others he had made previously.  He had been secretly hoping to impress the Grand Master, but the man had not even noticed the spell was not an illusion at all.  He was the only apprentice in the whole dormitory who could even start to grow a real tree—in the whole school for all he knew.  Samuel reached into his pocket and dug out the last few apple seeds he had collected and threw them out the window with disappointment.

After a few more minutes, Samuel heard the Grand Master call out his goodbyes from below and looked down through the balusters as the old man left, almost hurriedly.

‘I’m getting worried,’ came an insistent voice, penetrating Samuel’s dreams.

‘I’m sure there’s no need for alarm,’ came another.

Samuel had been having a pleasant dream about the mountains around Stable Waterford.  It had been wonderful playing and running through the woods again, but the voices had started interrupting him and would not go away.  It became hard to concentrate on the trees and branches and adventures, and all became grey and foggy until just the troublesome voices remained.

‘He’s just a boy, but he could be the one everyone is searching for—here, with us!’ the first voice stated.

‘Yes, yes.  You may be right,’ mused the second—a thin and whiny voice.  ‘At the very least, it deserves further investigation.  I will begin searching the ancient manuscripts and you keep an eye on him.  Tell me of anything you learn—any clue or hint at all.’

‘Of course, but what should we say to him in the meantime?’

‘Nothing.  Watch him.  It’s too early to be sure.  He shows all the signs of great power, but we could be mistaken.’

‘Perhaps I can try to guide him to our cause.’

‘Very well, but take great care.  I’m sure he has been noticed already, and others will be seeking to sway him.  It is fortunate we found him first.  We don’t want to lose another one to their side, at least not until we learn what makes him so special.’

‘It could be nothing—a simple curiosity.’

‘Or it could be something.  He plays with the makings of a Great Spell as if it were trivial.  Such a spell could prove pivotal—for either side—and at this, such a crucial time.  We just cannot afford to take chances.’

A moment’s silence.

‘Yes, I agree,’ the voice sounded almost optimistic.

‘Very well.  I will trust you with the task.  Do whatever it takes to earn his trust.’  The second speaker finished.

‘I shall,’ the initial speaker finished gruffly and Samuel was sure he had heard this person before, somewhere in the real world beyond such haze-ridden dreams.

Some days, Samuel found it harder to use magic than others.  The teachers said this was normal, as a certain frame of mind was needed to use magic, but it frustrated Samuel greatly.  At times, casting a spell was as easy as taking a breath, and these times were exhilarating.  As more months passed, the bunkhouse became a constant display of various magic feats, with each boy practising the skills that best suited him.  Samuel would lean against the balcony banister and watch closely.  He had the advantage of being able to see the weaves of magic they made, and quickly learned how to read every flow and turn of power.  The weaker boys’ magic was composed of thin and wispy strings of energy, which wavered and shuddered, barely able to hold together long enough to form a spell.  Strong spells were rich with tendrils of energy, and the magic flowed smooth and sure.

It was a simple matter for Samuel to copy the simple spells, for he merely had to summon some magic and bend the weaves to match whatever spell he desired.  More complex spells, however, were another matter.  There were far too many weaves and flows to remember, and by the time he finished placing the final parts of the spell, the first parts had already dissipated.  It proved difficult to copy such spells, but Samuel kept trying every day.  Each success gave him only a moment’s satisfaction before he began again on something even more difficult—and each failure filled him with frustration and rage.

Whenever Grand Master Anthem returned to visit them, they would all show off their greatest feats, but Samuel was disheartened by the man, and would only show him his simplest effort.  The old man seemed to sense Samuel’s mood and soon stopped asking to see his spells.  He seemed kind-hearted enough, however, and liked to talk about all manner of things, but Samuel could never shake the feeling the old man was playing with him, asking him questions that seemed innocent enough, but were set to bait and test him—what for, he could not even begin to guess.

Each student had his daily chores to do around the school.  Samuel supposed it was to teach them humility or something—he did not care, for he enjoyed the time to himself so he could contemplate his spells.  Sometimes, they had to do digging or something very difficult and dirty, but most of the time, it was just a matter of some simple cleaning and sweeping.  Samuel, however, enjoyed working in the stable most.  He tried to swap his chores with the other boys whenever he could and the other boys generally accepted the trade readily.  They could not understand why Samuel liked to work in the dusty stables so much.  Samuel, however, felt entirely comfortable there.  The smell of the hay and chaff and leather and all the other distinct fragrances somehow made him feel at home.

The long hours attending to the horses and equipment passed quickly and there was only the occasional hurried arrival or departure of one Master or another.  It was a perfect place to practise his spells.  These days he was experimenting with spells of Moving and Lifting.  He had no problem lifting smallish objects and could even spell himself to be as light as a feather—if only for brief moments.  Doing so, he could leap quite far and land very lightly, touching the earth with barely a sound.  The spell required much exertion and took some time to prepare.  Any time he lost concentration the spell would fail and Samuel would drop suddenly out of the air to land on his backside.  He kept such spells to himself, for he felt he was progressing much better than any of the other boys and he did not want them to learn his secrets.  Any time someone asked to see what he was practising, he would show some mage-lights, or some simple illusion to keep them happy.  They would usually nod and say ‘what a fine spell’ and be content with that.

‘What of the boy?’ the thin voice asked.  Samuel had not been disturbed for some time, but tonight his dreams were once again interrupted by impatient voices.

‘He goes well.  Every day I feel he is stronger, but he keeps much to himself for some reason I cannot guess.  He has few friends, but they are well skilled.  It is a good sign.’

Again, that gruff voice seemed familiar to him.

‘We should look into his past—his family, everything.  Everything about him seems genuine, but it could be another ruse.  Tread carefully with your investigations.  If we raise our heads now, we could lose them.’

‘I will keep that in mind,’ the gruff speaker noted.

‘What from the library?’

‘Nothing more than we already know.  Perhaps the arrival of the boy is a good sign.  With him, we may not need any more of the books.  Perhaps he has a role to play.’

The thin-voiced speaker was not so sure.  ‘Perhaps, but we will continue on our current course nonetheless.  I’m sure the Council also know about him by now, but they have said nothing.  They will be watching him closely and I will need to divert their enquiries as best I can.  I feel many threads focussing on this one boy.’  Then the voice took on hushed tones.  ‘Quiet!  I feel a spell!’

With that, the voices ended.

One warm yet cloudy day, it was announced that the apprentices had been working hard and performing well, so from now on they would be permitted to enter the city during daylight hours.  They were reminded to be on their best behaviour at all times.  The Adept were always venturing outside the school walls and many apprentices saw it as a chance to catch up with the older students and see what interesting things waited in the city.

Many boys went out into the city every afternoon from that time on, but Samuel preferred to stay at school and practise his spells.  Each day the two Erics would come looking for him and urge him to go out with them.  He would refuse, saying that he had too much study to do and they would laugh and leave him be.  It was obvious to Samuel that when anyone began to wander the city, their studies suffered and he had no wish to slow down his learning by any amount at all.  Eventually, however, the Erics convinced him that such experience was a necessity for good magic and then his curiosity got the better of him and the lure of the city drew Samuel out through the school gates with a childish grin.

The streets of Cintar were like a rabbit’s warren—all twisting and turning, so that Samuel would have become hopelessly lost if not for the aid of his friends.

‘Aren’t you glad you finally came with us?’ Eric Pot asked and Samuel laughed and nodded.

‘Yes, yes.  The city is indeed as wonderful as you said,’ he had to admit.  There was always a sense of some undiscovered excitement around every corner, for there were so many people and things to see, the likes of which Samuel could never have imagined.  Although he was away from his studies, Samuel had to confess that there was also much to learn in the city.

They explored the markets, bazaars and stores and talked with the merchants and people they met.  The city folk always spoke with them respectfully and always offered to give them some goods without charge.  If it was food, they gratefully accepted and the three of them often feasted on strange foreign fruits and edible things they had never before seen or tasted.  Some were strange and unpalatable, while other things were delicious and exquisite.

One morning, all the classes were cancelled due to a sudden important meeting of the Masters, and so Samuel, Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow took the chance to explore the tent markets in the city’s eastern district.  Here, a vast square had once been, but now the sky was hidden by tents and pavilions that pushed up tightly against each other.  Poles, from which all colours and manner of cloths hung to form tents and covers, towered into the sky.  Pegs were hammered into the ground and ropes stretched from them in every direction to hold the great poles in place.  Every rope was adorned with flags, banners and streamers, giving the place a fantastic air.  Delicious smells collected within the tents, steaming out of all the simmering and bubbling pots as people cooked all manner of exotic meals.  Leathers and bowls and endless assortments of decorative items were being touted all around, each one cheaper and more useful than the last.  It was such a marvellous place that Samuel could stay lost there for hours on end every day and still find new things and corners to explore.

He was examining a collection of carved figurines, depicting monsters and heroes with swords held high in victory, when a voice sounded immediately beside him.

‘Excuse me, young man.’

Samuel turned and looked up at the curious figure beside him.  It was a rather tall man, pale of skin and pointed of nose.  Most striking of all were the spotlessly clean white robes he wore, for they were quite out of place in such a city.  The magical aura around him proclaimed him to be a magician of some description, yet, in such white clothing, he was clearly not of the Order.

‘You are relatively new to the Order, I presume,’ the man asked with an arched eyebrow.

‘Why, yes,’ Samuel replied, quite unsure of this strange man.

‘Please, allow me to introduce myself.  I am Balthazar, First of the Union of Modern Magicians.’

Samuel was still equally unsure.  ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ he said and offered the man his hand.  It was not something that magicians often did, being aloof as they were, but Samuel thought manners were manners, after all.  The man looked at Samuel’s hand quizzically and then shook it tightly with both of his own.

‘Ah,’ he began.  ‘I thought I would welcome you to Cintar, young Master.  It’s the first time I’ve seen you in the city.  So tell me, are you enjoying your time with the Order of Magicians?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Samuel informed him, ‘but I’m not a Master.  I’m only an apprentice.’

‘No matter, no matter,’ said the man, flapping one hand dismissively.  ‘Titles are a thing of mere formality.  In the Union of Modern Magicians, all men are equal!’  Samuel eyed the man squarely.  He had the feeling he was about to be sold something.  ‘Have you ever thought about joining another institution of magic?’

‘No,’ Samuel replied, now doubting the man’s intentions entirely.  ‘Not really.’

‘Tell me.  What is your name?’  He now had a beaming smile, baring teeth.

‘Samuel,’ he said.  ‘But I’m not really interested in leaving the School of Magic.’

Balthazar smiled even more.  ‘Fine!  Fine!  But take your time to think it over.  Any time you are even interested in dropping in for a chat, you can find us just near the library on Dovetail Street.’

Balthazar then seemed to notice something over Samuel’s shoulder.  ‘I will speak with you again some day,’ he said with some urgency and rushed away into the crowd with a flurry of white cloth.

‘Who was that?’ Eric asked as he and Goodfellow returned.

‘He said his name was Balthazar,’ Samuel explained.  ‘He said he wants me to join the Union of Modern Magicians.’

Eric laughed.  ‘They’re a bunch of lunatics, Samuel.’

‘Yes,’ Goodfellow agreed.  ‘I’d stay well away from them, if I were you.  Perhaps you should tell Master Glim.’

Samuel shrugged.  ‘He seems harmless enough.  A little quirky, perhaps.  What have you there?’ Samuel asked, noticing the bundle in Eric’s arms.

‘It’s a delicacy from my home.  I was surprised to find it here.  There’s a merchant here from Reve who is actually a second cousin of mine.’

‘So what is it?’ Samuel asked, peering into the wrapping.

‘Pigs’ ears,’ Eric announced and Samuel stepped back.  ‘They’re delicious.  You soak them in oils and spice and then fry them up in a nice hot pan.’  He smacked his lips with his tongue.

‘That’s disgusting!’ Samuel proclaimed.

‘Don’t criticise it until you’ve tried it, Samuel.’

‘I’ve tried it, Samuel,’ Goodfellow informed him.  ‘And you’re right.  It’s disgusting.  I’d rather chew off the soles of my shoes.’

Eric shook his head at them with disappointment and they made their way back to the school.  ‘You two just don’t know what’s good for you!’ he declared with a cheeky grin.

Days always passed quickly in the School of Magic.  Samuel lost all track of time and measured it instead by his spells and accomplishments.  The seasons turned and days became cold, then warm and cold once again.  Occasionally, he outgrew or outwore one set of clothes or shoes or another, but apart from that, his days were consumed by his complete passion for magic.  Very little changed in the school; each day was defined by a typical routine that Samuel regarded as just perfect.  Whenever he overheard his classmates complaining of the repetitiveness or boredom, he would quietly shake his head.  He gained few friends by not agreeing, but he didn’t care.

Tulan Goodwin visited the school occasionally and he was always astounded by Samuel’s progress.  He had been to the Burning Oak on occasion and passed on Master Kelvin’s best wishes to Samuel.  Samuel learned how a new stablehand had been found at the inn.  His name was Fennian, and Samuel chuckled when he heard this, for it was the quiet boy that had been working for Mr Joshua.  It seemed Mr Joshua had managed to insert a new spy into the Burning Oak after all.  Samuel had no idea how Mr Joshua benefited from knowing the goings-on of the Order, but he guessed the man must have some way to turn a profit from all the information he gathered in Stable Canthem.

As Samuel was chatting with Tulan, he began to notice something curious about the man’s magical aura and, as he nodded and followed along in idle conversation, he squinted his eyes and peered more closely at the fine shroud of weaves that curled around Tulan.  They were particular to the man—unique, Samuel realised, but Tulan’s aura also had some similarities with other magicians with skills of divination.  With a little practice, Samuel guessed he would be able to tell the capabilities of a magician just by looking at him.  He could already tell the purpose of simple spells just by observing them and could even tell who the caster was if he knew them well enough.  His sight was a great advantage to him in this way, as he only had to look at magic to know its properties.  Others had to rely on the feeling of the spell and it took them much longer to do anything.  At first, he had thought perhaps he would meet others in the School of Magic with the same curious ability as he, but so far, no one else seemed to be gifted with his magician’s sight.  He kept the secret tightly to himself.

When Samuel was not practising or studying and had no chores to perform, he would lean against the balcony by his cot on the upper floor and watch the other apprentices practise their spells below.  He would open himself to the source and let his magic fill him.  It was a thrilling sensation and he would try to hold onto such feelings for as long as he could.  Then he felt truly alive, as if every sense in his body was multiplied and excited.  Best of all, it seemed that nobody was any the wiser and he felt satisfaction in the fact that he could manipulate such power right beneath all their noses.

Eventually, though, he would tire and have to separate himself from the source once more.  Each time, he could channel a little more than before.  Every day, he felt he was getting stronger and stronger.  It only disappointed him that he could not hold his power indefinitely.  There just seemed to be no way around the limitations of the body and it frustrated him no end, for he felt that there was more and more magic within him just waiting to be released.  Somehow, he would find a way...

Occasionally, Master Glim would organise a few hours of sport for the boys, stating how, despite the fact that they were apprentice magicians, they were still just boys and needed to play boys’ games.  They played football—it was a little different to the way they played kick-ball in Marlen.  The school grounds were not so large that they could run without constraint, but they could always manage to have a decent game without breaking too many of the large, ornate vases that decorated many of the walkways or colliding with any of the passing old Masters.  The Adept played little, but occasionally one or two would join the game and seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone when they did.  It was a refreshing break from study, but Samuel had not played such games since he had left Stable Canthem and he quickly ran out of breath while the others were just getting started.  Goodfellow, too, had little patience for games, not being very good at them, and spent most of the time strolling about, adjusting his spectacles and watching the others race past him.

Eric Pot was just the opposite.  He danced around the ball and the other players as if they did not exist and could kick the ball as far as he wanted and exactly where he wanted it—without even a hint of magic.  Samuel had tried spelling the ball, but the others had immediately caught on when the ball had started zooming along on its own.  They chastised him with a friendly wrestle—but when some fifteen or so growing lads are all leaping on top of you for a ‘friendly wrestle’, it can be pretty uncomfortable, and Samuel quickly learned his lesson.

Master Glim would run up and down beside them, supporting one team or another—usually whoever had the ball at the time.  Samuel watched him running along all afternoon, calling out and cheering without a hint of tiring.  Samuel hoped that, one day, he could be as well-regarded as Master Glim.  No student had a harsh word to say towards the man, for he was ever patient and thoughtful.  Samuel knew that not all the Masters agreed with Master Glim’s kindly attitude towards the students, for most of the old teachers were very harsh and strict, punishing even the slightest whisper in class.  These Masters, happening past the games, would shake their heads and scowl at the unsightly behaviour, no doubt thinking that the boys should be indoors being more constructive with their time.  Samuel frowned at them, and then noticed the ball come flying towards him.  He ducked just in time and felt the air whistle past his head.  A knot of apprentices came charging in the same direction, so he spelled himself fresh with the tiniest trickle of magic and, hooting out loud, charged off after the ball before they could reach him.

Samuel found himself in the Great Library one afternoon, as he often was, searching the many high-tiered shelves for any interesting snippets of information about the Old Tongue.  He found the history of the world fascinating.  For instance, he had learned that in the days of old, the entire continent of Amandia was one nation with one tongue—the Old Tongue.  For some reason, that old society had collapsed and many nations were formed through ages of war.  Time had passed and the people had diversified in culture and habit.  Further from Turia, the local dialects had become more and more diverse until eventually, in the lands at the edge of the Empire, they became entirely different languages altogether.  Now, the Empire spanned most of the known world and Turian was the dominant tongue.

Garteny, in the frigid north, was the only civilised nation that still dared to challenge the Empire.  Its remote location had made it difficult to conquer and its lands were vast stretches of plains and flatlands that turned frigid in winter.  Those not used to such conditions had little chance of surviving there and the northern defenders could be summoned in enormous numbers whenever the need arose.

There were a few other lands still free of occupation, such as the sprawling marshes of Kabush in the southeast, where Lomar was from, and the massive deserts of Paatin even further eastwards, but, populated only by primitive nomads and wanderers, they offered little in the way of benefit to the Empire.  Tiny island nations dotted the western oceans, but again, the sum of them all was not worth the effort to invade.  Occasionally, some of these people would come into contact with the civilised world via some of the merchants in the markets, but mostly they kept to themselves.

Samuel considered some of the books he had found and gathered them into his arms, making for the study table where he had been making notes.  He sat down and began reading, planning to pass the rest of the afternoon in that manner.  He wet his thumb and began turning the pages, scanning each one for anything that might tweak his interest.

He came upon a passage devoted to the history of the Old World and found a section of particular interest.  The Lick of the Ancients, the author stated, was the language of the first civilisation.  There was little other mention of the language, apart from the name, and Samuel dug through the volume from front to back in an effort to find more facts, for he had never even heard of such a thing in all his studies at the school.  The book was already several hundred years old, and a copy of a copy of the original piece, so Samuel was not even sure it could be regarded as accurate.  He flicked to the last page and found the author’s signature: Garrum.  It meant ‘traveller’ in the Old Tongue.

Going back through the book once more, Samuel was astounded to realise that some of the pictures and scrawlings he had passed over, thinking them just doodling and scribbles, could in fact be notes made by the author.  If that proved to be so, they could actually be examples of this extinct tongue, far too few to be of any use in translation, but it would be something fascinating to show his friends and teachers.  Samuel could not bring himself to leave the library and continued well into the evening, studying the book at length.  He read in depth some of the references to the wondrous artefacts of the Ancients that could harness and direct magic for their operation.  Many elaborate sketches were reproduced, depicting amazing and intricate creations, some the size of mountains, some minute in size.  Samuel doubted such machines had ever existed, for they seemed preposterous and far-fetched.  Nevertheless, it proved fascinating reading and Samuel finished by copying every possible example of the Ancient Lick he could find, as well as a short selection of the magical machines and artefacts that interested him.

It was then that Samuel became aware of someone standing behind him.  The sudden presence of magic had alerted him, as if the person had spontaneously appeared out of thin air.  Samuel kept his head angled down towards the book he was reading, doing his best to peer back over his shoulder.

‘You are very perceptive, Samuel.’

Samuel turned his head to see a figure standing there, arms folded.  The man was middle-aged, stocky and quite muscular.  He was surrounded by a magical aura like a storm of fire and Samuel had to squint his eyes while he dulled his sense of sight.  He wore common clothes—trousers, shirt and a waistcoat—and so Samuel was at once on guard, for he was obviously not of the Order.

‘Garrum,’ the man said.

‘What’s that?’ Samuel said and then remembered the book in his hands.  ‘Oh, yes.  It’s very interesting.’  Samuel looked around for anyone else to call to, but he was completely alone with the stranger.

‘A legend among magicians.  Quite a find, that book.  It is said he lives still, travelling the earth in his eternal quest to be the ultimate magician—but I doubt it very much.  It’s more likely he died in the battle of Warrenkeep long ago, when his fortress was plundered by marauding savages from the south.’

‘Who are you?’ Samuel asked, putting down his book and standing to face the man.

‘Please excuse me,’ the man said, pressing his palms together and bowing slightly.  ‘I sometimes forget the most common of courtesies.  I will not tell you my name, for it is in your best interest not to know—yet.  But I must confess that I have been curious to meet you for some time—since I first learned you had arrived in Cintar.  When someone of your nature is found, it attracts many of the curious.’

‘My nature?’

‘Come now, Samuel.  Don’t be coy.’  The man stepped up to the shelves and fingered a few books.  ‘We both know that you are no ordinary apprentice.  Time is short and my presence here has probably already been noticed.  I am sure that you have had many offers already, but you should know that of all the magicians in Cintar, only I can teach you what you need to know.  The Order has many good men to instruct you, but they are in no way as gifted as you are.  I’m sure you have already felt their limits, their weaknesses.  It must be frustrating for you to be among them, having them treat you like an inferior.’

‘I have only just begun to learn.’

‘Exactly!  How tiresome it must be.’

‘It doesn’t bother me.  I am quite happy here so far,’ Samuel professed.

The man stepped away from the shelves, disappointment painted on his face. ‘Perhaps you are not ready for me yet, but that comes as no surprise.  The black-cloaks enshroud you with their arms like worried mothers, then tell you their lies and use you as a pawn for their Emperor—and themselves.  Very well, I shall leave you for now, Samuel, but remember, I shall return soon and I hope you are more receptive to my offer then.  All the strongest come to me eventually, Samuel, and you will be no exception.  Remember that.’

Samuel swallowed.  He could feel his heart thudding against his chest.

The man seemed to sense his nervousness.  ‘You have some gains to make yet, Samuel.  Study hard and I will visit you again soon.  Tell no one.  It will only make matters more difficult for us both if you do.’

With that, the man vanished before Samuel’s eyes.  Samuel’s jaw almost dropped open with surprise.  Quickly, however, curiosity took over as he wondered what manner of spell the man could have possibly used to disappear like that.  He enhanced his sight again and examined the area for any remnants of magic.  A glint in the corner of his eye caught Samuel’s attention and he turned in time to catch sight of faint sparks of magic flickering towards the library doors.  The doors then quietly opened, just enough for a man to slip through, then closed softly behind.  Samuel smiled.  This man was certainly a very powerful magician, yet his vanishing act was not nearly as impressive as it first seemed.  Still, Samuel admitted, the man had somehow learned to render himself invisible to the eye and almost invisible to magical detection, which was no trivial feat.  Yet something about the man was certainly worrying.  Samuel was intrigued.  He sack back down and continued pawing over the book by Garrum, but his thoughts were on the man and his fabulous aura.  He had never imagined a person could emit such incredible power.  Samuel would keep this to himself, as he had been warned, for he hoped they would meet again and the next time, Samuel would be prepared to study the man and learn some of his wonderful spells.

Samuel and Eric were out in the city, walking through the deafening din of the markets.  Some of the busy vendors and passers-by let their eyes linger on the boys, showing a mix of curiosity and concern.  Some cheered and laughed as the two passed.  Some ignored them altogether.  They had both become used to the many and varied reactions and had long stopped noticing any stares and whispers directed towards them.

‘Let’s see what they have in here,’ Eric called as they wandered down another jostling market street.  The air in that direction was filled with the spicy odours of grilling meats.

Just then, Samuel heard his name being called out from afar.  Balthazar, of the Union of Modern Magicians, was hurrying towards them with his white robes billowing, almost tripping him over.  He was calling out, ‘Master Samuel!’ at the top of his lungs.  Samuel groaned.  The man had been dogging him at every opportunity since their first meeting, ever insistent that he leave the Order and join his group.  Samuel was growing sick of him.  Some of the other magical societies had approached Samuel on occasion, as they did most apprentices, but none had proved so persistent or annoying.

Samuel quickly looked for Eric, who had vanished into the nearest doorway, and pushed after him, hoping Balthazar had not noticed his route of escape.

Inside, it seemed to be the business place of a tailor or cloth merchant.  Enormous bolts of various colours and fabrics crowded the walls, leaning against each other, some at dangerous angles—Samuel suspected that if one fell on him, it would probably crush him to death.  The small shop was dark and confining, smelling of camphor and other pungent odours.  It could definitely do with another window or two.

The merchant emerged from a back room, his smile faltering on sight of the boy’s dark clothes.

‘How may I help you, Young Lords?’ he asked with his hands pressed together lightly in the manner of someone from the Spice Islands.  His eyes said that he was of Sammalan descent, yet his skin bore the paleness of Amandia, declaring his mixed heritage.  Such men were scorned in their homeland, but were not uncommon in Cintar.

‘You have some fine cloth here, merchant,’ Eric said with a regal demeanour.

‘You have a keen eye, Young Lord,’ the tailor returned.  ‘I keep some of the best linens in the city.’

Eric rubbed the hem of a shirt, picking it out from a dozen others that were hanging from the ceiling on long lines of string.  ‘This looks quite interesting.’

The tailor immediately drew a long measuring tape from his pocket and put his arms around Eric to measure his girth.  ‘That could not possibly do, Young Lord.  It is but a simple rag.  Let me prepare something befitting of your worth.’

‘No, no,’ Eric stated firmly.  Samuel’s cheeks ached from suppressing his laughter. ‘We have no time for that.  We need something at once.  Something not black.’

The tailor then stood back and rubbed his chin.  ‘Ah, I see, Young Lords.  Not black.  Then I only hope there is something here that may fit you.  That one is three sizes too small at least.  Just give me time to find something a tad more suitable.’  And he began strolling between the rows of garments thoughtfully.  ‘Ah, I believe there may be something in here.’

With that, he began rummaging through one tight rack of clothing, pulling out first one, then another of the purest white shirts with frilled collars and billowing sleeves.  The two boys immediately pulled their drab black shirts over their heads and laughed as they buttoned themselves into their elaborate new raiments.

‘You look like lords of the palace,’ the tailor proclaimed.

Samuel ran his hands over the smooth cloth.  It was a welcome change from their normal wear.  Eric looked like a different person, appearing very strange in such a decorative garment.

‘Are they to your liking?’ the tailor asked.

‘Wonderful!’ Samuel replied.

‘Perfect!’ Eric echoed.  ‘How much are they worth?’

The tailor seemed taken aback.  ‘I thought you were jesting, my Lord.  These clothes have been measured for someone else entirely.  They are far from suitable.’

‘No, I insist,’ Eric replied.

The tailor sighed and continued, with a shrug of his shoulders.  ‘They are five and a half crowns each.  I am sure you will not find as fine quality at such a price anywhere.  I would normally not expect Lords of the Order to pay for anything, but my dear wife would not forgive me for giving away two pieces of such fine cloth.’

Eric scooped some coins from his pocket and handed them to the tailor.

‘Thank you very much, Young Lords,’ the tailor returned with a contented smile, quickly sorting the coins in his palm.

Samuel did not know how much Eric had given him—it did not really matter.  They received a regular purse from the Order and, with nothing to spend it on, money held little value for them.  Samuel had long ago given up counting his own collection of coins—something he could never have imagined himself doing once upon a time.

‘What shall I do with these?’ the tailor asked, plucking up their black shirts with his fingertips.

‘Keep them, burn them—as you wish,’ Eric said.  Then to Samuel he turned. ‘Let’s have some fun.’

Samuel nodded and could not keep from leaping and laughing as they re-entered the bright and bustling street, with the tailor shaking his head behind them.

‘What shall we do first?’ Eric asked.  ‘Nobody knows who we are.  We could do anything!’

‘We could go to a wrestling match,’ Samuel replied, squeezing between a farmer and a goat.  ‘I hear they have them over in the south quarter.  Or the races in Northbank?’

Just then, a stream of children flew through the crowd shortly ahead.  The two boys grinned and looked to each other.  As one, they leapt into flight and followed the weaving children.  Men and women alike swore as they pushed through them to keep up with the street-wise youths, men and women who would never swear at members of the Order.  At last, out of breath, they emerged from the body-filled streets and out into a quieter square, lined with apartments and the occasional inn.  For the first time, a trickle of fear touched Samuel as he realised the trouble they would be in if anyone from the Order recognised them.  They would be polishing floors for a week.  His anxiety was short-lived, however, as he found they had reached their destination.

A circle of children had formed in the square and were kicking a ball.

‘Football!’ Eric gasped, bearing a great grin.

They hung at the edge of the game with great expectant grins until one boy, perhaps the youngest of the lot, came over to them.

‘You can play if you like,’ he said, complete with dirty face and running nose.  Samuel and Eric were quite a bit older than them, but the two young magicians were eager for some fun.

‘Which team can we join?’ Samuel asked.

The boy turned and examined the game a moment.  ‘One on each, I suppose.’

Samuel walked to the boys on his team, who were now in a huddle, talking tactics.

‘Are you new in town or just passing through?’ one of the older boys asked as Samuel joined them.

‘New in town,’ Samuel replied with a grin.

‘Are you any good?’ another asked him.

Samuel bobbed his shoulders.  ‘Not really.’

‘Why are you dressed like that?’ the first boy asked.  Samuel did suppose his new shirt was quite lavish.  ‘Been to a funeral?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Samuel lied with a grin and the boys just shrugged back.

The game began again and a cheer went up at once as Eric intercepted the kick off and was across the square in a flash, sending the ball like an arrow into the goal.

‘You didn’t tell us he was that good!’ another of Samuel’s team mates declared.  ‘I wish we’d picked him!’

‘Sorry,’ was all Samuel could reply.  Eric seemed even better than when they played in the school.  The air of excitement had obviously empowered him.

The next kick-off saw two of Samuel’s teammates attempting to guard the energetic Eric.  Each time he tried to dart away from them, they were only a step behind and kicking at his ankles.  Samuel laughed as he saw Eric’s patience starting to wear thin.

‘Here!’ someone cried and Samuel lurched into life as the ball sailed towards him.  Instinctively, he kicked it, but it went high and wide, bouncing off the wall of a neighbouring building, then back down into the square.  Eric laughed and Samuel scowled back at his friend.

The game went on.  Samuel tried his hardest to intercept the ball wherever he could, but these boys were all very good despite their age and he had not played for some time.  His fitness and enthusiasm could only carry him so far before he began to tire.  Spying his chance, Samuel leapt for the ball as it careered free from the opposition and he kicked it with all his might.  He winced as he bruised the end of his toes within his soft sandals.  The ball arced towards the goal area with too much force and not enough accuracy.  It would have sailed far too wide, but Samuel would not have it.  At the last instant, the ball curved sharply, bounced before the wide-eyed goalkeeper and ricocheted between his legs into the goal.

All Samuel’s team gave a great hoot, but the opposition were left aghast.  Eric was shaking his head slowly, but smiling.

Samuel limped over to him.  ‘I think it’s time to go.  I’m stuffed.’

‘I agree.  And another shot like that and we’ll be lynched,’ Eric replied.

They called farewell to the two teams of boys and trotted from the cobbled square.

‘How are we going to explain our clothes?’ Samuel asked.

‘Oh,’ Eric replied.  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.  We’ll throw these shirts away and say we lost ours by the river.  Or perhaps we can try climbing over the wall behind the larder?’

Samuel smiled and shook his head.  Some of the best ideas were always short lived.

Master Glim looked on as Samuel and Eric left the square.  He had been amusing himself by watching them for some time, since he had spied them sneaking through the markets, obviously up to mischief.  They would never catch him following them, of course.  He remembered his own youth, when he had done such things time and time again, more often than not receiving a clip on his ear from one of the niggly old Masters when they heard of his adventures.  He had hoped for the lads to continue cheating, so he could cancel their spells and chuckle at their confusion, but they had proved wiser and had left of their own volition.  Let boys be boys, he thought to himself with a laugh and turned back towards the school after them.

‘Hello, Samuel,’ Eric said, using the Old Tongue as he entered the dormitory.

Samuel, in the Old Tongue sounded more like Summuly, but Eric, being a more modern name, was still pronounced as Eric.

‘Hello, Eric,’ Samuel returned, using the same language.  ‘Where have you been?’

‘A few of us with Moving and Lifting spells were unblocking some of the sewers.’

‘That must have been pleasant!’ Samuel finally replied.  ‘It smells like you did well.’

‘What are you studying?’ Eric asked and leaned over Samuel’s shoulder, causing Samuel to screw up his nose.

‘Some works by Zencoshia Xykoquotu, an ancient philosopher who seemed to think that women could use magic nearly as well as men.’

‘Sounds ridiculous—and not just his name.’

‘It is.  I’ve found several volumes of works discussing women who actually did manage to spell, but it seems that they rarely progressed past making love potions and wart creams.’

‘Oh?’ Eric remarked curiously.  ‘I’ve always wondered why that was.’

‘Yes,’ Samuel continued.  ‘This philosopher dabbled in the area and after losing thirty or forty of his concubines he decided that there was something innate about them that made their spelling...unstable.’  The last word was in Turian, as he could not remember the correct Old Tongue equivalent.  ‘It turns out he went on to research the ability of animals to use magic, but that’s the last anyone saw of him.’

‘I’m not surprised.  He’d be a madman for sure.  The whole thing sounds like rubbish.’

Samuel closed the book and pushed it aside.  ‘I spent all day yesterday reading another article that dealt with the possibility of women spelling, until I finally realised it was actually about spelling, the alphabetical kind, and whoever had wasted their time translating it had not bothered to check the correct interpretation.  Apparently, there was a time in the south when they were testing to see if women were actually human or animal.’

‘I sometimes wonder myself,’ Eric said with a smile.

‘Two opposing aristocrats had bet each other a generous sum as to the status of women and neither was prepared to lose.  One man kept a farm, raising women with no human contact so they were devoid of language or intellect, while the other raised them with a keen wit, teaching them appreciation of poetry and music.  Neither would give in for many years.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Eventually, the intelligently raised women became so enraged with the argument that they rebelled and freed the caged women and killed both the aristocrats and then they put all the men to work for them.’

‘So everybody gets what they deserve in the end.  Is that the moral?’

‘Possibly—although it’s probably just a tale construed by wives to teach their husbands to watch their behaviour.  Who knows?  Where’s Goodfellow?’

‘Gone into the city to buy something,’ Eric answered vaguely.  ‘I had a look for that book you mentioned—the one about the language of Ancients, but I couldn’t find it.’

‘Oh?  Perhaps Master Dividian has it.  I mentioned it to him and he seemed interested.’

‘Well,’ Eric said.  ‘That’s all very interesting, but I want to see Janina before tonight’s lesson, so I have to hurry.  I’ll see you there.’

‘Farewell,’ Samuel bade, as Eric left to see his latest girlfriend and Samuel returned to his studies.

Eric Pot was not the least impressed by interesting facts.  Eric Goodfellow would prove more attentive and so Samuel set out to find him.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Passing of Many Seasons

GIGGLING GIRLS WERE darting all about, playing and dancing in such a strange and alluring way when, much to Samuel’s annoyance, someone began to shout and his dream was abruptly interrupted.

‘Quickly!’ came the shouting voice again.  ‘Wake up!’

Groans and noises came from all around and then Samuel winced as the room lit up with mage-lights.  He put one hand over his face and rubbed his tired eyes while he slowly worked on how to open them.

‘What’s happening?’ someone asked, calling down from the balcony.

‘Hurry and dress,’ the voice called back up from downstairs.  ‘Everyone is needed at once.  Come outside as quickly as you can.’

Samuel managed to struggle into his clothes and he stumbled outside with the others, where the cold wind harassed them indignantly.  An Adept was waiting there, with his mage-light hovering over his head, while the apprentices from every dormitory formed a group before him.

‘Is this everyone?’ the Adept asked.  ‘Good.  Follow me quickly to the docks.  There has been an accident and everyone has been summoned to assist however they can.  Quickly, follow me.’

With that, Samuel’s interest was aroused, for he wondered what could have happened but, as they hurried out of the School of Magic and down the damp, stone streets towards the harbour, the Adept could answer none of their questions.

When they arrived shivering at the docks, with the hissing wind blowing salt into their faces, they were met by a truly curious scene.  Mage-lights hung everywhere amongst crowds of hooded and robed people, all huddling in tight groups to shield themselves from the wind.  The Adept led the way and began to push through them, squeezing past a final line of soldiers to the dock-front, where many black-cloaked magicians stood.  Some huddled and talked, gesturing out to sea, while others bent over a sopping row of laid-out men, applying spells of scrying and healing—many of the men were already dead and lifeless, while others choked and moaned.  Drawn out into the harbour, Samuel’s gaze found a great deal of magic at work and mage-lights were glowing far out amongst the dark and rolling waves.

Master Glim spied the group and came over to them at once with a worried face.  ‘Help where you can,’ he told them.  ‘Do whatever you are asked.  The Merry Widow has struck the harbour shoals and many have already perished.  Do what you can and be quick about it!’  At that, each apprentice darted off to offer assistance to any Adept or Masters they could find.  Samuel and the two Erics began to hurry off, but Master Glim stopped them.  ‘You three come with me,’ he told them.  ‘There are many men still on board that ship and the cargo must be recovered if it can.  The Archmage has requested that we save it at any cost.  Follow me.’

Master Glim hurried out along the central pier and signalled to the other Masters waiting there.  At that, they each began to enter the longboats that lay waiting, each manned by four oarsmen and held tethered by a fifth.

‘Get into a boat,’ Master Glim instructed Samuel and his friends, lifting his voice above the wind.  ‘Follow us out and help where you can, but keep your distance—and be careful!  The sea is treacherous tonight.  I don’t want you lying at the bottom of the harbour like so many others already.’  Master Glim bore a look of worry as Samuel had never seen on the man.

‘At least it’s stopped raining,’ Eric Pot noted.

Samuel spied a waiting vessel nearby and hurried over, then gingerly climbed down into it.  The sailors eyed him nervously as he struggled to sit in the rocking boat, holding on tightly to each side with his freezing hands.  Without need for command, the boat was released and the sailors pushed away from the pier and began to dig their oars into the sea, following the long line of illuminated longboats that bobbed out towards the distant glow where the Merry Widow lay wrecked.

The bitter wind blew straight through Samuel’s cloak as he peered apprehensively out over the dark water.  The black depths seemed to pull at him, as if they held some great weight that could suddenly topple him from the boat and drag him down.  Samuel held on tighter and looked to his feet, where water had managed to gather and pool.  He could feel his stomach rolling and turning in time with the sea.  His skin was already goose-bumped and he began to shiver with cold.  It irked him that, despite his abilities, he was still subject to something so trivial.  He considered summoning a burning mage-light to keep him warm, but he dared not waste the energy; he had the feeling he would need every mote of his strength for whatever lay ahead.

It seemed to take forever to crawl their way out across the bay, with the sounds of the city quickly smothered by the wind.  The rhythmical pounding and hissing of the sea grew louder with every stroke of the oars.

As they drew near the great black shoals, a few cabin lights could still be seen aboard the hulking form of the Merry Widow, where it lay jutting up on the rocks.  A flotilla of tiny mage-lit vessels bobbed before it, each lending a bluish light to the scene.  The wood of the labouring ship groaned and cracked under the enormous pressure as heaving waves thundered against it from the seaward side.  Planks cracked and snapped, sending chunks of debris flying off and plopping into the sea.  The sight was calamitous at best and Samuel’s heart now felt like a racehorse galloping in his chest.

‘Just here,’ he shouted to his men.  With the booming of the waves and the howling of the wind and hissing of the sea, he was surprised the sailors could even hear him, but they dug in their oars at Samuel’s instruction, holding the boat as still as they could.  They turned to look over their shoulders and eyed the catastrophic scene with dismay.

Samuel was not sure what to do at first, but when he saw a string of bright spheres start out from another longboat, he quickly copied.  He filled the air with a host of lights, further illuminating the scene with ghoulish, blue radiance.  Most of the other craft seemed to hold a Master, while some of the nearer vessels held Adept, and they each eyed the Merry Widow nervously, magic readied at their fingertips.  Samuel spied Master Glim standing firmly in his vessel a little way behind them all, watching on solemnly.  Eric Pot and Goodfellow were just arriving, pulling alongside in their longboats with wide eyes and open mouths, each clutching the sides of their vessels for dear life.

A popping sensation alerted Samuel that one of his spells had failed and a mage-light vanished from view.  It was surprisingly difficult to keep his spheres in position.  Despite the fact that they were composed of magic and had no real weight, the wind seemed to drag at them and the air was filled with spray that obscured their light.  In these conditions, it was difficult just to concentrate and Samuel had to keep pushing more power into his spells to stop them from vanishing.  His fears seemed to drain his power away as fast as he could summon it.  He felt the familiar sensation of the two Erics’ magic as they, too, began to light the scene.  Their weaves were also strained and erratic as they struggled with their magic in the storm.

‘Calm your minds!’ came a voice and Samuel turned around—almost too quickly—and the boat began rocking about.  Master Glim was shouting his advice from behind, as if sensing their unsteadiness.  ‘Remember your lessons!  Calm your minds!’

Just then, Samuel’s skin began to prickle as all the Masters commenced casting their magic out onto the ship.  Their power surrounded the vessel and began to hold it firm, steadying it upon the rocks.  For a few moments, the groaning and cracking of the ship eased as they steadied the vessel in place.  Their weaves then began to intensify as the Masters strengthened their spells.  Samuel could feel them trying to lift the ship from the shoals, but their efforts were in vain.  Too much of the craft was already underwater and the sea sucked at the craft as much as they strained to lift it.

A movement to his right caught Samuel’s eye.  Two longboats had breached the breakwater and were now entering the open sea.  The tiny boats bobbed wildly as they entered the enormous waves and then disappeared amongst them.

‘Who’s that?’ Samuel shouted out to Eric Pot beside him, straining above the roar of the wind and the waves.

‘I’m not sure,’ Eric called back.  ‘Two Adept.  Damned fools!  They’re trying to help from the other side.’

‘They’ll get themselves killed!’ Goodfellow shouted, barely audible on the other side of Eric’s vessel.

Master Glim obviously thought the same thing, for Samuel spied his longboat skimming out after the first two.  Samuel could feel his teacher’s spells propelling the boat while the sailors dug their oars in to aid all they could.  Even from this distance, Samuel could see the grim concern on Master Glim’s face.

Samuel looked to his own crew.  They were already looking back at him with dreadful anticipation.  ‘Follow them,’ Samuel ordered.

The sailors swallowed hard and then bit their oars deep, sending the boat lurching forward.  Samuel looked ahead with dismay, for every moment brought them closer to the heaving, dark waters of the open sea.  He held tight as they entered the mouth of the shoal break and he cast a few spells that he hoped would help to steady the vessel, leaving the sailors to concentrate on propelling it.  Each wave sent them higher as they passed between the rocks, giving them a taste of what would come.  Each swell was greater than the last, passing beneath them like enormous, prowling leviathans.  As they reached the point of the great foaming shoals, their boat was tossed about in all directions.  Samuel held tight with closed eyes, desperately trying to improve his spells and somehow stabilise them.  He had no experience with such magic and had no time to even think about what he was doing.  Suddenly, the ocean seemed to disappear beneath them and the longboat swooned down between two massive waves.  Samuel’s heart flew up into his mouth and he shouted out in terror.  Water crashed down  ontop of them, filling his mouth and eyes with stinging salt, but as he coughed and gagged and shook his head, the boat surged up once again and it took Samuel a moment to realise he was not drowned quite yet.

The sailors were still rowing with all their might, but their faces and knuckles were white.  As the longboat crested the next rolling wave, Samuel could see the mage-lit form of the Merry Widow once more and a dim hope returned to him.

His spells were all now tattered, so Samuel took as deep a breath as he could manage in the salt and spray-filled wind and cast them each spell anew.  The longboat shuddered and creaked and steadied in place as his spells seeped over it.  As they bore down once again between the mountainous waves, Samuel’s heart skipped a beat, expecting the worst, but his magic did the trick and their vessel bobbed up again lightly on the following wave like a cork.  He sighed with relief and the sailors cheered aloud.  His spells were still quite difficult to hold, and so Samuel left the task of propelling the vessel to them.

‘Let’s go,’ Samuel told them and nodded towards the stranded ship.  Just then, a flash of magic further out to sea caught his attention and Samuel turned his head into the wind to see.  He peered into the flying salt and darkness, his vision drawn by the odd sprays of magic that shot up between wave tops.  It was almost impossible to be sure, but Samuel thought he could see another tiny vessel speeding away through the waters, north towards the point.  A lone shadow, cloaked in darkness, was crouching in the boat and sending it cutting through the waves with bursts of carefully timed magic.  The figure was away now and Samuel had no time to think about it, instead turning his attention back to the Merry Widow.

They had been blown quite a distance away, but the men had found new strength along with Samuel’s spells and were oaring their vessel in the right direction.  Each stroke sent them speeding along and the sailors laughed to each other as if they had already become heroes.

‘Like a mill pond!’ one called out above the wind and they laughed again.

Samuel wished he could share their optimism.  He kept his eyes towards the rocks as they surged nearer.  The scene became clearer as they crested each wave and he could see the three longboats floating beside the shoals, sitting in a circle of perfectly calm water.  Master Glim’s boat was between the other two, and he stood in his tiny vessel, throwing out spells that calmed the waters around them.  Samuel’s awe of the man was renewed, for the mighty waves that rolled in upon them dropped instantly flat the moment they touched his spell.  Spells of Lifting surged out from the two Adept on the seaward side of the Merry Widow.

The ship gave a long miserable groan as the spells took effect and it began lifting from the sea, gushing water from its ruptured side.  The tiny figures of men could be seen darting about on the deck of the vessel—no doubt they were the last of the sailors, too afraid to throw themselves onto the jagged rocks or into the wild seas.

Once more Samuel’s craft sank down between wave crests and his view was lost.

‘Hurry!’ he urged his men and he could sense them straining on, the veins in their necks popping out with effort.

Samuel could hear the ship howling and moaning and as he crested the last wave, he could see the front of the ship was now fully raised from the rocks.  Spells came from all around, from Master and Adept alike, dragging the massive ship in towards the harbour, slowly clawing it from the sea.  The horrid noises continued emanating from the ship as it lurched and twisted under their spells.  Samuel could see the magic at work, but it was obvious to him that there was quite a problem—the spells were lifting and pulling in almost every direction and not working together at all.  The magicians were too distracted, too inexperienced and too impatient.  Samuel wondered how much force the vessel could withstand before it was torn completely apart.  As his longboat swooped down and entered Master Glim’s circle of tranquillity, the older man looked towards him with worry.  Samuel stood in his rocky boat and threw up a hand, beginning a spell to try and unify all the others, when his worst fear was terribly and horribly realised.

The Merry Widow cracked in two with a thunderous boom and an explosion of wood and splinters.  The aft section screamed and collapsed back into the foaming waves and was swallowed immediately with a cavernous gulp of rushing water.  The bow section, still gripped by most of the spells, was thrown suddenly into the air like a child’s plaything.  Timbers tore apart and flew into the sky, raining down all over, pelting the sea and rocks and men like a rain of arrows.  The remains of the ship began to fall all around them, pieces the size of houses.  Samuel quickly threw up a shielding spell to protect them as his wide-eyed sailors yelled out in fear and surprise and tried to cover themselves.

Master Glim vanished as a huge beam of wood fell upon him and he and his vessel of men were abruptly swallowed beneath the sea.  Master Glim’s calming spell vanished along with him and the waves surged in upon them all.  Samuel fell back onto the floor of their vessel as it was thrown around in all directions like a leaf in a storm.  He had to hold on as tightly as he could and keep all his effort on maintaining his spells so they would not be drowned.  Debris rained down all around them and Samuel had only his luck to thank that nothing penetrated his shield.  With considerable effort, he formed a new spell, as close to Master Glim’s as he could manage from his brief observation and, after a few dreadful moments, the sea all around them began to calm and their longboat stopped its spinning and  turning and settled still.  Samuel only realised he was breathing hard when he felt the burning of his chest and the tiredness in his jaw.  After long moments, Samuel noticed one of the sailors was shouting at him while another was vomiting at his feet.

‘My Lord!  What do we do?’

Samuel looked at the sailor.  He could not think of any words to give the man and so he slowly surveyed the scene all around.  Their boat sat in a tiny circle of calm, speckled with floating debris, amongst waves that surged all around.  He released his shielding spell and the spells he had formed earlier to steady their boat—Master Glim’s tranquillity spell was all they should need from now.  He took another deep breath and began to push more power into Master Glim’s spell.  Slowly, the circle of calm around them grew, pushing away the mountainous swell until it seemed they were amidst a strange, still and watery field.

‘By the old gods!’ Samuel heard one sailor hiss as the situation became clearer.  Mage-lights were darting all around overhead as if searching, but the magicians still on the shore side of the rocks could not be seen beyond the waves and spray.  An upturned longboat and several men were floating nearby, some splashing, some still.

‘There!’ Samuel instructed, pointing his finger towards the floating men.  The sailors leapt into action and began rowing as he directed.

Three men could be seen grasping the side of their vessel and they struggled over to Samuel’s boat as he neared.  Samuel quickly formed a spell and, with a gesture, turned over their craft and emptied it of water.  Another sailor with a blood-seeping head swam nearby with the limp form of Master Glim floating in his arms.  Samuel put them into the other boat with barely a thought.  He did not have time to notice that his own four men were gawking at his spells with awe.  Master Glim was alive, but clutching at his shoulder and gritting his teeth in pain, muttering to himself.

‘Over there!’ someone called and Samuel spied the two Adept and the remaining sailors all paddling towards them.  It was miraculous that none of them had died, but the chunks of flesh-filled clothing that bobbed here and there spoke of a different fate for the sailors of the Merry Widow.  Overloading the two longboats, they managed to recover everyone and they started back for the sheltered waters.

Once again within the protection of the bay, Samuel let his spells fade, for his head now ached with the exertion and his limbs felt numb and stone-heavy.  Shards of hull and mast and sail floated atop the water beside numerous bobbing corpses.  The sailors at Samuel’s side used the last of their strength to get the low-lying boat back to shore, flanked by an escort of Masters.

Samuel, first onto the jetty despite his unsteady legs, offered a hand to Master Glim, who was conscious, but obviously disoriented and groggy.

Master Glim accepted Samuel’s hand and was up beside him, shaking his head.  ‘A disaster,’ he managed to say with a raspy voice.

‘A disaster,’ Samuel agreed, wearily.

Master Glim nodded.  ‘I fear things could have turned out far worse for all of us.  We were very lucky we didn’t all drown.’

‘I agree,’ Samuel nodded.  The man did not seem to realise that Samuel had saved them all.  The blow to his head must have dazzled the old teacher, but Samuel did not care.  He was entirely spent and exhausted.

‘I must tell Grand Master Anthem about this,’ Master Glim said.  ‘I’m sure he will be very angry.  Many lives have been lost this night, not entirely because of those two foolish Adept, but their actions certainly did not help.’  He shook his head once more.  ‘The task was way beyond us.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I need to rest.  I’m exhausted.’

‘As am I.  That is the way.  We have both spent too much power and our bodies must pay the toll.  We need a little rest.’

Master Glim turned and walked slowly down the pier, where he began talking with some of the other Masters who had gathered there.  He had recovered surprisingly quickly, but Samuel still felt weary as if about to faint.  He staggered, wet and shivering, towards the others, who were just climbing from their vessels.

‘What happened out there, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked.  He had his arms folded and was shivering.  His glasses were speckled with seawater.

‘I’ll tell you on the way back to the school.  There’s nothing else we can do here.  The Masters have everything under control—and I think I’m going to pass out any moment.’

Eric grabbed Samuel just as his knees were buckling, and helped him remain standing, throwing Samuel’s arm over his shoulder.  Goodfellow went to Samuel’s other side, and together, they carried him between them, pushing through the crowd of onlookers and heading back towards the School of Magic.

‘What did those Adept think they were doing out there?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Trying to get themselves killed,’ Eric commented.

‘They thought they could help,’ Samuel replied, ‘but they were foolish to think so.  The sea was too rough.  If not for Master Glim, they would have been done for.  When the ship exploded, I did everything I could just to pick them all up and get back into the harbour.’

‘Do you think there will be punishment for the two Adept?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Samuel said wearily.  ‘I think rather that Master Glim will only tell them of their foolishness and warn them to act more wisely next time.  Personally, I’d have them put in the stocks for a few days.  They deserve much worse.’

‘Perhaps you will receive a reward for bringing them all back safely, Samuel,’ Eric suggested.

‘I don’t think so,’ Samuel replied.  ‘Master Glim was unconscious and didn’t know what was going on.  I don’t think he realised I saved him at all.’

‘You should tell him!’ Goodfellow stated.

‘No,’ Samuel answered, barely able to keep his eyes open.  ‘I’m just happy to be alive.  I’ve decided I don’t like the sea as much as I thought.’

The others nodded and they shivered their way back towards the School of Magic along the dark city streets.

A few days later, Samuel was sitting downstairs reading over his notes and chewing on a hunk of bread, when two Adept came stomping into the dormitory to find him.  They loomed over him angrily with their arms folded and brows furrowed.

The two Erics were chatting idly at another table and they stopped to observe what was going on.  Goodfellow blinked and adjusted his spectacles and Eric Pot looked on with concern.

‘You are Samuel?’ one asked.

‘That’s right,’ Samuel said, still chomping on his bread.

‘We are the ones you helped the other night, with the Merry Widow.’

‘Oh!’ Samuel exclaimed with sudden realisation.  ‘Sorry.  I didn’t recognise you.  It was dark and wet.  I didn’t have time to see who you were.’

The two Adept looked at each other before the second one spoke.  ‘We just want to clear things up,’ he said.  ‘It’s something of a delicate matter.  Of course, we’d like to thank you for helping us, but now we find ourselves in a rather embarrassing position.’

‘Robert!’ Eric called out.  ‘What are you two on about?’

‘Shut your mouth, Pot!’ the second Adept, named Robert, called back, shaking his finger at him.  ‘We’re speaking with Samuel, so it’s none of your concern.’

‘You two are idiots!  If not for Master Glim and Samuel, you’d both be dead now,’ Eric replied, with a hint of anger, but Samuel calmed him with a raised hand.

‘It’s not a problem, Eric,’ he said calmly.  ‘Let them go on.’

‘Well, there’s a small matter of our reputation to attend to,’ the first Adept, Artam, said to Samuel.  ‘Word has somehow been passed around that we caused all this trouble and that we needed you to save us.  Now our names are as good as rubbish.  We just can’t have everyone thinking that we needed some foreign apprentice to get us out of trouble.’

‘Which you did,’ Eric called out.

‘Shut it, Pot!’ Robert shouted again, throwing a vile look, but Eric just laughed and shook his head.

‘And what about Master Glim?’ Artam continued.  ‘We all know he was responsible for saving us all and all this talk is only soiling his good Turian name.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel said.  ‘But I haven’t spoken to anyone about it.’

‘Good,’ Robert said.  ‘Then I trust we won’t have to speak again.’

The two Adept twirled in their cloaks dramatically and left.

‘They don’t seem very mature,’ Samuel stated.

‘That’s Artam Ritter and Robert Mundle,’ Goodfellow informed him. ‘They’ve always been troublesome and they don’t have many friends in the school.  They like to make life difficult for any apprentices they come across, especially for us Outlanders.  They’re both Imperials and they know it well.  You’re lucky they haven’t bothered you before now.’

‘Well, they can do as they please,’ Samuel said, ‘as long as they don’t bother me any further.’

Eric laughed.  ‘Good for you, but I’m sure they’ll try to make things difficult for you when they can.  Let me know if they do.  I wouldn’t mind getting my knuckles dirty on those two.’

Samuel laughed.  ‘Very well,’ he replied, only just realising it had been a long time since he had been involved in a scuffle himself.

Samuel only had to wait another day before meeting the two Adept once again.  While striding across the school grounds, he was confronted once more by the two young men, each looking furious.

‘Now people are saying we were crying when we came back to the jetty!’ Robert declared angrily.  ‘And we are the laughing stock of all the Adept.’

‘I told you,’ Samuel stated plainly.  ‘I haven’t said a thing and I can’t help what other people say.’

‘We know it’s your damned friend Pot!  Well, we’re going to teach you both a lesson,’ Artam hissed.  ‘It’s bad enough we have to put up with you Outlanders in the first place.  You’re lucky to even have a place in the Order.  You’re lucky the Emperor didn’t put you lot in chains.  This is the last warning you’ll get.’

They turned and stormed away and Samuel shook his head before continuing on his way, himself.

‘What news of the boy?’ asked the thin voice of his dreams.

‘Stronger each day,’ replied the gruff.  ‘He learns at a frightening rate.  Some of his spells may now even eclipse mine.  He only lacks confidence and experience.’

Silence.

And a moment later, ‘Can you control him?’

‘I believe so, but he grows ever sure of himself.  He is not a child any more.’

The thin voice sounded full of thought.  ‘He shows great hidden potential as we expected, but still keeps much to himself.’

‘Yes…and I feel that he has reached only a fraction of that potential.’

Still, Samuel was sure he knew who this gravelly-voiced speaker was, but the fog of his dreams kept him from putting the pieces together.

‘There are many mysteries around this boy.’  Again, long silence, then, ‘What about the ship?’

‘Nothing substantial, but I fear there was some interference from the Circle.  Some of the sailors told of strange events in the few moments before it ran aground.  Sailors are superstitious, but it could make sense.’

‘We should look into it.  Seek Balten.  The Archmage was not happy at all to lose his cargo and the loss of the books is a tragic blow.  I cannot believe someone was not responsible for such misfortune.’

‘The Circle are never to be trusted,’ the gruff voice stated, ‘but we need them.  Never forget that they may be playing us as much as we are playing them.’

‘We are all players and the played,’ the thin voice surmised.  ‘All that matters is who finishes on top.’

‘And we play with dangerous company.’

‘Not for much longer.’  The thin voice carried no lack of satisfaction.

It was a few weeks later, in the Great Library—Samuel was beginning to think that Robert and Artam had lost their venom—when their promised moment of comeuppance finally arrived.  He was browsing through the library gallery when a dozen or so Adept came stomping in through the doors.  Looking around, Samuel found that he was the only other soul there at such an hour, a situation that the grinning Adept had no doubt been awaiting.  They had managed to raise a small group of followers, all Imperials by the look of them and all smirking and intent on misbehaviour.

Samuel stepped away from the shelves as they gathered before him.  They were all taller than him, and Samuel had little chance if it came to blows.  He decided magic was best to decide this encounter and he began summoning his power.  The magic felt thrilling as it filled him.  He knew he should probably be nervous, but for some reason he did not feel the slightest bit threatened by these older boys once his magic had begun to come.

‘Have you heard of wet-beatings, Samuel?’ Robert asked, arms folded and standing tall before him.

Samuel shook his head.

‘It’s when smart apprentices like you are put in their place.  We hold you down and whip you with wet towels until you beg us to stop.’

Samuel waved one hand, dismissively.  ‘I don’t feel like it just now,’ he said.  He was tired of their strutting and posing and wanted to teach them a lesson.  Despite their numbers, he was sure his magic could handle them all.

Robert signalled and a number of Adept stepped forward and took Samuel by the arms.  He did not even attempt to resist.

‘You don’t seem to appreciate how much this is going to hurt, but you need to be put back in your place.  And we’ll take care of Pot next.  Take him outside,’ Robert ordered.

With a grin, Samuel began to spell and, just then, Grand Master Anthem appeared behind them by the doorway.

‘What’s going on here!’ he bellowed and the Adept spun around to face him, releasing Samuel at once.

Robert began to stammer a response while the Grand Master strode closer.

‘You will all be expelled for this!’ he bellowed.

Samuel almost burst out laughing as the Adept shook with fear.

‘In fact,’ Anthem roared, his eyes wide and wild with anger, ‘I believe this calls for the harshest of penalties…death!’

The Adept looked to each other with hideous disbelief.  Struggling to withhold his laughter, Samuel made his illusion grow up to the roof, transforming the raging Grand Master into a horrid, red-faced creature that began spewing fire from its mouth.  The Adept screamed and ran in all directions.  One even passed straight through the illusion as it roared and clutched its claws out towards them.  Samuel laughed wildly, finding it hard to keep his spell intact though his spasms of mirth.

‘Grand Master!’ Robert stammered, backing away from the great creature.  ‘Please don’t kill us!  Please!’

Samuel could hold his spell no more and the demon vanished as he bent over laughing, slapping his thigh again and again.  Artam and the others were still scattering out the door as Robert’s face went red with anger.

‘You!’ he declared, turning to Samuel.

‘Oh, Robert!’ Samuel said, still cackling.  ‘You should have seen yourself!’

‘Why you—!’ Robert began, but he was still too terrified and angry to finish his words.

Samuel regained his composure and decided it was time to teach this arrogant Adept a good lesson.  He was sick of them harassing him and treating everyone from the territories as inferior.  ‘That’s right, Robert.  It was an illusion, but I could quite as easily have summoned the real thing, but I couldn’t have guaranteed who it would eat or not.  You had better...’

Robert’s fist flew up and punched Samuel squarely on the nose and Samuel staggered back, clutching his face in agony and complete surprise.  His eyes filled with tears as Robert raised another fist before him.

Samuel raised a hand himself, but instead of fighting, he cast a spell.  A heavy book flew up from the table and crashed into the side of Robert’s head, knocking him to the floor.  Samuel’s vision cleared as Robert crawled up from the floor.  He was even more red-faced with fury.

‘You!’ was all he said, shaking with rage.

A sudden spell came from him and the same book sprang from the floor back towards Samuel.  Samuel stepped aside and the book flew far behind and bounced off distant shelving, leaving some of its pages fluttering loose to the floor.  Samuel adjusted his shirt calmly as Robert spelled again and another volume came flying towards him.  Samuel stopped the book with his fingertips just before his face and then waved it aside, where it waited, floating patiently.  His head was swimming now with magic, for he was drawing as much power as he could.  He wanted to show the arrogant Adept, once and for all, who was the more powerful.

‘Now, Robert,’ Samuel began to explain.  He cast his spells out all over the room and Robert’s face filled with horror as hundreds of books and manuscripts began sliding out from the shelves and started floating slowly around below the library chamber ceiling.  ‘I thought I would have a little fun, at first, but now it’s time to teach you a lesson.  You seem to have some talent with Lifting spells, but you don’t realise how pathetic your powers really are compared to mine.  You tried to lift the Merry Widow and you failed dismally and it nearly cost all our lives.  Then you have the gall to blame me for your troubles, without any hint of an apology or thanks.  You have no idea how powerful I really am.  I have the power to crush you like an insignificant insect and I will not hesitate, should I choose to.  This is no illusion, so I hope you are prepared.’

More and more books flew from their shelves and joined the pageant of parading pieces in the air and Robert watched them, frozen in sheer disbelief, as they swam around the ceiling beams in magnificent procession.

‘If you speak to me ever again without just reason, or if I hear of you harassing anyone else for any reason at all, I will be forced to do something we both may regret.  I will not warn you or threaten you; I will merely put you in your place without hesitation.  Keep your mouth shut and keep out of my way!  The next time, I will not be held responsible for what happens to you.’

Robert turned and nearly tripped over himself getting out of the library.  He ran to the great doors and darted out between them as quickly as he could.  As the doors slowly creaked shut once more, Samuel could hold his spells no longer and the books all dropped from the air as one, spilling down onto the Great Library floor like a rain of paper.  He had to cover his head with both arms to avoid receiving a concussion from some of the larger, leather-bound volumes.

Samuel suspected he would not have any more trouble from any of the Adept, but now he had another problem.  It would take him hours to put the piles of books that littered the floor back into their places.  Some of them looked broken and loose pages lay all about.  He only hoped no one else would come into the library before he was done cleaning up, or he would surely have more trouble than his little stunt was worth.

Samuel was summoned to Grand Master Anthem’s chamber soon after.  The old man had heard word of his exploits and did not seem the least bit impressed.

‘I understand you are quite a talented young man,’ the Grand Master was saying, ‘but you know it is absolutely forbidden to use magic for such purposes—especially against other members of the Order.’

‘It was only an illusion, Grand Master,’ Samuel defended.  ‘Otherwise they were going to beat me!’

‘Wet-beatings are forbidden here,’ the old man said, ‘and the boys would have been punished, but you have only escalated the problem.  The School of Magic is an ancient and revered institution.  Imagine what would happen if every time someone upset me I decided to punish them with some spell.  It would be terrible!  Wars would begin in moments if everyone acted like that.  I know some of the Adept are pretentious upstarts, but you must learn to deal with your daily problems without resorting to magic.  Use reason, deliberation.  As an Outlander, you must learn to understand Turians.  What you think of as arrogance is pride in the Emperor and Empire.’

‘They…’ interjected Samuel, but Anthem kept talking.

‘You are a mere apprentice, Samuel.  Imagine how upset I would be if you started talking back or assaulting me with magic.  The Adept must be respected and shown due manners, even if it means being subservient on the odd occasion.  You have a place here, Samuel.  Remember it and you may keep it.  Magic is not all you must learn here; also obedience and discipline.  You are a promising student.  Your spells may find a worthy niche in our society, but not if you have made an enemy of every other magician in the Empire.  What those two young men did the other night was, indeed, foolhardy and they risked their own lives and also their teacher’s.  Luckily, Master Glim was there to help them.  You only complicated matters by foolishly tearing out after them and then you and your friend, Mr Pot, have the nerve to make matters worse by spreading the tale.  You should think yourself very lucky you have not found yourself before the Council already.  I am much more forgiving than they are.  Such actions could easily result in expulsion, but I would hate to see your potential go to waste.  Do not disappoint me like this any more, Samuel.’

Samuel nodded solemnly.  ‘Thank you, Grand Master.’

‘You may go.’

Samuel pushed back his chair and stood.  He closed the door as gently as he could but, as he strode away from the Grand Master’s chambers, he gritted his teeth and his fists were clenched tight at his sides.  He had saved them all that night, but all he had received in return was chastisement for his efforts and not one word of thanks.  If this was the reward for his humility, perhaps it was better for him to start showing them exactly how powerful he really was.

That night, Samuel’s dreams were nightmarish, filled with visions he had not experienced for a long time: beasts howling in the wilds; figures charging in with raised fists, and a tall, pale-faced man, always waiting and watching from the doorway.  That face filled him with the most terror, as the man in the doorway—evil and monstrous; rejoicing in Samuel’s terror—was controlling the others.  All the while, Samuel could hear a sorrowful voice of some boy calling over and over again, calling aloud for someone to find him.  The sound was faint, as if the boy had almost faded away completely, drowned by all his sadness.

A familiar-looking magician, lean and tall, with skin of brown came striding over as Samuel was raking half-heartedly at some leaves by the smooth school walls.

‘Lomar!’ Samuel called, carrying his rake over to meet the man.

‘Hello, Samuel,’ Lomar said, granting a warm smile.  ‘How you have grown since I saw you last!  You’ll be towering over me soon—and going well in your studies, too, I hear.’

‘Yes,’ Samuel agreed.  ‘Only a little trouble with some of the Adept, but nothing I cannot deal with.’

‘So I hear, too,’ Lomar said with laughter.  ‘I’m glad we found you first.’

‘I’ve had some offers,’ Samuel admitted.

‘Balthazar?’ Lomar asked.

‘Of course,’ Samuel said with a grin.  ‘He accosts me almost every time I go into the city.’

‘He has a way of being a nuisance.  Still, you seem to have learned how to handle him.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘He seems harmless enough.’

‘And I trust the Adept will not be bullying you any further?’

Samuel shook his head.  ‘From what the Grand Master says, they nearly wet themselves.’

Lomar laughed long and loud.  He was wearing a simple pair of trousers and a lace-up shirt.  Both had been bleached almost grey by the sun.  With his dark skin and worn clothes, he could probably pass as one of the dock workers hailing from the Spice Islands, although his blood was obviously of a different origin.

‘I think it was right of you to teach them a lesson, Samuel.  They have only a short time left here in the school and, if they haven’t grown out of their bullying by now, then they will make terrible magicians.  Which reminds me, the graduation is only a few weeks away.  Are you ready?’

‘Hmm, not quite,’ Samuel replied.  ‘I mean, I’m confident that I’ll make Adept, but I’ve been practising a few tricks that still need a little work.’

‘Well, nothing that will embarrass the teachers, I hope.’

‘Not the ones I like, anyway.’

Lomar laughed and shook his head.  ‘Well, I’m sorry that I won’t be there to see it, but I have a lot of road before me.’

‘Really?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Where are you going, now?’

‘I cannot tell you, Samuel.  Suffice to say that it’s lucky that I can speak a little Garten.’  He winked.

‘Don’t they speak any Turian up there?’ Samuel asked.

At that, Lomar laughed.  ‘No, not at all.  Turian is spoken only here in the Empire.  If you spoke the Emperor’s tongue there, you would certainly be beaten or have something you value chopped off.  Even in some of the outlying areas of the Empire the people still resist using the common tongue.’

Samuel hmm’ed and nodded.  ‘How many languages do you know then?’ Samuel asked, leaning on his rake handle.

Lomar thought a moment.  ‘Oh…let me see.  Turian, some Garten, Old Tongue of course, a dialect or two from the desert folk and several variants of Kabushy.’

‘Kabushy?’

‘That is correct,’ Lomar responded with a slight smile.  ‘Kabushy is my mother tongue.  I’m sure you realised I am no native Turian.  Do you want to hear some Kabushy?  Some people say it’s a rattling language, but I think it sounds rather musical.’

‘Yes, of course’ Samuel said with an enthusiastic nod.

‘Sama habala eh tettu a kunna,’ Lomar said.

Samuel laughed so hard he dropped his rake and nearly fell over.  ‘That sounds ridiculous!  What does it mean?’

‘Roughly, it means, “may the water god protect you”.’

‘Are you trying to trick me?’

Lomar shook his head in all seriousness.  ‘Life is hard in Kabush.  It’s an enormous delta, filled with marshland and swamps.  There is a lot of water, which can be both a blessing and a curse.  There are also many gods in Kabush.  They are very important in my culture.’

‘You worship gods?’ Samuel asked in disbelief.

‘I occasionally say a prayer or two, but it’s mainly from habit.  My people are very religious—not like you dry-footed infidels,’ he added with a grin.  ‘I don’t really follow any of my people’s religions any more, but I admit I still revert to some of my old habits from time to time.  It can’t hurt, after all.  You probably don’t know it, but Amandia had many popular religions until the Emperor erased most of them.  The Turian church he established is little more than another outlet to spread Imperial ideals.  He is quite set on the fact that everyone only worships him, so I believe.’

‘Shh!’ Samuel urged his tall friend.  ‘I’m sure talk like that is not such a good idea.’

Lomar laughed.  ‘Don’t worry.  I am not such a fool as to let anyone hear.  So what of your studies?  How are they faring?’

‘Not too poorly, even if I say so myself.  I can use the Old Tongue quite fluently now,’ Samuel said.  He took up his rake again and scraped half-heartedly at some yellowed leaves that were skittering away with the breeze.  ‘I remember learning my first phrase when I was at the Burning Oak, but at the time I had no idea what it was.’

‘I have heard the story from Master Kelvin.’

‘Then you know what happened to me then?  At first, I thought it was the words themselves that held the power.  Then, as I learned more of the Old Tongue, I realised their true meaning.  “I am one with the universe.  The universe and I are everything and nothing—everything and nothing, as one, together.”  They were just words, and it was I that gave them power, not the other way around, as I thought.  They merely helped me to centre my thoughts.’

‘Wise words from someone so young.  I hope you continue along your current path, Samuel.’

‘But do any words truly contain magic?’ Samuel asked.  ‘There have been few lessons on the topic.’

‘As with all things, there is power in form.  Some words have a form that is more powerful than others.  They resonate with the ether to give lend to what we call magic.  We have a fairly good ability to detect the power of words.  For instance, in all the languages that I know, the words for “hate” are harsh and abrasive sounding, while those for “love” are usually gentler in tone.  Apart from that, there is little more power in words than the meaning they convey.’

‘What about the Ancient Lick?’ Samuel asked.

‘You know about the Lick?’ Lomar said with surprise.

‘Only very little.  I came across a few notes in the library, but there seems to be very little on the subject.  It is a lost language.  Every word contained immense power.’

‘The ravings of madmen,’ Lomar said dismissively.    ‘The Lick was not lost; it was buried.  It still exists, but only in the minds of the evil and demented.  Do not search for such things, Samuel.  Magicians do not speak of the Lick because it is one of the few forbidden topics of the Order.  If you found some writings, destroy them and do not look for more.’

‘But—’

‘This is my advice to you, Samuel,’ Lomar said sternly and sounding quite out of character.  ‘There are few things so dangerous that we cannot even look or hear or think of them, but the Lick is one.’

Samuel could not help but be disappointed.  He had thought perhaps the Ancient Lick would be some new marvellous area for him to study.

‘Now, I would like to stay longer,’ Lomar continued, and his tone had reverted to its usual pleasant self, ‘but I was not even supposed to stop in Cintar.  I hope it is not so long before we meet again.’

‘It’s a shame you can’t stay longer.’

‘Yes, I must go.  Order business keeps me forever busy.  Farewell, Samuel, and good luck with everything.’  Lomar went to move away, then something occurred to him and he stopped.

‘On a serious note, Samuel, you should be wary of some of these men who come to persuade you.  Balthazar is an amusing fellow, but some of the others can be dangerous.’

‘I had assumed the same, Lomar.  I try to be polite to them and they quickly get the point.’

‘What about the Circle of Eyes?  Ah, I see you have heard of them,’ he added upon noting Samuel’s reaction.  ‘They are murderers, criminals, thieves and cut-throats, Samuel.  Some of them are even magicians.  I have yet to see any real proof of their existence, but I do not doubt they do exist, judging from the rumours alone.  If you meet them, Samuel, be careful.  I hear they do not always take “no” for an answer.’

‘I understand, Lomar.  I’ll be careful.’

With that, Lomar bade farewell and gave one of his most beaming smiles.  He then strode away, leaving Samuel alone with his yard full of leaves.  Samuel sighed and dropped his rake to the ground and he, too, strode off, leaving the task behind.  He would wait for a not so windy day.

The weeks seemed to pass as quickly as a single afternoon and, before Samuel knew it, everyone was talking about graduation and readying their spells.  As usual, Samuel had been buried in his studies and did not realise the time had sneaked up on him quite so quickly.  The apprentices spent the late afternoon busily rehearsing their spells and then putting on their cleanest, most formal robes.  They gobbled down their dinners and, as they heard calls out in the yard, they all hurried out across the grounds to gather in the Great Hall.  The benches had all been adjusted so as to form concentric circles around a clear space in the middle of the great chamber.

‘I heard the Archmage is coming,’ Eric Pot mentioned, as they squeezed sideways to their seats.  The hall was full of excitement and chatter as everyone eagerly awaited the night’s events.

‘I don’t think so,’ Goodfellow corrected.  ‘He never comes to things like this.  He’s far too busy.’

‘Shh!’ someone urged them from behind, for Grand Master Anthem was readying to speak, and the entire congregation quickly fell silent.  The old magician was adjusting his robes and talking to the other teachers seated around him.  Then he turned to face the crowd of excited students and Masters alike.  They were expecting some sort of long, formal speech, but the old Grand Master surprised them all by saying just a few words.

‘The graduation will now begin,’ he said with a childish grin and promptly sat back down.

Master Dividian then stood, coughed to clear his throat, and began his own address.

‘Welcome, everyone,’ he said, without any hint of amusement.  His voice was dry and raspy.  ‘Before we begin, I would like to say a few words.  Tonight is a special night, for we choose those magicians that are ready to progress to the next stage of their education, be it from apprentice to Adept, or from Adept to Master.  By the grace of His Utmost Highness the Emperor of Turia, and under the guidance of Archmage Ordi, the Order of Magicians has long produced the finest standard of magicians in the world.  I trust we will continue that tradition tonight as we review some of the finest examples of budding magicians that we have to offer.  For those Adept who will be leaving the school soon as Masters of the Order of Magicians, I hope you will always remember to uphold the fine reputation of our school, and remember that everything you do is for the good of the Empire and our most splendid Emperor.’

‘Hear! Hear!’ came a few calls of agreement from the crowd.

‘Damned Imperials!’ Eric whispered, leaning to Samuel’s ear.

Samuel chuckled as Master Dividian continued.

‘So without further delay, let us continue.  Who is the first one?’ Dividian was passed a list.  ‘Where are we now? Ah, Eric Pot.’

Eric almost leapt from his seat with surprise.  He gave Samuel and Goodfellow a mischievous smile as he stood and adjusted his robes, coughing to clear his throat for good measure.  He strode regally out into the centre of the Great Hall and waited patiently while Master Dividian continued his discussion with Grand Master Anthem and the other teachers.  Finally, Master Dividian returned his attention to Eric, adjusting his spectacles and staring out at the patient apprentice.

‘Eric,’ Master Dividian called out quite loudly, ‘Ebanda totum ara.’

Eric raised an eyebrow and did as he was told, bending down and touching his toes.

‘Very good,’ Dividian continued.  ‘Your knowledge of the Old Tongue seems reasonable.  Now please demonstrate what you have learned in your time here.  I trust you have prepared a suitable spell.’

Eric reached into a pocket and produced a small, sealed pouch.  Without a pause, he loosened the drawstring and flicked the contents up into the air.  A stream of glittering dust sprayed out, filling the air but, as quick as a flash, Eric had formed a power matrix with one hand and his spell was set.  The glittering powder was caught in the spell and instead of spilling down onto the floor, flew up higher towards the beamed ceiling, carried by magic.  Eric stood erect, with one hand resting behind his back, and the other held before him, directing his spell with slight movements of his raised finger.  The glitter began to gather into long ribbons and began rippling around the ceiling, coiling and darting almost as if it were some golden serpent brought to life.  The congregation applauded, clapping their hands together and nodding to each other with approval.  Samuel was also greatly impressed.  To direct each individual speck of glitter was, of course impossible, but Eric’s spell was ingenious and quite a masterwork of efficiency.  Only the head of the spell need be directed and each speck of glitter followed in turn.  Samuel applauded as loud as he could, for his friend’s spell was remarkable.

The golden serpent flew sinuously around the ceiling, darting from wall to wall, spinning in circular formations and streaking down around the congregation.  Finally, Eric held his small sack aloft and the glittering stream snaked down towards it and darted in as quickly as lightning, disappearing right into the tiny pouch.  To finish, Eric made a small bow and the crowd applauded once more.  A great grin was set on his face and it was obvious that he, too, was pleased with his own display.

‘Nice work, young man,’ Dividian called out as Eric returned to his seat.  ‘I hope the rest of your peers can be as creative.’

Samuel and Goodfellow both patted Eric heartily on the back as he sat down and the next apprentice was called: a boy from Dormitory Two.  The other boys were each called one by one, each answering a simple question in the Old Tongue and demonstrating some spell of their own design.  Most spells were not nearly as impressive as Eric’s, especially as Samuel had seen most of them practising beforehand, and they had only few surprises.  One student made a strong wind so everyone had to hold onto their robes, another cooled the air so everyone was shivering.  Chadly Doon made a variety of sounds come from places other than they really did, which was quite novel, but not much more than an extension of a spell they had learned in class.  One boy, Mason, attempted to fill the room with the scent of roses, but instead summoned the foul stench of rotting eggs.  It caused quite an upset as everyone had to file outside while the Masters cleaned out the air with some spells of their own.

‘Well,’ Dividian announced as they recommenced the proceedings, ‘I’m sure the Order can find some use for that kind of smell—I mean, spell—somewhere.’

At that, everyone broke into laughter, except for poor Mason, who looked even more embarrassed.

So far, Samuel felt somewhat disappointed with the efforts of his peers.  Aside from Eric, their spells had been nothing much more complicated than what they had already learned in class.  Earlier on, Samuel had felt a little anxious, but now he felt sure his spell would be the greatest of the evening.

‘Samuel!’ Goodfellow whispered beside him.  ‘They’re calling you.’

Samuel awoke from his daydreaming with a start and jumped to his feet.  He stepped out into the centre of the chamber, trying to walk as gracefully as he could.  He had been planning his presentation quite carefully, and so he bowed deeply and hoped it looked as impressive as he envisaged.  The audience was quiet and expectant.

‘Samuel,’ Master Dividian began.  ‘Answer me this simple question.’  With that, the old man rattled off a series of numbers using the Old Tongue and asked Samuel to add them together.

Samuel only needed a moment to formulate his response.  ‘One hundred and forty-seven,’ he answered.

‘Correct,’ Dividian stated coarsely and sat back down in his seat. ‘You may continue,’ he added with a wave of his hand.  ‘Show us your spell.’

Samuel called back to Master Dividian before the man had even settled into his seat.  ‘But I already have, Master Dividian.  What do you think of it?’

‘What nonsense are you talking about?’ Dividian responded.  ‘Show us your spell quickly, boy.  We don’t have all night.’

Samuel smiled to himself, for Dividian’s response worked perfectly to his advantage.  ‘My spell, Master Dividian, is here in plain sight for you all to see.  I cast it a few hours ago and everyone seems to be enjoying it greatly.’

Dividian stood up, blinking and looking around with confusion plain on his face.  ‘Explain yourself,’ he called to Samuel curtly.

With that, Samuel waved his hand dismissively and the Great Hall vanished around them and everyone found themselves sitting outside in the school grounds.  The congregation began murmuring and talking all at once as they struggled to understand what had happened.  The moon shone overhead and the cool night air blew upon them.  The Great Hall stood some twenty paces away from them and, apart from the fact that they were still sitting on long hard benches, everything else had vanished.

‘You see,’ Samuel began and everyone quietened to listen once more, ‘I set this spell some hours ago as the Adept were arranging the Great Hall.  We have been outside all this time.  It’s a grand illusion, so I believe.’

Dividian was dumbfounded and his chin bobbed up and down wordlessly as he struggled with what to say, looking left and right, making his woolly beard swing around absurdly.  Grand Master Anthem and a handful of other Masters were smiling and Samuel caught a few nods of approval from them.

Feeling the time was right, Samuel waved his hand again and they were all suddenly back inside the hall, walls firmly around them, roof firmly overhead.  ‘Or what do you think?’ he asked of the audience.  ‘Perhaps that was the illusion after all and we are still really inside?’

Master Dividian began looking around himself feverishly and Samuel could barely contain his amusement.  He was about to cast his spell again, when Master Glim stood and interrupted him.

‘Thank you, Samuel,’ Master Glim called out.  ‘We get the point.  Your illusion is really very convincing, but we don’t want to give poor Master Dividian a heart attack.  You can return to your seat now.’

Samuel felt somewhat disappointed, for he had hoped to continue working his spells for a good time yet.

‘That was fantastic, Samuel!’ Eric said adamantly as Samuel returned beside him.  ‘I was utterly convinced that we were really outside.  Ah…being outside was the illusion, wasn’t it?’

Samuel laughed.  ‘Of course.  It would be impossible to conduct such a grand illusion as the Great Hall.  Someone would be sure to notice it, especially when they went to lean on a wall and fell straight through.’

‘The best part was the subtlety, Samuel,’ Goodfellow mentioned.  ‘A cool breeze.  Some night birds calling.  It was very convincing.  You used such a trickle of power for your spell—very efficient and very difficult to detect.  Only a few Masters knew what you were up to.  I was completely taken in.’

Samuel smiled and went to talk some more, but Master Dividian had recovered his wits and the evening was set to continue.

‘Well, thank you for that amusing interlude, Samuel,’ Master Dividian called out.

Samuel gritted his teeth at this.  ‘Old fool,’ he whispered under his breath.  ‘Just because he’s too stupid to know a spell when he sees it.’

The remaining boys each had a turn to show their spells, until only one last apprentice remained.

‘And the last apprentice is Eric Goodfellow,’ Dividian finished.

Samuel and Eric both patted their friend on the back as he edged past them and went to the centre of the room.  He answered Dividian’s question easily, stating the five Old World regions of Amandia in the Old Tongue.  Then, Goodfellow sucked at his bottom lip a moment as he prepared his spell.  Readied, he walked to the wall and, to everyone’s surprise, went straight up it until he reached the roof, where he began walking upside-down along it, carefully treading around the various hangings and decorations and stepping through the beams.  He continued as the audience watched on, with their necks cranked back and their mouths hanging open, until he strode down the last wall and returned to his starting place in the centre of the chamber.  Everyone, including Samuel, clapped enthusiastically as Goodfellow humbly returned to his seat.  Samuel had not even suspected that Goodfellow could have had such a spell hidden up his sleeve.  Goodfellow had obviously been keeping some of his true talents to himself.  Samuel made a mental note to remember the spell and try it himself afterwards.

‘I am speechless!’ Grand Master Anthem announced.  ‘Young Eric Goodfellow has produced such a wonderful spell.  I’m sure even some of the Masters will be asking him for advice after that.’

Dividian then regained the reins of the event.  ‘Now, with the apprentices all finished, it is time for the Adept to come forward and prove they are worthy of being granted the status of Masters of the Order of Magicians.’

The Adept all stood from their seats and filed into the centre of the chamber.  As if rehearsed, they began simultaneously, each demonstrating various summoning stances.  Their movements were obviously well practised, but some still made a few slight, noticeable mistakes, or were not as proficient as others.  They moved between different stances, making variations the apprentices had yet to learn.  Samuel sat up straight and paid close attention, for it was fascinating how much extra magic could be summoned with only minor adjustments to the basic summoning stances.  The Adept also formed many of the powerful hand-matrices, and occasionally one would shout a word of Old Tongue and their aura would become intensely brilliant.  Samuel was impressed that even some of the poorly skilled Adept could increase their power so much—even if it was for only a brief moment.

After a few minutes of this, the Adept all moved to perimeter of the centre space and faced inwards, holding their stances.  Some closed their eyes or tensed their jaws in preparation, and Samuel leaned forward expectantly.  He suspected that they would each cast some spell, using all the energy they had summoned, but instead they began something different.  They began to push their power away from themselves and into the centre of the room.  Samuel watched on as they manipulated their individual energies until it combined into one interwoven pool of power.  The hairs on Samuel’s arms began to stand up and, looking around the hall, Samuel could see that everyone else was similarly affected.  When the pool of magic had been completely formed from all of the Adepts’ power, they released the enormous spell and the magic slowly began to dissipate back into the ether.  They had managed to combine all their individual weaves into one greater spell.  There was no real purpose to the display other than for demonstration, but Samuel realised it could have immensely useful applications.

‘Wonderfully done,’ Dividian called out to them.  ‘A fine example of a Manyspell, symbolically representing the fact that it is not only important that the individuals of the Order be well skilled, but that they can cooperate efficiently.’  The Adept went back to their seats.  Most of them looked relieved that their part in the evening’s formalities was done.  ‘It is time to congratulate all our students for their hard work, so please—everyone.’  With that, old Dividian began clapping and everyone in the hall quickly followed, making a thunderous noise for several minutes as everyone had thoroughly enjoyed the evening’s demonstrations.  Many Masters looked very pleased and congratulated any of the students within reach of them with a brisk shake of hands.

‘And now, if you please.’  It was Grand Master Anthem.  He had replaced Dividian and was urging everyone to quieten.  Eventually, the applause subsided as he waved his hands about and called for some silence.  ‘Ahem,’ he began.  He voice was deep and smooth, as opposed to Dividian’s hoarse croaking, and carried to all corners of the hall without the slightest need for him to raise his voice.  ‘I think that I must be the most pleased man in this room, for all of you have truly exceeded yourselves tonight.  It proves that the Order of Magicians is making great headway, producing the finest standard of magicians.  As a small reward for all of you tonight, it is time for some of us Masters to show you a few spells.  As is customary, I would like to challenge a few of my old colleagues to a friendly duel of magic.’

At that, five older Masters stood and began making their way down to the front seats near Grand Master Anthem.

‘Who are they?’ Samuel whispered to Eric Goodfellow.

‘Together with Grand Master Anthem, they are the Seven Lions, Eric replied. ‘Well…there’s only six now.  They are all Grand Masters and fought in the last battle of the Imperial War.’  Samuel nodded in awe.  ‘They say together they are the most powerful magicians in existence.’

Eric Goodfellow leaned over and whispered.  ‘If not for them, we’d probably be speaking Garten right now—or so they say.’

A few others nearby began shooshing them, so Samuel returned his attention to the floor.  Grand Master Anthem was about to continue his address.

‘Now, we will give a small demonstration,’ he stated simply.  ‘Remember that we are quite experienced with all this, and I don’t want any of you trying what you may see here tonight.  You’d probably knock your own fool heads off.’

With that, everyone began laughing.  Grand Master Anthem stepped out into the centre of the hall and waited, while the first of the Seven Lions stepped out to face him.

‘Jurien,’ Goodfellow whispered, and Samuel nodded in understanding.

Grand Master Jurien did not look like much, for his posture was a little bent with age and his face littered with wrinkles.  Indeed, if not for the burning radiance around him, Samuel could easily mistake him for any of the doddering old Masters that spent their days idly in the common room.

The two men bowed to each other and each formed a summoning stance to begin.  They began gathering their power, breathing deeply and slowly changing between various stances.  Anthem finally settled in a very low, half-sitting stance with his arms held out, palms up, as if he were carrying a great bowl.  Samuel could see that Anthem was summoning a vast knot of energy that completely filled the space between his arms, and became greater and greater so that the old man’s hands were beginning to shake with the effort.  It was such an immense amount of power to summon so quickly, already far greater than all of the Adept’s combined effort, as if the power was just dropping out of the air into his arms.  As the power continued to grow, Anthem put other various spells to work, guiding and melding his magic, crafting it into a concentrated sphere of energy.

Grand Master Jurien was standing side-on, with one palm directed at Anthem, the other hand behind his back.  It was an unusual stance that Samuel had never seen before, or even imagined for that matter, as it was unlike most of the traditional stances they had so far been taught.  Magic manifested all around the magician’s body and began gathering towards his palm.  It was impressive, but Samuel, with his sight, could see the old Grand Master was far outmatched, for Anthem was conjuring power at a much greater rate.

Just then, and unexpectedly, Jurien changed his stance, thrusting both hands as fists towards the Grand Master.  Pure energy arced towards the Grand Master, carrying such force that it manifested into the physical realm and formed streams of intense blazing power that streaked Samuel’s vision.  The crowd gasped in amazement.  Samuel half-expected Anthem to be vaporised by such force, but the bolts struck the Grand Master’s magic sphere and vanished completely, sucked into it like a fly gulped down by a bullfrog.  The crowd gasped again and began applauding loudly.

Anthem then retaliated with a sly grin.  He drew just a fragment of the energy from between his hands and sent it flying towards Grand Master Jurien, who, taken by surprise, only now began putting up his magical defences.  He was far too slow, and Anthem’s spell seized his body and threw him back against the wall with a tremendous cracking sound.  The crowd gasped once more in disbelief as Jurien slumped to the ground.

Samuel was thinking the old man was surely dead, but Jurien rolled over with a groan and stood up on wobbly legs.  Surprising everyone, the old Grand Master actually began laughing.

‘Ha ha ha, you old devil!’ he called out to Anthem.  ‘I can’t believe you beat me so easily this time.  Very well.  Very well.  I yield!’  And with that he strode gracefully to the side and resumed his seat by the others.  It took the audience several moments to recover from the shock and then everyone began applauding as hard as they all could.  Of course, many of the old Masters had seen this many times, and they merely sat and looked on, making the odd comment to each other.  Some even chatted together idly and ignored the scene completely.

Grand Master Anthem bowed modestly to his defeated opponent, all the while keeping his sizzling ball of magic in his upturned palm.

The second of the Seven Lions then strode out confidently and took his place opposite Grand Master Anthem.  His robes were long and splendid, having silver adorned hems.  Samuel could already see magic bursting from the air all around him as he settled into Simple Stance, standing straight, palms together almost as if in prayer.  Anthem did nothing, as his power was already at hand and waited patiently for his opponent to prepare himself.

‘Grand Master Orien,’ Goodfellow whispered.

Samuel was about to ask Goodfellow a question when some magical weaves sprang up right before him and Samuel almost leapt out of his seat with surprise.  Then, he realised that some of the other Masters were creating a spell shield all around the audience, to protect them from any harm, should the duelling Grand Masters get carried away.

The air between the two men erupted into a web of weaves as the silver-hemmed Grand Master unleashed a spell.  Magic bloomed around them, but was swallowed up just as quickly by Anthem’s magical sphere, saving him from any effect.  To all who watched, the men had not moved a muscle, for only Samuel had the ability to see their spells at work.  Anthem bore a great toothy grin towards his opponent.

‘Damn you, old man!’ Orien swore out loud and the crowd laughed in glee, for no one else would dare curse the Grand Master so openly.  Samuel peered around the hall, for he could feel another spell at work somewhere in the great chamber, but it remained unseen.

‘I will teach you, upstart!’ Anthem declared playfully and began to laugh as he prepared to spell.  His laughter, however, vanished as magic burst up from the ground beneath him.  Orien’s first spell had been a ruse, while this second spell had been coursing deep beneath the floorboards.

‘Bah!’ Anthem called out as vines exploded around his feet and began entwining his legs.  Losing balance, he toppled backwards onto the floor.  The whole crowd gasped again and cheered at the amazing sight.  Another spell formed and came at Anthem in a heartbeat, but the old man was not beaten yet.  His power sphere still hung in the air and gobbled up the new spell as it came near.  Anthem called out in the Old Tongue and a swathe of magic swept out from his sphere and turned the vines around his legs to a shower of shreds, bringing further sounds of excitement from the onlookers.

‘I’ll teach you!’ Anthem swore with some mirth, getting back on his feet and dusting off his robes.  It was clear he was enjoying the competition.

With that, Orien changed stance and quickly set up a myriad of defensive spells all around, hanging like shields of lightning-white webbing all around him, and prepared himself for the counter-attack.  Anthem raised a single finger and a jet of silver magic washed out from his power sphere and engulfed his opponent like a storm of sparks.  Samuel gasped and had to shield his eyes as the fury of magic flashed and flickered before him.  When he could lower his hands once more, the other students around him were all staring at him with amusement, for, of course, they could see nothing of the brilliant spells.  Samuel shrugged and returned his attention to the centre of the room.

Orien was now sitting upon the floor, defeated.  Samuel could see that his power had been completely extinguished.

‘Good job, old man,’ he spoke.  ‘Maybe next time?’

‘Bah!  I don’t think so,’ Anthem returned in good humour, his voice rich and deep.  ‘Perhaps next time you will make me try a little harder.’

The crowd cheered as Grand Master Orien returned to his seat.  It was a much less interesting affair for them, Samuel realised, for no one else could see what was actually going on.  To them, the two men had faced each other, vines had grappled Anthem to the ground, which then fell apart, and then Anthem’s opponent had taken his turn to fall over, leaving him defeated.  Samuel actually felt sorry for them for missing out on such a great display of magic.  He was enjoying every moment.

The third Lion took his turn to face Anthem and he entered the makeshift arena with the aid of a short walking stick.  Samuel sniggered to himself, for it was at once obvious to him that this man was, in fact, an illusion.  The real old Grand Master had cloaked himself in spells of concealment and was tiptoeing around behind Anthem with a look of great amusement on his face.  The entire crowd had their eyes on the illusion, which began touching its toes and limbering up quite comically.  The crowd all laughed at the sight of this old man readying for battle.  Samuel peered amongst the Masters in the audience to see if any were aware of the ruse, but all had their eyes set squarely on the illusion.

‘Are you ready?’ Anthem asked.

‘Oh, yes, yes,’ replied the illusion, and instantaneously a blast of power exploded from Anthem’s sphere, not towards the illusion as everyone expected, but directly behind, slamming the true magician to the floor.

The crowd all cried out in awe once more as the true old Grand Master was suddenly revealed, with scraps of spell and shadow falling to the floor around him.  He coughed and waved his hands in front of his face as his concealment spells literally began going up in smoke.

Anthem clucked his tongue and shook his head.  ‘Surely, you can do better than that?  That’s the same old trick as last year!’

‘Ah,’ the other Grand Master croaked.  ‘I was sure I would have you this time, you canny swine!’  And with that he climbed to his feet with the help of his walking stick and hobbled from the scene.

‘So much for Grand Master Tudor,’ Goodfellow whispered.

Anthem made a great show of yawning and the crowd laughed and cheered as the fourth of the Seven Lions stood and entered the area.  He was much younger than the others, with just wisps of grey in his hair, and he appeared muscular and strong.  Samuel knew him as Grand Master Gallivan.

Anthem began replenishing his magical sphere and this made Samuel think that Grand Master Gallivan must be quite powerful.  Gallivan formed a very strange, twisted stance, with both his hands having their thumbs and forefingers out, as if trying to crush two large walnuts.  Brilliant arcs of magic flashed into being between these fingers and the man was surrounded in a halo of white-hot light.  Samuel subdued his sense of sight and watched on in awe.

‘Very nice!’ Anthem stated.  ‘Such power is truly wondrous to feel.  I wonder how well you can use it.’

With that, a flurry of minor spells struck at Gallivan, disintegrating harmlessly.

‘Oh, come on!’ Gallivan retorted calmly.  ‘I’m not going to fall for that!’

Samuel realised these first spells had been to test Grand Master Gallivan’s mettle—like clapping your hands in someone’s face to see if they blink.

Anthem then sent much more powerful magic surging at Gallivan: a series of intense spells in quick succession that flashed towards him.  Gallivan, however, easily matched each one, somehow sensing their intent and matching them with counter spells, allowing him to save his spell-shields for later in the competition.  The air popped as each spell vanished from existence.  When all was done and the spells had vanished, Samuel could feel that some strange magic still remained.  He barely noticed at first as his sense of sight was subdued so much, but he could feel the spell just on the edge of his perception.  A thin creeper of magic was stretching out from Anthem’s power sphere and snaking slowly across the floor, where it carefully latched onto Gallivan’s radiant aura.

‘How intriguing,’ Samuel muttered to himself, for the spell began sucking away at Gallivan’s strength, leeching at his magic like a parasite and sending it back into Anthem’s own magical sphere.

‘My turn,’ Gallivan said, and an enormous spell birthed before him.  It almost felt as if it bore a great physical weight and Samuel’s eyes opened wide.  He felt giddy for a moment and had to hold firm to his seat for fear he would fall forwards out of it.

Samuel just had time to see Anthem raise his hands to protect himself before the air transformed into a maelstrom of fire, roaring and blistering the air.  All in the crowd also gasped and many stood ready to flee or else covered their faces, but the flames struck the magic barrier before them and no one could be harmed.  For long moments, the scene was a hellish storm of incredible roaring fire that raced around the chamber.  When the flames had slowly subsided, everyone cocked their heads or stood from their seats to try survey the scene.  As the smoke slowly dissipated, Gallivan could be seen first.  He had changed stances and now had his arms thrust out towards Anthem, but he was breathing quickly and his face was coated with a film of sweat.  His magic was severely diminished and he looked greatly weakened.

Anthem then slowly became visible as the chamber cleared.  He was shrouded by a twisting curtain of smoke.  Then, by magic, the smoke fell away as if turned to dust and the old Grand Master began laughing heartily.  He surprised everyone when he actually began clapping his hands.

‘Well done, Grand Master Gallivan!’ he spoke.  ‘Such a great spell!  I was hardly prepared.  Where did you come up with that?’

Anthem’s power sphere was now larger than ever, pulsing and seething with raw magic—a good percentage of which was no doubt gained from Gallivan.  It now hung above the Grand Master’s head like a huge, devilish halo and was pulsing as if with its own life.

‘I made that one especially for you,’ Gallivan responded, panting and obviously exhausted.  ‘I’m just sorry it wasn’t quite what you were looking for.’

‘That was quite an impressive effort, well worthy of something in return,’ Anthem announced and he paused only momentarily to form a spell.  There was a hint of sweat beading on the old man’s forehead and Samuel was relieved to see that Anthem was not totally invincible.  It seemed he was finally starting to tire.

There was a strange snap in the air, as if some enormous length of wood had been cracked crisply in two, but no one else apart from Samuel seemed to have noticed it.  Then, a great gasp came from the crowd as a fiery form began to appear on the floor.  Its substance seemed to be gathered from the air around it; blazing flames burst from the air and gathered together more and more until a shape became apparent.  It was a hound of sorts, yet somehow formed of fire itself.  It had hellish red eyes and, when it snarled, fiery saliva dripped from its maw to hiss on the floor.  It surveyed the scene around it slowly and deliberately.  Everyone in the audience sat back in their seats nervously.  A spell was set about the thing like a manacle and Samuel guessed it was to keep the creature under control, for this was no mere illusion.  Such summoned things were powerful and unpredictable.  It took an equally powerful spell to bind it to the summoner’s will.

Gallivan’s resolve fell apart at the sight of the creature slowly stepping towards him.  ‘Very well, very well!  I concede!’ he called out to Anthem, standing up straight and waving his hands in surrender.  He was laughing, but with a good amount of desperation in his voice.  Samuel could see that he was attempting to form some magical barriers, but his power had waned and his spells could not form true.  The man now looked completely emptied.

Anthem nodded with a sly smile and released his spell.  The creature at once flashed out of existence, leaving four wisps of smoke where its feet had been touching the timber floor.

Gallivan looked ready to collapse.  ‘I cannot face such power,’ he stated.  ‘I commend you Grand Master Anthem.  You are truly great.’

‘Thank you, Grand Master Gallivan,’ Anthem returned.  ‘I look forward to another challenge soon—after you get some well-needed practice.’

With that, the defeated Gallivan walked on wobbling legs back to his seat and virtually collapsed into it.

‘One more,’ Anthem called out to the audience.  ‘Then we can relax and have dinner.  Grand Master Du, if you will.’

The last Grand Master looked absolutely ancient.  He would have been very tall, had age not bent him half-over, and he peered through a veil of long white eyebrows.  His wispy white beard obscured his shirt front, and he wore a tall pointed hat, making him appear to be like a magician from some folktale.  He half-hobbled on a twisted old cane that seemed entirely unsuitable for the job.

‘Very well, Grand Master,’ he spoke, with a surprisingly youthful voice.  ‘Let us begin then so I can put you in your place.  It’s time I showed these young fools how it’s done.’

Both seemed to know what was to come, and the two magicians stood opposite each other and began to cast their spells.  Strange, knotted weaves began filling the air between the two men.  It began simply like that, with each man throwing up a small spell of his own and then one to match his opponent’s.  Each spell they cast was slightly greater than the last, so that the magic between them was growing in intensity and complexity.  It was almost as if they were playing a game of spell and counter-spell.

‘The Magician’s Game,’ somebody whispered and it was passed along.  Samuel nodded to himself.  He had heard of this, but it was his first time to witness it.

To all around, the two magicians were motionless, but Samuel could see they were busy throwing out spell after spell to join the great conglomeration between them.  More and more power filled the arena as more spells were formed and added to the sum.  Some spells countered others and they both vanished, while others locked each other firmly in place.  These spells remained, and their presence added to the complexity of the whole.  Samuel began to realise that the entire scene was becoming two enormous opposing spells, interlocked and set to break the other.  The opponents had to be quick-witted and experienced in every way, for they could not see any dangers approaching, as Samuel could, but had to depend on vast experience to sense what spells were summoned and how to match them.

Curiously, however, Samuel noted that each spell was double-cast: cast again upon itself, inside out.  He had never seen such a thing and wondered why they would do it like that.  Perhaps it was some secret method of the Grand Masters’ for making their spells more powerful.  It must have some great purpose, for casting in such a manner was twice as slow as usual.

Quicker and quicker, the two men summoned their power and cast out spell after spell into the matrix of magic.  The ancient old Grand Master Du looked almost lifeless, although his lips quivered as he murmured to himself and his fingers trembled on his cane, as if they gestured at his spells ever so slightly.

Anthem, however, began to have a slightly worried expression, and Samuel was sure he could see more sweat running down the man’s brow.  His magical sphere was now only melon-sized and it was quickly diminishing.

A movement caught Samuel’s eye, and a tentacle of magic was once again creeping across the room.  It affixed itself to the ancient Grand Master Du and at once began to draw out his energy.  Old Anthem now bore a hint of optimism.

Some students began to yawn as time wore on, for it seemed the two old men were standing idly.  Samuel, however, was fascinated by the complex battle of spells at work.  Even the older Masters, content to sit at the back of the hall and chat all night, were now watching on eagerly, for this was finally something they were interested in.  They could feel all the spells at work and appreciate the high degree of skill involved.  They chatted enthusiastically and commented on the tactics in use.  Samuel only wished he could hear what they were saying.

Then, like water spontaneously breaking through a riverbank, Grand Master Du’s spells began collapsing back towards him.  Anthem’s magic destroyed each one of Grand Master Du’s spells that it touched, quicker and quicker as his spells surged forward.  In the last instant, Grand Master Du yelped in effort and stepped back, using his last scraps of magic to throw up a great shielding spell that Samuel could barely have managed given a day.  Anthem’s spells crashed as one into the old man’s barrier and the room boomed with thunder, causing the solid beams overhead to groan and creak.  The air itself warped and shuddered as Grand Master Du was engulfed by magic.  Samuel thought the frail, old man would surely be vaporised, but when the spells had all subsided, the old man merely groaned and climbed back to his feet with the aid of his cane.

‘Oh, bugger!’ the old man swore with obvious annoyance and the entire hall began laughing out loud.

Samuel was dumbfounded.  Surely such power should have destroyed the old man’s body, but then he realised: the double-casting!  Normally, such great magic would have destroyed any living thing, but their spells were double-cast.  The second, inverse spell was a mirror image of the first, resulting in a spell that would negate itself upon realisation.  In this way, two magicians could obviously play the Magician’s Game without fear of physical injury.  It was ingenious!

‘Congratulations, Anthem, you scoundrel’ Grand Master Du said.  ‘You beat me again!  I don’t know how you do it, but I’ll best you yet one day!’  And with that he hobbled back to his seat

‘Very well,’ Anthem then said to the audience.  He had released the remains of his magical sphere and it was now floating up by the ceiling where it was rapidly dissipating. ‘I hope you all learned something tonight.  I trust all the new Adept will realise they don’t have long left here in the School of Magic and will apply themselves to their studies with all their fortitude.  For those Adept who have graduated tonight, I want to welcome you as Masters of the Order of Magicians.  You have a great responsibility upon your shoulders.  The Order was founded anew at the end of the Imperial War, so that magic could become a symbol of civilisation and a tool of peace for all of Amandia.  We live by the grace of our great Emperor, but remember always that magic is for the better good of man.  Let us remember that magic should only be used in the defence of peace and that one magician should never use magic against another.’

With that, the shield spell around them was released and Samuel realised the graduation was over.  The audience began to file outside, but Samuel’s head was full of all the spells he had seen that night.  He was full of excitement and twitching to find some time alone so he could begin practising everything he could remember.  Most intriguing of all was Grand Master Anthem’s devious spell of sapping.  It was a truly ingenious method to beat almost any magician, even if they were more powerful.  In fact, the more powerful they were, the better, as it meant there was more power for the taking.  It seemed that Grand Master Anthem was truly the most powerful magician in the Empire.

CHAPTER SIX

Playing with Mage-Fire

THE AIR WAS buzzing with excitement as all the graduated apprentices carried their belongings into one of the Adept bunkhouses.  It was nearly a duplicate of the dormitory they had just left, yet the atmosphere was very different—it somehow felt full of maturity and dignity.  While they had just left a room full of boys laughing and playing games, here, solemn faces inspected their new roommates thoughtfully.

Samuel dropped his bundle onto a tightly made bed and sat on its edge, testing its properties.  He separated his belongings and placed them into the sturdy drawers on the floor.  He had a drawer for each category of items—clothes, study materials, personal effects—whereas, in the apprentice dormitory, he had only had one modest chest for everything.  He then lay back and sighed, watching the dust motes glide gently through the beams of light overhead.  Everything felt like it was falling into place.

Lessons began again early the very next day and, as they filed out of the school behind Master Glim, a group of wide-eyed youngsters—new apprentices still in their colourful attire from the outside world—wandered in, gawking in marvel at their new surrounds.  Samuel wondered if he had looked that foolish when he had first come to the school.  He remembered the looks all the old Masters had given him on that first day—no doubt he had.

Master Glim led them on a long walk out of the city near to a quiet farmhouse on the north bank of the Bardlebrook River, far from the calls and noises of the city.  The sound of fishing nets slapping the water was the only noise to pester them, along with the occasional grunts of the fishermen pulling them back in, rocking about in their tiny boats.  Master Glim took them through many of the fundamental summoning stances, demonstrating the most effective ways to shift from one to another.  Some students were better suited to certain stances, while other stances suited different situations, or even moods of the magician.  It was all very mundane for Samuel, as they had done it many times, yet, as always, he followed closely.  He felt he was virtually perfect at the twenty-eight stances—he could feel the weaves of power running along his skin and through his bones—but he was always aware that he could align himself slightly better still and draw a few last remnants of magic from the ether, or move more quickly, more efficiently.  There was always something for him to improve.

‘Move into Waterfall Stance,’ Master Glim then instructed.  He made a few comments to some of the lagging students; then he continued, assuming the position himself for all to see.  Waterfall Stance was a tall stance, with the legs straight and together and the arms lifted high above, as if reaching up to fetch something from a high shelf.  ‘Now, observe.’  And he lifted one leg high, bent at the knee.  One arm came down to point straight ahead.  Samuel could see the aura around him shimmer upon reaching this new position and move more quickly, as if agitated.  ‘Waterfall Stance can become a focussing stance, Bowman Stance, very easily.  It is much better for casting spells, especially those that must be cast at a distance.’

With that, everyone followed his example.  He led them through all the summoning stances again and showed them a focussing variation of each.  Each one had some benefit or purpose.  Dragon Stance could become Breathing Dragon Stance, for fire-based spells, or Flying Dragon Stance, for spells of quickness, or Enlightened Dragon Stance for divination.  They practised long and hard on that day, their very first day as Adept.  Samuel had been hoping there would be more of a change than just his title, and he was not disappointed.  He was pleased to learn that their education would accelerate even further from this point on.  They would learn spells and methods reserved only for those students who had passed their apprenticeship and had proven their dedication to the Order of Magicians.

It was nearly dark when they returned, haggard and weary, through the school gates.  They passed the curious eyes of the newly arrived students, who were all tripping over themselves and adjusting their uncomfortable new clothes of black.  Samuel remembered his first day and smiled.  It was an impressionable time, those early days in the school, and Master Glim reminded them all to act as examples, to teach the new apprentices the fine calibre of performance and behaviour that was expected at the School of Magic.

Despite his exhaustion, Samuel was excited by what he had learned that day.  After he had changed and eaten, he left the groans and moaning of the bunkhouse and hurried through the frosty, night air, his breath forming clouds.  He came to his teacher’s door and rapped on it with his knuckles.

‘Enter,’ came a voice from within and so Samuel turned the handle and quickly entered the warmth of the room.

Master Glim had his feet up on his table and was reading from some notes.  His spectacles were hanging idly on the tip of his nose, threatening to teeter off the end.  Samuel was surprised, for he had never seen his teacher wearing them before.

‘Ah, Samuel,’ he said, dropping his feet to the floor and setting down his notes.  ‘I should have known it was you.’

‘Master Glim,’ Samuel returned in greeting and rubbed his hands together for warmth.

‘Is it that cold out tonight?’ Master Glim asked.  ‘I’m glad then that I have much to prepare in here.’  He seemed to suddenly realise that Samuel was staring at him and his hand moved to his face.  ‘Oh, my spectacles?  I sometimes need them when I am tired.  I seem to need them more often these days.  It’s one of the unfortunate facets of life that not even magic has been able to resolve.’

‘They make you look very distinguished,’ Samuel assured him.

Master Glim laughed.  ‘I’m sure they do.’  He removed them and set them down beside his notes.  ‘Sit down.  What can I do for you?’

Samuel sat opposite his teacher.  ‘I wanted to ask you more about the stances you taught us today.’

‘I assumed as much.  When will you ever rest, Samuel?  Your mind seems ever at work.  I suppose I should be grateful to have such an eager student.  In the upcoming months we shall examine each stance individually and discuss the details and uses of each variation.’

‘These new stances don’t seem as powerful as the summoning stances we have already learned?  Is that correct or am I just imagining things?’ Samuel asked.

‘You are correct.  The basic summoning stances are as perfect as our bodies will allow.  They result in the greatest harnessing of power as they most closely follow the natural flows around us.  The variations are less powerful, magically speaking, but allow us to direct our power better for different spells.  If I wanted to search a mountain for ore, I certainly would not use the Ploughman’s Stance, for the Two Moons Stance is far more efficient at such divination.  Energy must be applied correctly and in the appropriate circumstance to be of any use.  The summoning stances are fundamental for summoning magic, but to cast a spell you should decide which focussing stance is the best choice.  ’

Samuel nodded in understanding.

‘Remember, Samuel, that shapes hold power by the very fact of their existence.  Energy fills the ether.  Variations in the concentration of energy form the weaves.  The movement and interweaving of the weaves create the flows.  Meshing of the flows forms matter.  All these things together—one yet many—form the pattern that is existence.’

‘And the stances help us draw from the ether?’

Master Glim nodded.  ‘That’s correct.  Our mere existence—the presence of our bones and muscles, the swirls in our brains, even the blood in our veins—allows us to collect energy, ethereal energy, via resonance and store it in our ethereal selves—the portion of ourselves that exists only in ethereal terms.  It cannot be seen or felt, but it exists.  It is our aura, which surrounds and enfolds our physical bodies.’

‘Is that then what we truly are?’ Samuel asked.

‘Yes and no,’ Master Glim replied.  Then he raised one eyebrow and looked up at the ceiling.  ‘There should be a word that means both yes and no.  I think Master Sanctus tackled that one a few years ago.  There’s a buzzing noise that he makes when he’s too confused to say either.  Sorry, where was I?’

‘Yes and no,’ Samuel prompted.

‘Ah,’ Master Glim said, regaining his train of thought.  He seemed tired and confused tonight.  He was still a young and fit man compared to most Masters.  Tonight, though, he did seem much older.  ‘Yes and no.  Does our body exist as an instrument of our spirit, or does our body create our spirit for some purpose of its own?  Who can say?  When we die, our body disintegrates, but what happens to the energy within us?  Is it a soul or just a symptom?  Does it fade and become nothing or does it change and become something else?  None of us can say.  These are questions for the priests and philosophers.  I think if we were to try to answer all these questions, we would not have the time to enjoy our lives.  In the end, each of us will inevitably discover the answer, but until then we can only whistle into the wind.’

Samuel nodded slowly.  These were things he had never considered.  He could see the flows.  He could see the energy around people and the spells they created.  Was this what he could do: see people’s souls?  He looked at Master Glim, who was looking back at him thoughtfully.  Focussing his sight, Samuel could see that a myriad of tiny stars now moved around the man, performing an endless, twirling, graceful dance.  They were tranquil now, ever following each other in constant flow.  There was never a first point or a last.  Every bright spot seemed to follow and be followed.  If Master Glim were to summon his strength, Samuel knew that the points would grow in number and join to form strings.  Energy would burst from the ether and manifest in our realm as pure magic.  Or perhaps the magic was always there, but even his sight was too poor to see it.  At present, perhaps only the brightest sparks of power were visible, like glistening dew on a spider’s web and if one were to look closer, the web itself could also be seen.

‘Then why are some stances stronger when stationary and others require movements, such as Willow Step?’ Samuel asked, shaking the previous line of thought from his mind for the time being.  It was all too difficult for him to fully comprehend.

‘Think, Samuel.  To gather power into yourself, match the flows.  Use Prophet Stance or Harmony Stance or any of the holding stances, for these are the strongest and let you match the flows.  To further excite this energy, break from one flow and change to another.  This is why most stances follow circles and curves.  This best allows you to release what you have stored, like striking a flint upon stone.  But this is all basic!  Master Sanctus should have gone over it all long ago.  Perhaps I will quickly review such fundamentals tomorrow.’

‘That would be good,’ Samuel said.  ‘I think it’s good not only to know how to do something, but why it is so and how it works.  Then we can form some new ideas for ourselves.’

‘Very good, Samuel,’ Master Glim said.  ‘I hope I have answered your questions for now.  Come again some time.  I shall see you tomorrow afternoon after your lesson with Master Celios.’

Samuel sighed.  Master Celios was stern and short-tempered, only teaching when another Master was unavailable.  Samuel hoped the man had more patience now they were all a little older and higher in standing.  As the young magician left the room, Master Glim placed his glasses back onto the tip of his nose and returned to his notes, turning over the yellowed pages in his hands.

‘Good afternoon, students,’ Master Celios’ voice echoed across the cold, cavernous hall.  ‘I am glad to see that so many former apprentices here have finally graduated to Adept.  I hope you continue to do as well in the future.’  Samuel and Eric Pot looked at each other hesitantly.  Not a whisper was permitted during Master Celios’ lectures and the man’s ramblings were most often pointless, convoluted and overly long.  ‘Speaking of the future, Master Glim has asked that I explain the most intriguing facet of magic, in my opinion, known as divination.  Divination, or divining, is the ability to know something or detect something through the use of magic.  You can detect the weather, locations of people or things, or perhaps even detect whether or not people are paying attention, Mr Shewlun.’

At the last statement, Flynn sat bolt upright.  He had been nodding off already and Master Celios would not tolerate such a thing.  He also had an uncanny ability to remember everyone’s names.  No one knew how he did it, but after just one mention, you were damned to be known by him forever.

Master Celios continued: ‘A magician who can perceive something of the future is called a seer, and they can often divine the future long before it actually happens.  Some of you may even have the ability to do this, but it is not a skill that we make a habit of developing, so it remains dormant in most of us.  Some may have a hint of the gift, seeing current, future or past events in their dreams, but all recollection of such is lost with the coming of morning.

‘You may have heard that I am considered the most capable seer in the modern world and, as far as I know, I am.  I foretold the Great Rat Infestation of Glentody, the Battle of Raven Fields and many other things.’  He was obviously very proud of himself.  ‘Before we begin learning the theory, however, I would like to make a demonstration.’  He held out a palm and closed his eyes, appearing deep in thought and Eric gave Samuel a look of amusement.  ‘I am quite sensitive to detecting other seers, so I shall see if we have any talent here today,’ Celios announced.

He stepped nearer to the students, keeping his eyes shut and holding one palm out towards them.  ‘Yes, yes.  I can feel something over here.  The pattern is definitely aligned to a potential seer or two.’

Eric guffawed and poked Samuel in the ribs, for Master Celios was making a grand fool of himself, almost tripping himself up on his robe hems as he strode back and forth, holding his palm out towards everyone.  Samuel could not help but snigger in return and when he looked up, Master Celios was glaring down upon him with a very unamused expression.

‘I’m sure you would like to be gifted as a seer, young Samuel,’ Celios called out irritably, ‘but you’re not!  Young Master Pot here is brimming with far more talent than you.’  Samuel could not help but laugh again as he looked at Master Celios’ puffed and reddened cheeks.  ‘Why the nerve!’ Celios roared out. ‘Come with me!’

Master Celios bent over and snatched up Samuel by the earlobe, as his mother had been fond of doing long ago, and dragged him out of his seat and into the aisle.

‘Ow!  Ow!’ Samuel complained with his eyes squeezed closed in pain.  When he thought his ear was about to be torn clear off, it was suddenly released, and he began rubbing his ear furiously to get the life back into it.

‘Young Master Samuel,’ Celios called out, now bearing a smug grin.  The other Adept looked greatly amused at Samuel’s plight.  Eric had both hands over his mouth to hold his laughter and Goodfellow bore an amused grin.  ‘You are obviously so sure of yourself that you don’t mind disrupting my class.  Why don’t we all see what kind of ability you really have?’  Samuel tried to object, but Celios would have none of it.  ‘I shall act as an intermediate,’ Celios told him, ‘and you say the first thing that comes to your mind.  No nonsense, mind you—and if you make any more fun of my class, I’ll have a switch taken to your buttocks faster than you can blink.  Don’t think for a moment that you’re too old to learn some good manners!’

Samuel nodded, with no choice but to take part in Master Celios’ display.

Celios clasped his hands together into a matrix of power and began summoning his magic, and then Samuel saw the teacher’s spell take form.  It swept out and enveloped him, cool against his skin.

‘Concentrate now,’ Celios instructed.  ‘Close your eyes if you like.’  Samuel did.  He hoped to get this over with and return to his seat as quickly as possible. ‘Now, speak.  What do you see?  What can you see through the clouds of time?’

Samuel opened his mouth and began to say the first thing that came to mind.  It was strange because, with the aid of Master Celios’ spell, he thought he could see some images beginning to form in his mind.  They were vague at first, but as he focused upon them, scenes began to appear in his mind’s eye—shapes and hues shifting against each other, slowly congealing into discernable forms.

‘I see Master Sanctus,’ Samuel began.

‘Good,’ Celios’ voice responded.  ‘What is he doing?’

Samuel heard the faintest chuckle and decided to put a quick end to this embarrassment.  He peeked one eye open and could see the whole class was full of mirthful grins.  Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes once again, Samuel concentrated upon the ghostly images.  ‘He is dancing with a beautiful girl—laughing and dancing and spinning in circles.  Oh, wait.  He’s dancing with many beautiful girls—all at once.  Quite wildly, in fact.  He seems to be having a grand old time.’  At that, Samuel heard a few sniggers come from the class.  ‘That’s all,’ he finished irritably.  ‘It’s gone,’ he finished and opened his eyes.

‘Well then, young Samuel,’ Celios said.  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing merry Master Sanctus doing a jolly old jig, being the spry old soul he is.’  The students all roared with laughter again.  ‘I don’t know what, if anything, came to your mind, but the first skill of divination is the separation of fact from fantasy.  Now, back to your seat and, if possible, could you not disturb my class any further?’

Samuel returned to his seat, red-faced, and Eric Pot slapped him on the back with mirth.

‘Now, now, students,’ Celios called from the front of the hall and the hoots of laughter slowly subsided back into silence.  ‘That’s enough amusement for one day.  Now, we shall continue with some theory.’

As Master Celios began sorting through his pages, Samuel’s head began to swim around.  He gripped onto the seat back in front of him and tried to steady himself, but the room seemed to be revolving and contorting all around him.

‘Samuel?’  Goodfellow whispered, but Samuel could not answer.

The Great Hall flashed from his view and was replaced by darkness.  Samuel could feel his stomach rise up into his throat and the warm contents fill his mouth.  He tried to raise his hands, but he found himself formless and weightless, now hanging in the sky over Cintar.  He looked all around in his vision as black-winged shapes filled the air below and enormous sinister forms strode through the streets, pounding down the buildings and walls with enormous fists.  Spells and missiles flew up from the smoking city as all around, a great battle was waged between man and—something else.  Samuel’s attention was drawn by a sudden, soundless flash from the palace and, as he watched on, the High Tower cracked at the base and slowly toppled over onto the city, sending up immense plumes of dust and debris in all directions.  Three figures loomed tall over the landscape, looking on with murderous indifference.  They were ageless beings and their shadows began to stretch across the lands.

‘Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked again.  ‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh,’ said Samuel, turning to his friend, quite startled.  ‘Yes.  Yes, I’m all right.  I just felt giddy for a moment.’  Wisps of Master Celios’ spell still clung to his mind.  That was the only explanation for what he had just experienced.

Goodfellow nodded.  ‘That can happen.  It should pass quickly.’

‘I hope so.’  He could still taste the bitter contents of his stomach in his mouth.

‘Samuel!’ Celios roared out.  ‘If you cannot hold your tongue and pay attention I shall organise yet another demonstration for you before the principal!’

Samuel sat up straight and tried to pay attention as his uneasy stomach slowly settled and the rest of the afternoon passed ever so slowly before Master Celios’ stern gaze.

When the lecture was finished, the Adept all filed outside.

‘Are you feeling better?’  Goodfellow asked.

Samuel nodded back.  ‘Yes, it’s passed.  I wish Master Celios had warned me beforehand that divination could make you feel so bad.’

Eric Pot laughed.  ‘I think that’s part of his punishment, Samuel.’

‘What do you think of it,’ Samuel asked his two friends.  ‘Divination, I mean.  If you can see it in your mind, do you think it will come true?’

Goodfellow smiled a little as he replied.  ‘I really don’t think so, Samuel.  As Master Celios explained, our heads are literally full of scenes and pictures.  The real skill is in picking the truth from the fantasy.’

‘It’s just…’ Samuel began, ‘It’s just that it felt so real.  It wasn’t like a memory or a dream.  It was like I was actually there.’

‘That was Master Celios,’ Goodfellow explained.  ‘His spell was to aid you and make your thoughts more tangible.’

‘So do you think Master Sanctus will really manage to dance with all those beautiful girls, Samuel?’ Eric asked with a great grin.  ‘I didn’t think he had it in him.’

Samuel shook his head.  ‘I don’t know,’ he said distantly, for he was in deep thought and had hardly heard what Eric had said.  He was not at all concerned with the vision of old Master Sanctus, for his mind was on the other scene he had witnessed—the dark things over the city, the hulking forms in the streets; they filled him with dread.

‘Come on.  I’m starving,’ Eric said, sniffing loudly to detect any hint of roasting dinner on the air.  ‘Let’s go find something to eat.’

They continued on, but Samuel felt something strange in the distance like some form of spell, over by the wall.  He forgot his dark thoughts for a moment and peered over, but nothing seemed to be there.

‘What is it?’ Goodfellow asked, stopping beside him.

Samuel enhanced his sight and strained to see more clearly, peering up and down the length of the wall, but he could sense nothing.  ‘It’s nothing,’ he replied and they began away again.  Still, he could not help the feeling that someone had been there, wrapped in spells and hiding in the shadows, watching him.  As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

It had been a hectic first month being one of the Adept and Samuel had been studying hard to try and come to terms with all the new lessons they were given.  He barely had time to venture into the city, but what annoyed him most of all was that many of the older Adept already knew much more than he did, so he was determined to learn everything they knew as quickly as he possibly could.

Samuel and Goodfellow were rushing to class together, when they spied the weasel-faced, old Master Dividian approaching, talking with another taller magician.  Samuel noticed immediately that this other man had an unusual aura around him.  He could not say exactly why, but it just looked strange around the man.  Samuel squinted in an effort to enhance his sight, but he could not reveal anything else that might explain such strangeness.  As the pair of Masters passed by, Samuel gawked up at the man: a tall fellow with neat, black hair and a tiny moustache, with a touch of beard at the tip of his chin.  His nose was slightly upturned and he held himself proudly, walking with an almost regal stride.  His aura was strong and clean, as with most Masters, but there was something about it that was most definitely…unusual.

Samuel then realised the the man was looking back at him with one quizzical eyebrow raised.

‘Who’s that strange boy staring at me?’ Samuel heard the man ask of Dividian a moment later, but the men had moved on too far to hear any reply.

Samuel’s heart was beating faster and it took him a few moments to catch his breath.

‘Ah, Samuel?’ Goodfellow prompted.  ‘Is there some problem?’

Samuel realised he had stopped walking completely and was staring at the ground by his feet.  ‘Oh.  What?  Sorry.  I was daydreaming.  Who’s that with Dividian?’ Samuel asked, shaking himself back to alertness.

‘Who?’ Eric said, looking around.  ‘Oh, him?  That was Master Ash.  He’s the assistant to Lord Jarrod of the Magicians’ Council.  Haven’t you seen him before?’

Samuel shook his head slowly.  There was something about the man that put his heart to unrest—not just the strange aura, but something about his look, his demeanour.  ‘What does he do?’ he asked as they continued on their way towards class.

‘I guess he helps Lord Jarrod with all his duties.  The councillors are always busy in the palace doing something—politics and gossip, so I understand.  I’ve heard Lord Jarrod.  He has many influential friends within the royal court and so a lot of the time he ends up getting his way.  That’s why the Grand Master has been so busy lately.  He’s been in there arguing with Lord Jarrod and the Council.  I’ve heard they want the school to start incorporating magicians into the Turian armies, but Anthem is dead set against it.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Samuel said.  ‘The whole purpose of the Order is to prevent violence and disorder, not create it.’

‘That’s not quite how Lord Jarrod and some of the councillors feel about it,’ Goodfellow continued.  ‘They want us to learn more battle spells.  Jarrod wants an overhaul of our whole schooling system to have us graduate much faster.  They would ignore all the schoolwork and just have us practising spells all day.’

‘Things could move a little quicker here at times, but that just sounds ridiculous.’ Samuel said.  ‘How can any of us be a magician if we don’t know why magic works or how to apply it?’

Goodfellow shook his head.  ‘They just want fodder for the armies.’

Samuel whistled with disbelief.  ‘It’s no wonder the Grand Master is opposing them.  But why would Lord Jarrod want to do this?’

Goodfellow bobbed his shoulders.  ‘Who can say?’

Samuel mulled over the matter a few moments.  ‘Did you sense his magic?’ he then asked of his friend.  ‘Master Ash, I mean.’

‘I didn’t sense anything unusual…but I wasn’t really looking.  Why?’

‘I’ll meet you after class,’ he called, turning from Goodfellow.  ‘I want to take another look.  Take some notes for me!’

Eric opened his mouth to object but then decided otherwise.  He shook his head and walked on alone.

Samuel caught up to Master Ash and Master Dividian just as they were entering Grand Master Anthem’s chambers by the great oak tree that thrust up from the cobbled path.  He waited until after they had entered, then casually sauntered up to the door.  He stood in an idle fashion, as if waiting to be called to enter.  He could hear voices inside.

‘...so you say, but you should also be aware that Lord Jarrod has persuaded most of the others and the matter will be voted on next week.’  It was the new man, Master Ash, speaking.

‘I don’t care,’ Anthem stated defiantly.  ‘What’s right is right.  The Order should play no part in the conquests of the Emperor.  We are magicians, not soldiers.’

‘But I heard you were once quite hot-blooded yourself, Grand Master,’ Master Ash could be hard to say.

‘That was different,’ Anthem defended somewhat sourly.  ‘We were foolish and reckless then.  Many people lost their lives.  The Order has grown and is making great successes.  We should not be made to repeat the mistakes of the past.’

‘You call this success?  A mob of pacifists making wind and lights?  What good are they?  Where are all the improvements that you promised the Emperor?  We have seen nothing even close and you graduate a handful of Masters each year—it’s barely of any worth.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ Anthem explained sourly.  ‘True power takes time.  We must be left alone to teach and conduct our research in an ordered and logical manner.  I will run my school in the way that I see fit.’

‘If you cannot produce results then make way for those who can,’ Ash stated. ‘Lord Jarrod and a growing number of the other Lords are now adamant that we should abandon all this wasteful research.  We may never recover the power of the old days, but we can use what we already know to assist the Empire.  Time is growing short and the Council needs to be confident we can support the Emperor’s demands.  We cannot risk disappointing him.  You know that as well as anyone.’

‘I refuse to take part in such foolishness,’ Anthem vowed angrily.

‘Please, Grand Master.  I am merely expressing the will of the Council.  Please don’t perceive it as personal criticism.’

While Anthem grew increasingly livid, Ash’s voice remained as smooth as honey.

‘The Council to hell!’ the old man roared.  ‘Tell Lord Jarrod that while I still have breath in me, I won’t be part of such idiocy.  Good day!’

There was a long pause.  ‘This will not bode well, Grand Master.  Your past seems to be clouding your decisions.  I’m sure the Council will take that into consideration, but I’m not sure how much longer you can sustain your repute.  I recommend you take some time and reassess your decision— but I’m sure you will hear more on this shortly.  Good day.’

Samuel scooted away and made for the sanctuary of the next small building as Ash stepped out from the Grand Master’s residence and stalked away.  Samuel pondered what he had heard.  He quickly set off to find the others and see if they knew any more.

Samuel was sitting on his bed, scratching his chin as he browsed the pages of his study notes.  Sometimes it vexed him when he could not read his own writing, for his mind was forever one step ahead of his hand, often resulting in a chaotic scribble of ink.  Perhaps one day there would be enough time to ponder all the new questions that his studies raised but, for now, the days were too short to learn as much as he wished.

A movement out the window caught Samuel’s eye.  A shadowed figure had stepped from behind one of the Masters’ quarters and begun to make his way across the grounds. Samuel’s heart sank as he realised the man was all too tubby and short to be Master Ash.  He was now obsessed to learn more about their talk of changing the school—and more about this strange man, Master Ash.  Samuel was sure the man had some unusual spell set about him, for his aura had some quizzical facet to it that he had never seen before on any magician.  He was determined to examine it more closely.  Master Ash also looked awfully familiar.  He kept racking his mind for some memory as to where he had seen the man, but Samuel could not remember any clue or recall anything that could be of help.

Samuel returned his gaze from the window and back to his lap, where he turned a page.  Here were his recent notes on history, as droned by Master Sanctus.  Samuel raised an eyebrow in curiosity, for he really could not make head nor tail of anything he had written.  The words seemed almost nonsensical poetry, as if he had dozed off in class and started jotting down gibberish.  Samuel shook his head at himself.  He had talked shortly with the two Erics about what he had heard from the Grand Master’s room, but they knew even less than he did.

Another movement caught his eye and Samuel spied a glimpse of a tall figure just vanishing from view behind the apprentice bathhouse.  Samuel damned himself for his lapse in concentration and threw his book onto his bed as he vaulted the balcony and ran down the stairs.  He had to pull himself up short in the doorway, for the lofty man he had seen had paused to talk to another—Master Sveld.  The tall man had his back to him, but Samuel was sure now it was Master Ash.  His aura was now unmistakable.

The two soon finished their conversation and continued past each other, with Master Ash heading out through the school gates and into the city.  Samuel followed, straining to keep his pace to a casual stride, for he itched to burst into a trot and follow the man more closely, but that would be far too obvious.  He remembered his days in the streets of Stable Canthem, when he was as agile as a mountain goat—those days seemed so long ago now, almost as if from another life, and he was not nearly so nimble as he used to be.

Samuel spied his quarry turning right towards Endlen Street and could stand it no longer.  He sprang into a dash to catch up to Master Ash, skidding to a halt just before the street branched.  The old blacksmith on the corner looked up from pumping his bellows and smiled curiously.  Samuel peered around the bend, where Master Ash was entering the crowded confines of East Market.

How did the man manage to walk so fast without ever looking like he’s in a hurry? Samuel wondered and continued stealthily after the elusive magician.

As Samuel reached the edge of the crowd, the people began to part around him and give him their greetings, much to his horror, for they were doing the same around Ash, leaving a bare path between the two of them.  The man only had to turn his head to see Samuel trailing so blatantly behind him and Samuel nearly choked when Ash did exactly that, looking directly back towards him.

Samuel leapt aside, bringing up his arm to hide his face, as if scratching his head.

‘What can I offer you, Lord?’ a merchant asked at his side.

Samuel realised he was standing before a basket stall.  ‘I...ah,’ Samuel stuttered.  ‘I would like one—’ he began, scrutinising the merchandise.  ‘—of those,’ he finished and pointed to a long wicker container.

‘Very well, Young Lord,’ the merchant stated and plucked up the container, dropping it into Samuel’s arms.  ‘That will only be half a crown for one of the Order.’

Samuel patted at his pockets and realised he had not a coin on him.

‘Please, allow me,’ came a voice at his side and an old woman pressed some money into the merchant’s grateful palm.  ‘It’s my pleasure, Young Lord,’ she grinned at him.

‘Thank you, Madam,’ Samuel replied with relief and racked his mind for some way to thank her.  She was as healthy as could be and as tough as an old goat, yet she had a number of sizable sacks tied together and leaning against her legs while she perused the basket stall.  ‘Perhaps I can help take some of the load off your legs in return.’  He raised one finger and cast a spell of Lifting.  At once, the sacks raised themselves from the street and began floating effortlessly by the old woman’s waist.

‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed, putting her hand to her breast in surprise.  A gasp rose from all around and several men clapped their hands in appreciation of the spectacle.  It made Samuel shudder with regret as all the people began to crowd around to see what was happening.

‘Astounding!’ people called out. ‘Wonderful!’ and children began jumping and up down and shouting with joy beside him.

‘Thank you,’ the old woman said, nodding and smiling, although she looked somewhat unsure of her levitating goods.  ‘Thank you, good Lord.  What a blessing you are to my old bones.’

Samuel glanced between heads and was both relieved and alarmed to find no sign of Master Ash.  ‘Thank you!’ he called behind as he stepped away from the stall, holding the wicker vessel on his shoulder.  Master Ash could not have gone too far, so Samuel pressed on down the street.

A bobbing head appeared further on, easily above those around him, and Samuel knew he had not lost his man, for Master Ash now seemed to be taking his time, chatting with some fellow beside him.  Samuel put his container down for a moment and quickly pulled his shirt over his head, stuffing it inside the wicker vessel.  Black trousers were not so uncommon, and workers went bare-chested all over the city.  He hoped it was an adequate disguise to not get him noticed.

When Ash started off again, Samuel followed closely and he smiled with some satisfaction as the crowd now failed to separate around him.  In fact, they seemed to actively begin jostling and bumping him most uncomfortably.  Samuel was glad he was not a commoner, for he would not enjoy the city half as much if he had to put up with this every time he went out.

Ash was alone again and Samuel was confident in staying only mere steps behind, for they were soon nearing the central markets and the people were pressing shoulder to shoulder now, making the going difficult.  He could follow in the wake of Master Ash’s presence, but he still had to deal with the crowd as it surged back in behind the mage, which was bad in itself, as people rushed all the more to take advantage of the free space.

Samuel followed Ash out the other side of the markets and past Saint Veddum’s Cathedral, where crowds of people were lined up to make their daily prayers.  Finally, Ash stepped aside and entered a tavern, leaving Samuel standing perplexed before the open doorway.  The sign above the door named the place ‘Dargill’s Tavern’.  He peered in through the doorway and could see that Ash had started up a set of stairs.  Samuel considered entering after him for a moment, then noticed a narrow alley to his right.  He hurried down it and set his container down, inspecting the tavern wall.  There were several windows set up high to let fresh air into the main room, and several others, smaller, towards the rear of the building, presumably for the guest rooms.

Samuel wandered along the alley, gazing up, when something caught his attention—pulling at his senses.  Another magician of some description was nearby.  In the rear-most room, there was most definitely another magician, and Samuel could just bet that he and Master Ash would be meeting.

Samuel hurried further around to the rear of the tavern where some tattered, old animals were roped and he was pleased to note a balcony above him.  He took a step back, then vaulted up, leaping against the wall and then up, grasping the balcony beam with one hand.  His grip held and he swung his other arm up, took hold and then carefully lifted himself up, stepping over the handrail and tiptoeing onto the deck to crouch beside the rear entrance to the guest room.

‘Did you hear something?’ Master Ash’s voice came from inside.

‘No,’ came another voice.  A spell formed and Samuel felt the tickling presence of magic as it washed over him.  The man, whoever he was, was powerful.  His very magic sizzled upon the air.  Samuel went to throw up a concealment spell, then realised he had no need, for no magician could sense him while his magic was dormant. ‘There’s nothing there.  Let’s get this over with.’

‘When does Balten arrive?’ Ash asked.

‘Soon,’ the other replied.  ‘With Cang and the others.’

There was a moment’s silence as if he was contemplating, and then Ash spoke again.  ‘Hmm.  Very good.’

‘Have you been given everything you requested?’ the gruff voice asked.

‘You’ve been most helpful,’ Ash answered.  ‘Men are already at the site and I understand it looks promising.’

‘My master pays well—remember that.  Be sure that your services meet their price.  There are many others who can do the same for less.’

Ash laughed.  ‘There is no one else and you know it, Kalen.’

Master Ash chuckled softly and Samuel had to shift his weight—his thighs were beginning to burn from squatting in the same position for so long.  ‘You’re right.  Just don’t make any mistakes.  If your promises make good, you and Jarrod will get your reward, but if this turns out to be another waste of time—you’ll pay.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Ash stated calmly.  ‘I’m sure this time our information is true.  It’s taken a long time to gather everything we needed, but the translations we recovered from the ship proved to be essential—for the first stage at least.  Lord Jarrod remains confident.’

‘So you say.  I’m hoping your results will prove your words.  So far, your promises haven’t been worth a dog’s fart.  Anyway, Cang wants to see you when he arrives.  You can do your explaining to him.’

‘Very well,’ Ash stated.  ‘I’ll meet you then.’

A chair scraped against wood and footsteps sounded.  Samuel’s heart leapt and he readied to throw himself over the balcony, when the footsteps faded away down a hallway.

‘Damned black-cloaks!’ the mage inside muttered to himself.

Samuel crept slowly down the balcony to the far end of the tavern and then carefully climbed the rail, dropping to the yard below.  He pondered the men’s conversation as he followed the alley, his thoughts disrupted only when he noticed his wicker container was gone.

‘Damned thieves!’ Samuel swore under his breath and stepped carefully into the street.  There was no sign of Master Ash and so Samuel began back towards the school grounds.  It seemed obvious that there was a conspiracy at work and Lord Jarrod and Master Ash were involved.  Samuel had no idea who Balten or Cang were, but he did not think they were part of the Order and he had no idea what they were up to, but their words did not carry the tone of good intention.  Samuel would talk with Master Glim about this; he was sure to know what to do.

Samuel hurried into the school, ignoring the horrified expressions of the old Masters at his naked chest as he passed.  After returning to his dormitory and putting on another dark shirt, he made directly for Master Glim’s quarters.

Master Glim was inside dusting his room, when Samuel knocked and entered.

‘Ah, Samuel,’ the Master called in greeting.  ‘What puzzle has brought you to my door today?’

‘I’ve just heard something disturbing, Master Glim, and I need your advice,’ Samuel replied.

Master Glim detected Samuel’s tone and ceased his dusting, putting his long-handled brush aside.  ‘Come.  It’s a lovely day.  Why don’t we walk in the grounds while we talk?  You seem to have some weight on your shoulders today.’

‘Actually,’ Samuel replied hesitantly.  ‘It’s something that requires some privacy.’

‘Oh?  Very well, then,’ Master Glim granted with a raised eyebrow.  ‘What is it?’

‘Do you know of Master Ash?’

‘I do,’ Master Glim responded.

‘I followed him to a tavern, where he met another mage, who I’m sure is not of the Order.  They began discussing some plot and Lord Jarrod is involved.  It was all very secretive and I couldn’t hear any exact details, but I’m sure there is something going on.  They’re planning something.  ’

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim began solemnly.  ‘Lord Jarrod is always planning something, as are most of the other councillors.  They have nothing better to do but scheme and plot, with little more in mind than their own entertainment.  Nothing surprises me from them.’

‘But it sounds serious.  They were talking about someone called Balten and all these other men.’

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim said, shaking his head.  ‘I’m sure it’s not serious.  I’m not surprised that Lord Jarrod is dealing outside the Order.  Sometimes they do these things.  It’s best to leave them to their games and concentrate on your studies.  The councillors can take care of themselves.  They’re schemers and plotters, the lot of them and it’s far wiser to give them a wide berth.  Now, I honestly recommend that you don’t go following anyone else and mind your own business when it comes to the Council’s affairs.’  Samuel was disappointed, but Master Glim continued.  ‘And don’t go telling anyone about this.  You’ll only get yourself into trouble.’

Samuel realised he was getting nowhere and nodded in agreement.  He felt that his teacher was merely brushing him aside, that no amount of arguing would serve to change his mind.  ‘I understand, Master Glim.  I’m sure you’re right.  I shall see you at tonight’s class, then.’

‘Very well,’ Master Glim replied, bearing a smile once again.  ‘And no more nonsense.  You have a lot of study to do.’

Samuel left the magician’s quarters and made back for his dormitory.  He was disappointed that Master Glim had not taken him more seriously, for he was sure there was something about to happen.  The two Erics were intrigued when he told them, but after a few days with no new occurrences, they lost interest in the plot and scolded Samuel whenever he attempted to raise the subject.  Several times Samuel found an excuse to pass by Dargill’s Tavern, but he could feel no hint of any magicians there.  Of Master Ash, there was also no sign.  The man seemed to have disappeared from the city altogether.  A few discrete questions told Samuel he had left Cintar for Hammenton on the business of the Council.  With no further leads to follow, Samuel finally gave up searching for a conspiracy and returned his attention to his waning studies.

One bitter morning, whilst the city was gripped by the heart of winter, Master Jod and Master Rubrick had all the Adept standing idly in the school grounds.  The students stood rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet for warmth.  The two Masters were talking quietly, waiting for the last of the students to arrive and take their places.  The rain had stopped since the wild storm of the previous night, yet the ground was still a muddy slurry.  The wind had a chilly sting to it, causing everyone—bar the Masters—to don their hoods and draw them tight around their faces.

‘Gather closer now, students,’ Rubrick then called out loudly and everyone shuffled nearer.  ‘I don’t want to lose my good voice by arguing with this wind.’

Rubrick was a peculiar fellow.  He had an unusual way of stringing words together and a level of patience far beyond any of the other teachers.  His skin was quite olive and his eyes were slightly angled.  Some said he was from the western islands or beyond, for the deep ocean was treacherous to traverse and little was known about those far flung reaches.

‘To begin today’s lesson—’ Jod began.  He was much sterner and to-the-point compared with his counterpart.  ‘—I would like you all to remove yer robes.’

Everybody looked to each other, unsure and they began murmuring.  Samuel rubbed his hands even harder at the mere thought.

‘Come on.  Get ’em off,’ Jod demanded.

‘Come along, now,’ Master Rubrick said cheerily.  ‘You will see the point soon enough.  Samuel, how about you start everyone off?’

Samuel nodded, after he had recovered from the shock of the very thought, and he reminded himself never to stand so near the front again.  As he pulled his robe up over his head, he could feel the icy cold wind blowing against his legs.  As he stood in his thin shirt and trousers, a young apprentice ran over at Master Jod’s beckoning and took the robe from Samuel’s shivering hands.

‘Quickly, now,’ Rubrick said.  ‘Don’t leave poor Samuel so cold and lonely.’

Jod was marching up and down in front of the group with a mildly sadistic smile on his face.  ‘Off with yer robes.  Come now!  Quickly!  It’s not that cold.  Don’t be such a bunch of babies!’

Samuel hugged himself desperately.  The wind seemed to be blowing straight through his thin shirt, as the others begrudgingly did the same.  When they were all half-naked and shivering in the wind, with their thick, warm garments piled up in the beckoning doorway of their dormitory, Master Rubrick motioned for them to gather even closer, and they were all glad to do so.

‘Now listen closely,’ he began.  ‘Ignore the cold and biting wind.  Do not listen to the complaints of your body.  Close your eyes and grasp your power—just a little.  Let a little magic trickle through your veins.’

Samuel closed his eyes, biting hard to stop his teeth from chattering.  In the darkness, all he could feel was the freezing wind and his body trembling.  Hopefully, he would go numb soon and the discomfort would end.  Perhaps he would pass out, he thought to himself.  That would be even better.

He could feel magic being summoned around him and quickly tuned his mind to do the same.  Innumerable sessions of practice came back to him and his mind soon found that state he required to spell and sweet magic came pouring into him.  As always, it took a little effort to stop from filling himself completely, for the joy of magic was ever enticing.  For a moment, the cold was forgotten but, as the initial euphoria had ended, the wind and cold came gnawing back at him.

‘Very good,’ Rubrick’s voice sounded.  ‘It is no small task to summon magic with such a distraction as your own discomfort.  Now, follow the flows that we dictate, gently.’

Samuel at once felt Master Jod’s power around him.  It was a subtle spell, cyclic and repetitive in nature, but he could feel the cold being pushed from his very bones, warmth filling his flesh.  Keeping his eyes closed, he began fashioning his own weaves on the Master’s.  After only a minute, he was mirroring Jod’s spell perfectly.  He could still feel the bitter wind tugging at his clothes and brushing his skin, but its chill could not enter him.  He was as if he were standing beside the roaring stove in their dormitory.

‘Experiment with the spell,’ Rubrick said.  ‘It takes but a trickle of energy to keep you warm on such a day as this, but always remember the dangers.  Being creatures of flesh, magic will always tax your body.  If you kept this spell up for too long, you would tire easily and your mind would be fatigued.  Our talents are indeed useful, but should be used wisely.  With a little more practice, all of you could repeat this spell at will, but isn’t it far easier to simply wear your robes?  For what would happen if you needed to cast another spell in an emergency, but were already exhausted because you were too foolish to put on a vest?  It is far wiser to use your magic only when needed or on miserable winter mornings like this when you need to rush outside to pee.’  Everyone laughed at that and Rubrick clapped his hands together sharply. ‘Now cease.’

Samuel stopped the spell and opened his eyes, looking around him.  His friends surrounded him, all being blown at by the wind, yet all standing comfortably and smiling as if indoors.  Despite the spell’s end, Samuel still felt some warmth residing in his core.  Perhaps it would take a few minutes for the cold to claw its way back in.

‘Quickly, now!’ Master Jod called with his gruff voice.  ‘Get yer gear on before you all catch a cold.  The Grand Master’ll kill us if we let you all drop dead on him.’

Everyone ran over to the dormitory and there were robes flying as everyone fought to find their own.  In the end, everyone threw on the first one they could get their hands on, as the cold had quickly come biting at their heels.

‘Hurry up!’ Master Jod shouted out, hurrying away across the sloshing grounds as the rain began to fall once more.  ‘Follow us, quickly.’

Eric Pot was the first out after them, lifting his robe hems like a skirt and bounding after the two Masters with his boots splashing rain and mud.  Samuel looked to Goodfellow, who was grinning back at him and together they pushed through the doorway and after Eric.  The sound of splashing and mirth followed as the others all charged through the rain after them.

Eric was waiting with Masters Rubrick and Jod in the doorway of the Great Hall and they urged Samuel and the others to hurry inside from the rain, which was now beginning to fall with great earnest.  After all the boys had pushed inside, Master Rubrick pulled the door firmly shut with a resounding boom and they moved into the flat, central area before the benches.  The two fires on either side of the hall were roaring and the air was lovely and warm.

‘No you don’t!’ Master Jod ordered as one Adept, Marcus, began to remove his robe.  ‘For this exercise, you must keep yer robes on.  Now spread out.’

They all spaced themselves evenly across the floor.  Samuel’s heart was still pounding from the race across the muddy grounds.  The water on his face had dried already and he could feel that he was already starting to sweat in his armpits.  He had the feeling that they were in for some more discomfort before the lesson was done.

Master Rubrick sat on the foremost bench while Master Jod took command.

‘Warm up!  Come on now.  Follow me!’ Jod called out, facing them.  He put his hands behind his head and began squatting up and down on the spot.

At once, everyone joined in and, after they had done thirty or so, Jod then led them into as many jumps on the spot.

‘You must learn to be as agile in yer robes as in anything!’ Jod called out as he bobbed up and down.  ‘It’s the custom of magicians to appear statelier than the common folk, so you should never let minor discomforts bother you.  And if they do, you can’t go showing it.  If you are nice and warm while others shiver, or nice and cool while others sweat, then the people begin to hold you in awe.  If you shiver like a little girl, the people will start to think we have regular flesh and blood like them—and we can’t have that now, can we?  It’s a small thing, but it gives us magicians power over the common folk—peasants, nobles and kings alike.’

Samuel then caught on to the concept of this lesson.  It was not really about the exercise or the encumbrance of the robes—Jod was intent on getting them hot—and it was working.

‘Riding Stance,’ Jod called and the boys all dropped into the even-weighted summoning position.  ‘Forward Stance!’ Jod continued and began leading them through the various positions one by one.  Already Samuel was considerably wet under his clothes and sweat ran freely down all their ruddy faces.  ‘These stances should be second nature to you now.  What’s wrong with you?  You’re all young!  Look at me!  I’m old!  Faster!  Let your body do all the work and let your mind be free to concentrate.’

Samuel closed his eyes and moved through the stances.  He could judge his timing by the stamping of the others upon the timber floor; also, he had been over this hundreds of times and it had become automatic to him.  Once again, he could feel another’s spell running over him.  This time, it was Master Rubrick’s and, by copying the flows of the spell, Samuel felt a surprising coolness on his skin.  The closer he came to matching the teacher’s spell, the less the heat of exertion bothered him and the cooler he felt.  He opened his eyes again and still held the spell.  It was virtually identical to the warming spell, yet in some respects it was opposite, but Samuel supposed that was logical.

Turning full around during Peasants’ Circle, Samuel could see a few others on the brink of exhaustion.  They stumbled over themselves and were dripping with perspiration.  Samuel replicated his own cooling spell several times and cast it over them.  He supposed by doing so he was not really helping them to learn for themselves, but they would not master the spell today anyway, from the look of it.  At least he was making them a little more comfortable and gaining some extra practice for himself.

‘Well done!’ Master Jod exclaimed as they all stamped to a halt at the last position and brought their feet back together, standing at ease once again.  ‘Most of you have learned the lesson at hand.  A few others I will speak with later.  Tomorrow we shall discuss the theory of what we have learned, so meet Master Rubrick and me here after breakfast.  Now get out with yers!’  They all went to leave, but Master Jod had one more thing to say.  ‘And by the way, Samuel—if I catch you helping the others during one of my lessons again, there’ll be hell to pay.  Do you understand?’

Samuel gulped.  ‘I’m sorry, Master Jod.  It won’t happen again.’

‘I’m not such a fool that I can’t feel you throwing spells around like a bull in a pottery shop.  You have much more practice to do before you can get away with that.  Now off with yer.’

Samuel nodded again and damned himself for being so clumsy.

‘What do you think, Samuel?’ Eric asked at Samuel’s side.  Goodfellow had also stepped up to be with them.

‘These spells?  They’re the most useful things we’ve learnt lately,’ Samuel replied.  I was beginning to think we were going to go over the same boring lessons for the rest of our lives.’

‘Me, too,’ Eric agreed.

‘It looks as though poor Lan and Chadly couldn’t quite manage,’ Goodfellow said.

‘They’ll learn,’ Samuel added.  ‘They’re both a little slow at times, but the Masters will keep them atop of things.’

‘What class do we have next?’ Eric asked, using the Old Tongue.

‘That’s all for today,’ Goodfellow responded, using the same speech.  ‘Master Glim is still away, so we have the afternoon free.’

An evil smile crossed Eric Pot’s lips.  ‘Gesh’eahn,’ he said, rubbing his hands with glee.  Wonderful.

‘Are you thinking of visiting the city then, Eric?’  Samuel asked with a smile.

‘You know me far too well, Sammully,’ Eric replied.

‘I would love to join you,’ Goodfellow said, scratching at his sandy hair, ‘but I’ve already promised to organise some journals for Master Kalbak.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Eric declared.  ‘Samuel and I are going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?’

‘I’d say you’re more likely going to get wet,’ Goodfellow said.

‘The markets are well covered,’ Eric said, ‘although, admittedly, they do leak all over the place.’

‘We’ll see you later, then, Eric,’ Samuel told Goodfellow.  The two Erics were often at odds over what was more important in life: work or recreation.  Samuel suspected they would never come to an agreement, but he settled the matter in his own mind with something Master Kelvin had often said.  Everything in moderation, except for moderation.  You should have plenty of that.

As Samuel went to step out of the Great Hall, he eyed the rain with apprehension.  It was nearly raining sideways now, for the wind had blown up almost to a gale.  Samuel pulled his robes tighter and hurried out, throwing the warming spell onto himself as he went—for Master Jod was right; he had lots of practice to get done, so he may as well start now.

‘Eric!  Wait!’ he called out through the rain and darted after his friend.  At least this way, he could improve his spells and visit the city at the same time.

Samuel lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling beams.  He had done little but sleep, wipe his nose and look at the ceiling for days now; all thanks to the cold he had caught from running around the city with Eric in the wet.  His head ached as soon as he tried to read and his body was too stiff to move further than down the stairs to get something to eat.  Even his appetite evaded him at the moment.

The others had been taken to the palace to put on a performance for the royal court and Samuel was fuming that he had missed out.  He still had not managed to see inside the palace, whereas some of the others had even been twice.  Eric had told Samuel that they would go together when he was feeling better, for he declared that it was quite simple to sneak in and look around.  Samuel had decided to wait until his friend had tested his theory a few more times before he tried it for himself.

Samuel’s limbs began to tremble again and he slightly altered his warming spell to make himself a little more comfortable.  These turns of hot and cold kept dogging him and no amount of spelling could keep them at bay for long.  He could not remember ever feeling so ill.  Master Glim had said he would probably be better by today, but he only felt worse.  The droning in his head started up again and he realised he was wet with perspiration, so he altered the spell yet again.

Shivering, he soon fell back into nightmarish dreams, where ghostly white claws tugged at his sheets and threatened to pull him through the dark cracks in the floor and a man loomed in the doorway, laughing hysterically at Samuel’s misfortune.

It was still raining a few days later, but Samuel was feeling a little better.  Goodfellow had brought him a concoction of herbs that his auntie had recommended, and they seemed to be doing the trick.  Perhaps tomorrow he could return to class.  He felt awful staying in bed all day and, with all the rain and having this bad cold, he felt in a terrible mood.  He had tried studying, but he could not concentrate enough to read his notes and everything he did manage to read made little sense.  When he was better, he would study twice as hard and practise magic all day long.  He was tired of this school and tired of his classes and his teachers and his classmates.  He wanted to hurry up and graduate and show everyone what a real magician could do.  He would prove to the entire Order that he was the greatest magician Amandia had ever seen.  He would train the teachers how to actually teach their pupils, instead of treating them like children and wasting their precious time every day.  And, if anyone challenged him, he would show them the true extent of his power, for his magic would be beyond compare.  Given a little more time, he would be able to defeat any of the teachers here, and even Grand Master Anthem, should he choose.  Samuel smiled at that thought.  He would prove to everyone that he was the most powerful magician there ever was.  He closed his eyes and lay back in his bed.  Opening himself to the ether, he filled himself with magic and let it course through and around his body, thrilling him.  As he lay alone in the dormitory, he smiled to himself and envisaged all his fantasies of future conquest.  He would show them all, he thought and, as his magic burned through him, he actually believed it was true.

He w

Samuel’s mount galloped up the grassy hill, followed closely by Eric atop his tall, grey mare.

‘I didn’t think that anyone would be able to best me, Samuel, but you have become an extraordinary rider,’ Eric called.

The others, led by Master Glim on his black-speckled stallion, were still charging up the base of the slope.  Samuel turned his animal around and waited for them to arrive.  The city was laid out below against the great blue ocean.  It was the first sunny day in weeks and Master Glim had declared that it was time for another lesson in riding; a perfect chance to get out of the city and appreciate the wonderful turn of weather.

Gulls could be seen wheeling above the docks and, as always, tiny specks of people and animals dotted the roads that scarred the fields all around the city.  Northbank sat on the other side of the Bardlebrook, seeming to grow closer to Cintar every day as the small satellite city continued to prosper.  A great new bridge was being built next to the old one to span the narrows, and the Adept were often being called to help in the construction, lifting the great stones into place with their spells.

Master Glim’s animal came over the rise and pulled to a halt beside Samuel.

‘You’ve improved, Samuel!’ Master Glim declared, sweat matting his hair.

Samuel sniffed.  The air was still a bit chilly today, so he adjusted his spells to warm him a little.  ‘It doesn’t take a genius to stay in a saddle,’ Samuel replied curtly.  It always annoyed him when Master Glim treated him like a child.

Samuel caught a raised eyebrow passing from Eric to the teacher.  They had been acting strangely, of late, whispering when they thought he could not hear them, but his magically enhanced senses easily caught their speech.  They were always whispering about him.

His animal was not much to speak of, but Samuel, with a slight Lifting spell, had perfected the art of helping his horse so that it could gallop faster and tire slower.  It meant he was always well in front of the others, and he knew it annoyed Eric, who had always raved on about how he was such a fine rider.  At first, they may have been able to detect such a spell, but Samuel had mastered the art and now needed little power to accomplish such magic.  It was but a trickle, barely noticeable above the natural murmur of the world and its ever-humming fields of power.

‘You look tired today, Samuel,’ Master Glim then said.  ‘Are you sure that you’re feeling well today?  Perhaps we should head back.’

Samuel threw the man as dark a look as he could muster.  Why was he always questioning him and trying to make him feel ill at ease?  At one time, Samuel would have thought Master Glim was above petty jealousy, but now the man was always trying to intimidate him and question his ability.  He pitied such childish ignorance.  ‘I’m fine,’ Samuel replied, looking further up the hillside.

Just then, all the other Adept arrived and came galloping to a halt beside them, horses stomping and steaming.

‘A brief rest,’ Master Glim called out.  ‘Then to the edge of the woods and home.’

Samuel spurred his mount on, kicking it hard with his heels and whipping the reins for all the animal was worth and he was away from them in a moment.  He had little patience to waste more time out here.  He would make the woods and quickly be home to rest.  He strengthened his spell to lighten his horse a little more, but as he did, the world lurched and Samuel’s heart seemed to shudder up into his throat.  The ground loomed up impossibly and smashed him in the face, his vision flashing black, white, red and black again as he rolled over and over.  When he finally came to a rest a little way down the slope, he could see his animal still galloping a short distance away.  It was turning in a wide circle to find its rider.  Then the sound of hurried boots came near and hands began turning him over.

‘Samuel!’ came a strange voice.

It took him a few moments to realise it was Eric Pot speaking.  He gathered his wits as hands tried to lift him.  ‘Get off me!’ he demanded, wiping the spit and vomit from his face.  ‘What is wrong with you people?  Stop looking at me!  Am I a cripple?’  He slapped the hands away and stood on shaky legs, scraping at the dirt and grass on his clothing.

Master Glim and the two Erics were beside him.  The other Adept were all waiting on foot a short way hence, holding their reins and gawking at him.

‘What happened, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked.

Samuel felt a little dizzy and adjusted his spells.  He had found variations on the spells he had already learned, spells to ease the stiffness in his muscles, spells to ease the soreness in his bones, even spells to hold him steady when his head became light.  He had needed them much, of late, ever since he had caught that stubborn cold.

‘Samuel, listen to me.  What are you doing?’ Master Glim asked.

‘I’m going back to the city,’ Samuel replied, starting for his horse.  His head itched and, rubbing at it, his hand revealed a trickle of blood.  ‘I’m sick of all this playing around.  I have work to do.  Why do you waste our time like this?’

Master Glim followed him, jogging at his side.  ‘What spell did you cast just a moment ago, Samuel?  I felt you exert your power and then you adjusted the magic quite expertly until it was indiscernible.  Are you trying to hide something?’

Samuel kept marching.  ‘I’m tired,’ he replied.  ‘Let me be.’

‘Samuel!’ Master Glim called after him.  ‘I am trying to help you!’

‘Help me?’ Samuel shouted back, and he laughed at the absurdity of such an outrageous suggestion.  His head hurt so much and his eyes watered in the bright light.  It felt like another person was inside him, using his voice.  He could not remember when this feeling had come upon him.  These days he had become so numb.

He spun on his heels and stopped, looking back at his teacher.  The two Erics were still standing where he had fallen, looking down at their boots.  The other Adept were with their horses a short distance away, watching on with mouths wide.  Samuel felt lost for a moment before remembering his line of thought.  ‘Why are you all looking at me!’ he shouted, pointing an unsteady finger back towards them.

Master Glim slowly shook his head and spoke softly once more.  ‘Samuel,’ he said.  ‘How foolish of me not to have realised what you’ve been doing.  Magic is strong, but mortal flesh was not made to withstand the rigours you have been calling upon yourself.  I see now that your body is well beyond exhaustion and spells are all you have left.  You hid it well, but your ruse is now unravelled.  Don’t you realise your spells cannot last forever?  When they fail, your body will break under the strain, as you have just experienced for yourself.’  He then called over his shoulder.  ‘Goodfellow.  Pot.  Come here, quickly.’

Suddenly, Samuel’s spells all vanished as something severed his connection with the ether.  All the pain, all the cold and the terrible fatigue surged in upon him and he cried out in agony.  He staggered forwards and went to his knees.  There was a spell emanating from Master Glim, surrounding Samuel and keeping him from reaching his magic.  The pain was unbearable and his muscles would not support his weight.  They felt like withered cords beneath his skin.  Samuel tried one last desperate time to gather some power, to somehow blast them all to dust, when his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limply onto the grass.

Eric Pot stepped over him, their voices still faintly audible in the back of Samuel’s mind.  ‘Even in such a state, he is quite the magician.  What do we do with him?’

‘Back to the school.  Quickly!  We don’t have much time.  Someone go on ahead and gather the Masters,’ Master Glim responded.

The last thing he felt was many hands grasping hold of him.

Samuel walked a ghostly corridor.  It was the hallway of the Burning Oak, yet now it was filled with mist that clung to his legs.  A door to his side opened noiselessly and Samuel saw inside.  Instead of a room, he could see the enormous form of his uncle shouting wordless, spit-filled insults at the huddled silhouette of a little girl.  The compulsion to move carried him on and another door opened, revealing his family, sitting in their home as he remembered they once did.  They were laughing silently and having a merry time, yet outside the window, Samuel could see the leering faces of men pressed up against the glass.

Other doors opened, but Samuel could not bear to look through them, knowing their contents would be horrid.  He carried on walking the long corridor, walking forward towards some end he could not see.  Samuel looked around and found that it was now dark all around him.  He was saturated with a feeling of utter cold, yet his body could not shiver.  Something in the dark, perhaps many things, watched him with invisible eyes.  Samuel spun, seeming to hear a tapping of footsteps on wooden flooring, but nothing was there.  A whispering voice called through the dark.

‘Oosoo Ahn,’ it called.

The icy voice filled Samuel with fright, for he remembered the last time he had heard those words, when he had released the spirit into the world of the living.

‘Ahboo Ahn,’ came another voice—perhaps the same voice.

Something pulled at Samuel’s leg and he spun around.  Wispy tendrils curled in the mist.  Before his eyes, a milky claw formed in the air and reached out for his face.

Samuel screamed and ran blindly through the mist, gibbering with fright and tears.  Whispering came from all around and clawed figures stooped and hovered at the corners of his vision.  Something enormous loomed before him and Samuel stopped dead as an immense thing appeared out from the dark.  It had nothing but eyes and a mouth and bulk; an enormous sense of weight that stretched back into the darkness, as if there the thing had no end.

Its eyes regarded Samuel emotionlessly and its mouth began to open.  A heavy, clawed arm came slowly from its side and propped itself on Samuel’s head, pushing him to his knees.  ‘I am waiting for you,’ it croaked in a language as old as time.  It regarded him kneeling before it and a wicked, contented smile formed across its slavering lips.

Samuel blubbered and closed his eyes tight, wishing that it would go away, that the nightmare would end, but the claw began to pull him forwards, drawing him up and slowly into the opening mouth of the terrible, hungry thing.  He opened his mouth to shout, but he could not make a sound.

From somewhere, a child’s voice began to call.  ‘Father!’ it called.  ‘Father!  Father!’ over and over again.  It was a mournful and fearful voice, like a child calling out for a loved one taken away.  The claw then opened and released him and the enormous thing retreated into the darkness, gasping and babbling.  Everything returned to utter blackness.

A new scene then began to evolve from the void.  Samuel could see himself as a small boy.  He was standing in his childhood home.  His family was there at the table, laughing and talking soundlessly.  He faced the door, for he knew there was something on the other side that wanted to come in.  The boy tried to call out to his family, but the door had already swung open and the tall man was there.  He was grinning maniacally and Samuel knew his face.  It was Master Ash, and, as the man stepped in, his clothes became magician’s robes.  Samuel turned to his family, but they were already staring at Ash—their faces were frozen masks of sheer horror and blood began to seep from their eyes and mouths.  Samuel screamed as hard as he could, but the sound still would not come out.  All he could hear was ‘Father!’ over and over again and it was now him calling.  As the scene grew darker and darker, Samuel cowered under the table, frozen in fear as his father’s dead face stared across at him from upon the floor.  Legs struggled silently back and forth about the room, but Ash stayed in the doorway, watching on with pleasure.

Moments or years passed, Samuel could not tell.  His sleep seemed endless, restless.  Dreams and nightmares swirled around him, intangible and formless.  Voices and images haunted him, bordering on meaning, but unrecognisable.  He yearned to wake up.  He wanted to yell, ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ to himself and somehow just open his eyes—but he could not.  Through the mists of obscurity, two voices slowly began to become clear.  He knew he had heard them speaking through his dreams before, but his head was groggy and they lingered on the far side of recognition.

‘The boy is resting now,’ one said gruffly, wearily.

‘At last,’ the other said—a thin and nasal tone.

‘I was foolish not have taken more care with him.  He could have overspent himself.  Although, I must admit, it was interesting to see him showing some of his ability.’

‘It seems he is very attached to his friends.  Perhaps, we should have used that to begin with.’

‘Too late now,’ the gruff voice admitted, with annoyance.  A few breaths of silence.  ‘So what do we do with him now?’

‘We have been fighting a gradually losing battle and I’ve used every favour owed to me.  The boy has showed his hand and we have made little other gains.  Yes—it is time for the boy to provide the leverage we need.  Even if he is not up to the task, just the threat of bringing him into play may be enough.’

‘Do you really think it is wise to involve him now?’ the rough voice asked.

‘Yes.  I am betting on it.’

‘You are betting our lives!’ the gruff voice said, with alarm.

‘Indeed, so I recommend you tread carefully.  If his potential comes to fruition—just imagine!  Who could ever catch him?  He could be anywhere!  That is, indeed, a power worth possessing.  For this, the Circle will give us the final ingredients for our plan, and then even having the boy will not matter once his secret has been revealed.’

‘We cannot risk letting the Circle becoming involved!’ the gruff voice said fearfully.

‘They are already involved.  They are involved in everything.’

‘But not directly—not yet, and we must do everything in our power to keep it that way or it will be our necks.’

‘As always, we will take care,’ the thin-voiced one stated, ‘but we are in too deep to stop now.  Everything is dangerous now and we are beyond desperate.  And what about that young upstart?  Is he still giving you trouble?’

‘Samuel?’ the gruff voice said with clear disdain.  ‘He’s been nothing but trouble from the start.  He has potential, I can see, but he is a risk to the boy and those around him.  This latest misadventure of his had us up all night.  We must find a way to be rid of him before he causes us any further grief.’

Samuel awoke.  The immediate relief of daylight greeted him and he let out the long breath he seemed to have been holding.  He blinked several times and details began to show through the bright blur around him.  He was in a small room, lying beneath the covers of a comfortable bed.  There was nothing to determine where exactly he was, or why he was here.

Sitting up, Samuel scratched his head.  He felt a small cut there, now well healed over, and wondered where he had received it.  Lying on a small stool beneath the window were his clothes, cleaned and folded, and Samuel slipped from the bed onto unsteady legs and dressed.  After he had tugged on his boots and stamped his heels onto the floor to wedge them firmly in place, he stepped over to the door, opened it wide and peered outside.

At least I’m still in the school, he thought.  Now what’s going on?  He stepped out and looked up.  The sky was a beautiful blue, traced with a few wisps of perfectly white clouds.  Already, the warmth was soothing on his face.

‘Samuel!’ someone called.

‘Tulan!’ Samuel replied, spying the man’s approach between the buildings.  ‘What brings you to Cintar?’

Tulan took Samuel’s hand and shook it, squeezing him firmly on the shoulder with his other.  A great smile covered his face.  ‘You do.  I was just passing through, as usual, when I heard you’d taken ill.  Do you remember what happened?’

‘That’s what I’d like to ask you,’ Samuel responded.  ‘What was I doing in there?  It’s one of the Master’s rooms, isn’t it?’

Tulan scrutinised the small cottage a moment.  ‘I imagine it’s vacant for the time being,’ Tulan said.  He looked over both his shoulders and then his face became more serious.  ‘Let’s talk.’

He led Samuel back into the tiny residence where Samuel had awoken.  Samuel sat on the bed edge when gestured by Tulan to do so and Tulan himself sat opposite on a delicate, wooden chair.

‘What do you remember happening to you?’ Tulan asked, planting a level eye on Samuel.  His moustache was somewhat bushier than usual and a small dark beard adorned his normally naked chin.

‘I had these terrible dreams,’ Samuel began.  ‘You know, it’s funny.  I can’t remember what happened before that or even how I came to be in this room?  The dreams seemed to last forever.  Have I been drinking?’

‘No,’ Tulan laughed.  ‘Not that I know of, anyway.  Do you remember what happened to you in the Burning Oak—that time you were found in your room?’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I don’t really remember, but they told me.  I was unconscious.  I was chanting a mantra of Centring.’

Tulan nodded in return.  ‘That’s right.  Something similar has happened again.  I have only been here a day, but they told me it happened last week.’

‘Last week?’ Samuel asked in disbelief, straining to recall his last memories.  ‘How did it happen?’

‘You had completely exhausted yourself of energy, almost to the point of death.’

Samuel swallowed.  ‘I feel fine now.’  It was all he could think to say.

Tulan nodded.  ‘They’ve been keeping a close eye on you—Master Glim and the Grand Master, especially.  The Masters have been taking turns revitalising you, even feeding you.  Even some of your friends were helping as best they could.  I saw you last night, myself.  They’d put a spoonful in your mouth and you’d chew it and swallow, as if you were awake.  It was very strange.  They tell me it’s a miracle you survived this time.  You can certainly count yourself as being very lucky.’

Samuel was astounded and felt terribly embarrassed at the trouble he had caused.

‘You should go and find the Grand Master now,’ Tulan told him.  ‘He said that you woke late last night and grumbled about something and then started swearing at them.  That was when they finally knew you were going to recover.’

Samuel laughed.  ‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know—probably in his chambers.  I usually try not to spend too much time in the school, or in Cintar, as a matter of fact—too many people, too many fools.  I’ve a few things to attend to and I’ll come and see you again, but then I must leave quickly.’  As he stood, Tulan offered his hand once again and Samuel took it and shook it sincerely.

‘Until then,’ Samuel said and Tulan nodded and headed out the door.

Samuel made his way across the grounds, trying to be as discrete as possible.  He felt surprisingly spry, given how serious his situation had been, which he guessed could be attributed to all the powerful healing spells they had covered him with.  A few young apprentices saw him and waved and called out, ‘Samuel!’  He hurried past them and knocked on the door of the Grand Master’s residence.

‘Come in,’ a gravelly voice called out, followed by a hacking cough.

Samuel pushed the door in and stepped into the modest quarters.  Grand Master Anthem was sitting on a soft leather seat, dressed in a fine cloak with green, embroidered hems.  He was halfway through a thick sandwich and had crumbs in his wispy beard.

‘Ah, Samuel!’ he said.  His voice was thin and nasally, as if he had a blocked nose.  He put down his sandwich and motioned for Samuel to sit opposite him on a short stool.  ‘I was hoping to see you sometime today.  I trust you are well?’

‘Yes, Grand Master,’ Samuel replied.  He felt as guilty as could be under the gaze of the old man.  He swallowed his pride and went on.  ‘I’m terribly sorry for all the trouble I’ve been.’

Anthem dismissed the statement with a wave of his aged, bony hand.  ‘No trouble, at all, Samuel.  We all make mistakes.  I hope now you realise why the teachers tell you the things they do.  It is not just so they can hear the sound of their own voices.  They have learnt from hundreds of years of combined experience and know what is best.’  Samuel nodded humbly.  ‘I must, however, warn you to be extremely careful in the future.  This is your second chance used.  You may not live to get a third.  You were as close to death as I’ve seen anybody get and still return—perhaps further.  I would have sworn that at times your heart had just given up beating, but you pulled through in the end.  You can thank your two friends, the Erics, for that.  They were in here with us almost all of the first night when things looked most dire.  Those two lads are quite talented and dedicated to you.  In the end, we had to virtually drag them off to their beds before they got themselves in the same trouble as you.  You can count yourself very lucky.  So what have you got to say for yourself?’

Samuel thought to himself a few moments.  He wasn’t sure where to start.  ‘Do you know about the time something similar happened at the Burning Oak?’ Samuel asked.

‘Of course,’ Anthem responded plainly.

‘Before that night, I was playing with magic.  I didn’t know what I was doing, but somehow I had managed to conjure up a little magic just by copying what I saw the Masters doing.  I had successfully summoned some mage-lights on occasion, but this one time, I tried a little too hard and I…I summoned something else.’

Anthem raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with interest.  ‘Oh?’

‘It was some kind of spirit, all white and ghostly.  When it first appeared, it seemed a little confused and it took some time to look around.  Then it disappeared into the town.  There was nothing I could do.’

‘Ah, Samuel,’ Anthem said, looking gravely concerned.  ‘Somehow, it seems you managed to summon something from another realm.  This is no small feat and, unfortunately, a very dangerous one, for there are terrible things, indeed, that linger beyond the ether.  Some of them, once summoned, can be very difficult to return.  You are a talented lad, indeed, for there are only a handful of magicians that can accomplish such a feat and yet somehow you managed without any training whatsoever.  You have some special gift, indeed, many special gifts.’  Anthem looked to the window, where the sun could be seen shining brightly outside.  ‘These are strange days, indeed…and I know not what to think of them.’

‘I wanted to tell you, because last night—or the night before, I don’t know—I had a strange dream.  I was dreaming, but it was not a dream, if you can understand.  There were things all around me, just like the spirit I had summoned, and they were all reaching for me.  Then, there was this one enormous thing that...’

Anthem interrupted him abruptly with a quickly raised hand.  ‘Don’t speak of such things, Samuel.  It is done and over.  I fear that on this occasion, the extent of your exhaustion was so great that it is indeed possible that, for a short time, your very soul was caught beyond the ether—or in some other nether-realm that we do not know.’

‘So what should I do, Grand Master?’ Samuel pleaded.  ‘How can I stop it from happening again?  I don’t want those things to get me.’

‘Calm now, Samuel.  You have only to use your brain,’ and the old man tapped the side of his skull, ‘and you will be safe.  What you must do is master yourself and you will have nothing to fear.  Only spell when it is necessary and do not tire yourself—especially in the coming weeks while you are recovering.  You have great ability, but you must know your own limits.  You have the opportunity to become a great magician, Samuel, but you must be responsible.  It is sometimes difficult to resist the temptation to use magic, for its touch can feel so beautiful and ever enticing.’  The old man glanced back towards his window and he seemed to be pondering something, for his very speech became softer, as if he was bearing the weight of the world himself.  ‘Time is passing.  These days I have much responsibility myself—much more than I care for.  My life has passed so quickly, and I am getting too old to keep all my old responsibilities.’  Then he looked to Samuel again.  ‘I have other matters to attend to, Samuel.  Go now and take special care for the rest of the week.  You seem fine, but I’m sure you will probably tire easily for a while.  However, I will give you just one last piece of advice, Samuel: concentrate on your studies and your time will pass quickly and easily.  If you go looking for trouble, my boy, you will surely find it.  What could be simpler than that?’

Samuel nodded in agreement and stood to leave.  ‘There is just one other thing, Grand Master.’ The old looked man up from his toes, where his gaze had drifted.  Samuel asked, ‘Do you know that I am an orphan?’

‘I do, Samuel.  That, also, is something I was told when you first arrived.’

‘In my dreams I have learned of something important: something, rather someone, I have been hoping to discover for many years.  It is a magician—a man of the Order.  His name is Master Ash.  He is the man I see standing in my doorway; he is the one who killed my family and taunts me every night.  I didn’t realise it before, but now my dreams have made it clear.’

‘Samuel, are you certain?  That is a serious statement to make.  I hope you know what you are saying?’

‘I do.  I can’t tell you exactly how I know for certain, but in my visions I saw him and I know it to be true.  I know I’m not supposed to make any more trouble for you in the school, and this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but I just want to let you know, so you understand, that the next time I see Master Ash—I will kill him.’

At that, Samuel strode out the door, leaving Grand Master Anthem rubbing slowly at the wispy white hairs that sprang from his withered old chin.

The next week passed without event and Samuel saw no sign of the evasive Master Ash. However as Samuel entered the Adept dormitory, having finished his early training and towelling the sweat from himself, he found there was a buzz of activity going on.  Everyone was gathered around the tables, talking excitedly.  He was feeling entirely better and, much to his relief, it seemed the embarrassing events leading up to his collapse were seldom mentioned.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked of Martin.

‘The Grand Master has gone.  He’s been removed from his place as principal,’ the chubby fellow replied.

Samuel’s eyes widened.  ‘Removed?  Why?’

‘A ruling by the Magicians’ Council, so I’ve heard.’

Samuel hurried to find Eric Pot, who was talking with Lan Farlen.

‘Eric, do you know what’s going on?’ Samuel said, interrupting his friend.

‘It seems that Grand Master Anthem has been stripped of his office by the Magicians’ Council.’

‘Does anyone know why?’ Samuel asked.

‘Apparently, for some reason, the Council has grown unhappy with him.’

‘They can’t just remove him!  Who did they put in his place?’

‘Master Dividian will take over until they decide whom to appoint to the position.’

‘What does the Grand Master think about that?’ Samuel asked.

‘I don’t know.  He stormed from the Council chambers and has not been seen since.’

‘That’s incredible!’ Samuel exclaimed.

‘And there’s more,’ Eric continued.  ‘People are talking about a war with the north.’

‘A war?’ Samuel said with disbelief.  ‘With whom?’

‘It could only be with Garteny.  That’s the only place left the Empire hasn’t conquered.’

‘It’s Lord Jarrod,’ Goodfellow declared, somewhat angrily.  It was strange to see the normally calm young man looking so furious.  ‘He’s been against the Grand Master all along, and now it seems he’s finally gotten his way.’

‘What can we do about it?’ Samuel asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Goodfellow responded.  ‘There will be a meeting tonight.  I guess we should wait and see what is really happening before we jump to any conclusions.’

They continued talking and gossip-mongering, but no one could offer any more substantial information than that.  They found that classes had been cancelled for the day, and, when evening arrived, every student and Master in the school gathered expectantly in the Great Hall, packed shoulder to shoulder to hear the news.

Master Dividian was there, standing behind the ornate lectern and all the other teachers of the school were seated in the front-most seats.  The hall was echoing with all the excited and worried chatter from young and old alike.

‘Quieten down, quieten down,’ Dividian urged gruffly, and slowly the hubbub calmed.  ‘You may have heard that Grand Master Anthem has left the School of Magic and, yes, it is indeed true.’  At that, a great deal of chattering sprang up again and it took a certain amount of effort and shouting for Dividian to quieten everyone again.  ‘After debating with the Magicians’ Council, he has decided to resign as principal.’  Great cries came up but Dividian continued on, raising his voice to be heard above the ruckus.  ‘Classes will resume tomorrow, as usual.  We will wait for instructions from the Magicians’ Council instructions as to what to do next.  Until then, life will go on as normal.  If Grand Master Anthem does not agree to their demands and is not reinstated, a new principal will be chosen.  That is all the information I have at this time.’

At that, Dividian stepped away from the lectern and vanished out the small side door, while teacher and student alike began arguing about the consequences and what would happen.  Samuel sat in silence, thinking, for he felt that there was much more going on here than had been revealed.  He had not failed to notice that as Dividian had scurried away, the wily old man’s face had carried a thin and seldom-used smile.

‘So what do you think?’ Eric asked, throwing a pebble to bounce down from the grassy hilltop.  Far below them, the great city lay sprawling within its walls, like a vast patchwork giant sleeping against the seashore.

‘They’re all mad,’ Samuel replied, sitting cross-legged on the grass and scribbling some notes.  Further down the hill, a small group of apprentices could be seen dotting the fields, practising their lessons.

‘How can they just rid themselves of the Grand Master after all he’s done?’ Eric then asked, throwing another smooth stone.

‘Politics!’ Samuel spat out with disdain and looked up from his notes.  The wind had a chilly bite and it caused the papers in his hand to flap about.  For a moment, Samuel was tempted to warm himself with a spell or two.  ‘And what’s all this talk of war?  We haven’t heard anything about that except rumours.’

Goodfellow shook his head.  ‘It’s just a lie.  Dividian wanted the Grand Master’s place and now he has it.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Eric noted.  ‘Old Dividian is not as bad as he seems.  Tensions with Garteny have been uneasy since the Imperial War ended.  The Empire’s history of invading and swallowing up all its neighbouring nations has left the Gartens understandably nervous.  People are saying that they have been building up their forces along the border.  They could be readying to invade.  They lost some of their lands in the last war and now maybe they think it’s time to take them back.  The Empire would need to resist such an incursion or it could spell trouble and The Emperor wants magicians sent along to help with the effort.  The Grand Master is a little biased on the subject, so I can see how his constant bickering with Lord Jarrod could be interpreted.’

‘Biased?’ Samuel asked.  ‘What do you mean?’

Goodfellow looked up with some surprise and adjusted his spectacles.  ‘You mean you don’t know?  The Grand Master is a Garten.’

‘Are you serious?’ Samuel asked in disbelief.

‘Of course he is,’ Eric called over.  ‘That’s why there’s always been this contention over his position.  Some people say he is still a Garten at heart, but he defected in the war and has never been back to Garteny since.  All the Turians are obviously disgusted that a Garten has been running the School of Magic.  If not for the fact that he is the most powerful magician in the Empire, I’m sure he never would have been granted the position to begin with.  And apparently, he did the Emperor a great favour years ago that earned him his place in the Empire—but that seems to make little difference now.’

‘I heard he convinced the Emperor that he could do wonders with the School of Magic,’ Goodfellow revealed.  ‘There were few magicians back then and most of them were too feeble to be of much use.  His idea was to revitalise the school and begin finding and training students from a very young age.  The Lions were each offered the position first, but none of them would take it so Grand Master Anthem was the only remaining choice.’

‘There’s something else suspicious that people have been talking about,’ Eric said.  ‘It seems no one has seen the Lions since Anthem departed.  It’s said they have been sent out to retrieve him, that the Emperor wants to be sure he never returns to Garteny…alive.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ Samuel said.  ‘They are his closest friends.  Why would they do such a thing?’

‘Because they’re patriots.  They’re Turians and they support the Empire with all their hearts—not like us.  We’re from all the tiny nations that the Empire has conquered at some point, so we don’t exactly have any innate love for it, but most of those born here in Turia would throw themselves from a cliff at the Emperor’s command.  They’re just plain crazy.’

‘It just seems so strange,’ Samuel noted sourly.

‘Life’s like that, Samuel,’ Eric called with a smug grin.  ‘Get used to it.’  He threw another small stone into the air and, this time, propelled it with a spell of Moving, so that it flew out towards the city with a resounding crack.

‘Whether it’s true or not, we’re still stuck with Dividian as principal,’ Goodfellow stated.

Eric was just spelling another stone into flight, but Goodfellow negated it with a spell of his own, and the stone fell dead onto the grass.  Eric made a look of great disappointment.

‘That could hit someone on the head, Eric,’ Goodfellow pointed out.  Eric shrugged his shoulders and started gathering up another handful of small white stones from around his feet.

‘So what do we do?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Do we keep going to class?’

‘Of course!’ Eric replied, squatting as he picked from his choice of stones.  ‘What else would we do?’

‘It just seems that if we keep going to class, then Jarrod and the Council will have won.’

‘I have to agree with Samuel,’ said Goodfellow.  ‘Sending magicians to war seems incongruous in the face of everything we’ve been taught.  I thought we were supposed to help people, not kill them.’

‘Supposedly,’ Samuel said.  ‘But I guess our ideals and reality are two different things.  This is the Empire and I suppose what the Emperor wishes happens.’

‘Well, let’s just go to class and see how things unfold,’ Eric suggested.  ‘I don’t really see that we have any choice at the moment.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘You’re right—unless we leave the Order, but then where would we go?  At least while we stay with the Order, we have a chance to set things right.’

‘And what about you, Samuel?’ Eric asked.  ‘Are you still planning to kill Master Ash or have you come to your senses?’

Samuel kept looking at the grass by his feet.  ‘Of course I’ll kill him.  What else would you suggest?’

‘You know we both believe you, Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, ‘but you have to remember that you shouldn’t pay so much heed to your dreams.  You were feverish and delirious, remember?’

‘I realise that,’ Samuel responded darkly, ‘but I’m sure it was him.  The more I think about it, the more convinced I am.’

‘Your family was killed a long time ago, Samuel, and, as you explained, it all happened very quickly.  It’s a lot to risk on just a dream.’

Samuel was quiet for a few moments, continuing to gaze at his feet.  ‘There are times in your life when something happens—something so terrible—that, even if you see it for just an instant, it will be forever burned in your mind.  Nothing you do can remove it, and you will relive it over and over again in terrible clarity, and each time, you feel sick to your stomach.  I doubt that even by killing Ash I can take that terrible memory away—of my father being clubbed to death, my family being beaten and killed and my mother screaming at me to run while she was being stabbed to death.  I can only hope that eventually these images will fade and I can sleep peacefully again.  The one expectation I have in life is to avenge them by finding their murderers.’

Eric abandoned his stones and came to sit cross-legged with his friends, slapping the dust from his hands onto his trousers.  ‘If you do kill him, then you will be executed yourself.  Do you realise that?  You have no way to prove that he did anything.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I know.’

‘You could at least poison him, or pay someone to do it for you,’ Eric suggested.  ‘At least that way you won’t be throwing your life away.’

Samuel nodded again.  ‘I will think about it.’

‘Why do you think he killed them, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked genuinely.  ‘I mean, why would he kill your family?  You said you family wasn’t rich or powerful at all.  They were only farmers.’

‘That’s right,’ Samuel answered, picking some grass and throwing it to the wind.  ‘We just had fruit and a few chickens.  I’ve thought about it many times and I can’t understand at all why anyone would have wanted them dead.’

‘Perhaps some secret business of the Order?’ Eric proposed.

Samuel shook his head.  ‘I don’t think they were magicians—they didn’t wear magicians’ clothes.  Everyone has said how Ash is working for Lord Jarrod, and how Lord Jarrod is always scheming after something, so I’m thinking that it was some conspiracy of his.  Perhaps there was a mistake in identity, or they thought we had some hidden gold.  I really don’t know.’

‘Perhaps if you do kill Ash, it will cause an inconvenience for Lord Jarrod, so at least you can think of it as a service for the Order,’ Eric said.

Samuel laughed at this.  ‘Yes.  Perhaps I can.’  After a moment he noticed that the apprentices on the hillside had all begun to move back to the city.  ‘It’s getting late.  I didn’t realise I was so hungry.’  With that he stood and began slapping the grass from his trousers.

Goodfellow stretched his arms wide with a yawn, before standing and doing the same.  ‘Now you mention it, I’m starving.’

Eric leapt up after them and they began trotting back down the hillside towards the great, grey metropolis that was the city of Cintar.

Samuel awoke to a dark figure standing at the end of his bed.

‘Again, you do not disappoint me, Samuel.  I have been here only moments and you already detect my presence.’

Samuel sat up with a start and threw some mage-lights up to the ceiling.  It was the secretive magician who had surprised him before, late one night in the Great Library.

‘I have been watching you, Samuel, and it is time you joined me.’  Samuel looked to his roommates, who all appeared fast asleep.  A spell hovered across them like a blanket of shimmering mist.  ‘They will not wake, Samuel.’

‘Who are you?’ Samuel asked.

‘Again, that does not matter.  It seems things are not going well within the Order.  Anthem was a good man.  A little foolish, but I suppose his heart was in the right place.  Surely you can see now how infantile these people are.  I am beyond such bickering and trivial pursuit of power.  Join me, Samuel and leave the petty Order.’

‘Are you with the Circle of Eyes?’

The man nodded solemnly.  ‘That is a name of convenience we sometimes use, Samuel, but do not judge me from the company I sometimes keep out of necessity.  I have a little project that would keep you busy for a while and I’m sure you would enjoy it.  In exchange, I will teach you such secrets of magic that these fools will never know.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m still not interested.  I don’t care for whatever it is you think I want.  I’m happy with the Order, despite its shortcomings.’

The man stepped forward to the balcony and leaned over to observe the floor below.  ‘Why do you insist on frustrating me, Samuel?’ he asked.  ‘I could make your life very uncomfortable.  I’m showing you far more tolerance than I should, out of pure respect for your potential.  If you decide you would rather be my enemy, you will surely regret it.’

Samuel slipped out from his bed and stood, feeling his bare feet on the smooth, timber floor.  The man turned slowly to face him, keeping his back against the handrail.

‘I don’t enjoy your tone,’ Samuel told him.  ‘I do not doubt you have great power, but you cannot change the way I feel.  I do not want your help.  I have become what I am through my own efforts, not from the tiresome lectures of these bores.  They are useful for the most trivial of matters—I know that—but while they still pose some use to me, I will stay.  I understand what you are telling me and, frankly, I do not care.  I will make my own fate.’

Samuel could see a smile appear on the man’s face in the dim light.

‘So you have developed some spine.  I am pleased.  However, I must let you know that you have little choice.  Many dark things are moving in the world, Samuel, things that your Order of Magicians knows nothing about.  The Order is a nursery for children and a plaything of the Empire.  They will use you to meet their own ends until you are of no further use—and then they will throw you away like an unwanted rag.  All magicians of real consequence join the Circle, for we are the only power that can keep this world from harm.  Their bickering, their politicking and even their wars are of no consequence compared to the responsibilities we soon must face.’  The man then sighed.  ‘Very well, there is still some time.  Remain here for now if you insist, but it will only make your schooling more difficult later.  I will return for you in due course.’

As before, he vanished, but this time Samuel was prepared.  He had learned much of concealment spells since their last meeting, both in his classes and through his own experimentation.  He could see the man’s aura as he stepped carefully down the stairs, using a second spell to muffle his steps.  Samuel prepared a spell of his own and flung it out onto the stairway.  The concealed magician reappeared as he stepped onto the last stair.  He paused, but did not look back.

‘Very good, young Samuel!  You will make me proud!’

With that, he stepped down onto the floor and went out through the door, closing it softly behind.  The spell that hovered all through the dormitory flickered from existence and, at once, Eric Pot began snoring—loudly.

Samuel stood at the top of the stairway for several minutes, pondering on what he should do; then he returned to his bed, extinguished his lights and tried  to  go  back to sleep.  This man was obviously powerful, but Samuel did not trust him.  If anything at all the man had said was true, time would surely tell.

The week dragged on as speculation as to the next principal continued.  Grand Master Anthem had not returned, and most were sure that, under the circumstances, he most likely would not.  Most hoped for Master Glim to fill the position, but Master Glim was adamant that he would not take it even if offered and he would say precious little else about the matter.  It came as a dreadful surprise to all when word spread that Master Dividian would become principal, with Master Sanctus filling his old position as Keeper of Records.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Samuel exclaimed.  ‘They must be mad!  Dividian is an idiot.’

‘Well, it’s true,’ said Goodfellow, ‘so we had better start getting used to it.’

‘It’s Lord Jarrod,’ Samuel stated.  ‘I bet he is responsible.  I mean, why would anyone appoint such a fool as principal?’

‘I don’t know why you two won’t give the old goat a chance.  Dividian is no one’s favourite, but he’s not as bad as some of the others.’

Samuel only returned a glowering stare to his friend.

‘Perhaps they’re friends,’ Goodfellow offered.  ‘That kind of thing goes on all the time.’

‘I doubt it,’ Samuel said.  ‘Who could be friends with him?  It’s more likely that Dividian is being rewarded for something.  I’d bet my best boots that Dividian has been helping Lord Jarrod, gathering evidence against the Grand Master and poisoning the Magicians’ Council against him.  In return, Dividian gets to run the School of Magic.’

‘It’s possible,’ Goodfellow agreed, ‘but there’s not much we can do about it.’

‘I think you two are reading too much from this,’ Eric said.  ‘He’s probably only trying to make the best of a difficult situation.  Who else could run the school in such a pinch?’

The other two continued to ignore him.

‘What about the Archmage?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Doesn’t he even care what happens to the Order?’

‘He’s seldom seen, so I hear,’ Goodfellow responded.  ‘He stays in his room and seems to take little interest in the Order these days.’

Samuel shook his head with disgust.  No one seemed to like what was happening, but it seemed they had little choice.

Several new Masters appeared at the school in the following days—Master Jacobs, Master Nottingsworth and Master Frayold.  They were humourless and impatient men, brought in at the request of Master Dividian.

Many of their old teachers were sent out to scour the Empire for new apprentices.  Even some of the old Masters, formerly spending their days in the library or sitting about the school grounds in debate, were sent into the city and neighbouring towns to look for acceptable new students.  Workman appeared with tools and materials and they began building many new dormitories.

Master Glim and old Master Sanctus were the only two of their old teachers to remain and they continued to instruct the students about the Old Tongue.  All other theory classes were replaced by the three new teachers.  Master Sanctus droned on in his usual way, rarely looking up from his notes as the Adept scribbled and whispered before him—he barely seemed to notice that anything unusual was happening in the school at all.

Master Dividian would periodically summon some of the Adept individually.  He had called Goodfellow once or twice and Eric Pot on numerous occasions, but Samuel was disappointed that his name had not been requested even once.

‘What do you do together?’ Samuel asked of his friends on one occasion.

Goodfellow shrugged.  ‘Not much, he asks to see a few spells and then gives some feedback.’

‘I told you to give him a chance,’ Eric stated and Samuel had to throw his friend a look of sheer disbelief.  ‘I’ve been getting the odd bit of advice from him since I first started here and, when he’s in a good mood, he’s very different to the Dividian we are used to.  He gave me some new ideas and I have a great new spell I think you will both be impressed by—when it’s finished, of course.  Some of his suggestions are quite ingenious.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Goodfellow replied.  ‘He did offer me a few ideas, but nothing I hadn’t already thought about.’

Samuel left the conversation at that.  He certainly had no love for Master Dividian, but he could not help but feel a little disappointed that almost everyone in the dormitory had been called up by the old man, except him.

Master Glim had become quiet and spoke little of recent matters, even to Samuel.  He only stated that it was better for everyone if he did not disturb the waters any further.  Samuel and his friends continued to study and learn, but, without Grand Master Anthem, it was as if the heart of the School of Magic had somehow been torn right out.

It was a murky and godless day when Samuel found himself striding through the city streets towards the central markets.  It was soon to be Master Kelvin’s birthday and Samuel had a mind to send him a selection of spices from the western isles, so that Cook could make him some of his favourite dishes.  The Spice Islands were far.  Hardy, ocean-going vessels that could make the trip in short time were rare, so it caused quite a commotion whenever a shipment arrived, with everyone clambering for their share.  Fortunately, Samuel would not have to queue up with the common folk and could have his pick of any shipment.

The streets were remarkably empty, for there was a constant threat of rain and the wind was icy sharp and howling mad, tugging at Samuel’s dark cloak like an obstinate beggar.  A few dark-skinned merchants sat idly beside their enormous wicker baskets, eyeing the empty street with disdain and holding onto their goods with each blustery squall.

Samuel was just hurrying along, lost in his own thoughts, when he became aware of another magician nearby—several, in fact.  He turned on the spot, just in time to have a group of men fall upon him, throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him.

‘What the...’ Samuel began to shout, when a damp rag was thrust into his face and a wretched, overpowering vapour filled his lungs and began burning its way into his nose and down his throat.  He began coughing at once and the world spun around him.  He struggled to find his legs, but they were jelly beneath him.  Something was thrown over him, and everything became completely black.  Rough hands lifted him, while voices barked commands in hushed tones.  He was tossed and juggled once more and then all he could feel was a jostling from side to side as the darkness all around crept deeper and deeper into his mind.

Samuel awoke, his hands clutching his head.  His throat was red raw and his brain felt like it had taken a stiff beating with a blunt stick.  On top of that, his mouth was full of the taste of something vile and the air smelled of the same—like some burnt, pungent herb.  He lay still for a while, moaning to himself, because there was literally nothing else he could do.  It was surprisingly difficult to gather his thoughts and even moving his tongue was difficult.

Stinging sunlight suddenly washed over him and Samuel covered his eyes with his hands as well as he could.  He could not help but give out a yelp as he struggled to be out of the blinding light.

‘Good morning, Samuel!’ a chirpy voice called out.  Even more sunlight flooded in as another curtain was drawn open.  ‘I must apologise for your treatment, but it was necessary to get your attention.  I fear we used somewhat too much Eldinswurt.  It’s dreadfully expensive and quite difficult to obtain.  It’s much better than Scour Spice though; doesn't give you such awful diarrhoea.  I hope you don’t feel too put out.’

Samuel groaned in response.  He was slowly getting used to the light, but the man’s chirpy voice was somehow even more painful.

‘The master will be in to see you soon.  Why, you haven’t even touched your breakfast!  Havar will be quite disappointed.  That will teach him.  I told him you wouldn’t feel like eggs.’  And then the door closed once again, leaving the chirpy man’s voice trailing away from the other side.

Samuel moaned once more and opened his eyes just a slit.  He managed to sit up and swing his feet onto the floor.  His legs were unsteady, but somehow they carried him, half-blind, to the window.  With one hand still clutched over his face, he threw the curtains back shut.  Another window was still wide open, but at least with this one covered Samuel could now dare to observe his surroundings without fear of burning his eyes out.

He was alone in a plush room.  It was quite lavish, with satin covered cushions lying beside the four-poster bed.  An enormous mirror was set against one wall, reflecting the room from floor to ceiling.  Such a creation was impossible to make by standard means.  Magic had no doubt played a significant part in its moulding.

Stumbling towards the open window, Samuel looked out to gain his bearings.  The palace towers were immediately visible above the rooftops.  From the angle, he judged himself to be at the southern edge of the city where many of the wealthy lords and merchants resided, clustered on a small hill.  Indeed, his view was from several storeys up, looking over a splendid garden complete with square-cut hedges.

He staggered back to the bed and fell upon it, completely exhausted.  He knew he should be doing something to escape, but somehow he just could not compel himself to do any more than groan and look at the inside of his eyelids.

It was some time before he felt the energy to sit up. He managed to turn his attention to the plate of breakfast waiting nearby on the vanity.  He ate the cold eggs and bread without enthusiasm and it seemed to do him some good, for his head had begun to clear already.

He stood up and stumbled across the floor on drunken legs.  He grabbed hold of the doorknob and was thankful to find it sturdy enough to bear much of his weight.  It was also, not surprisingly, soundly locked.  It seemed he had been captured by some rogue magicians.  He had been warned of the Circle of Eyes, but Samuel had expected more of a direct confrontation.  He had never heard of magicians resorting to drugs and potions before.  It seemed so primitive.  Still, it had worked quite flawlessly and now he was their captive.

Footsteps sounded outside and Samuel had only a moment’s notice to step back before the lock began rattling, clacked and then the door opened inwards.  Several magicians strode in and Samuel managed a few more awkward steps backward.  They met him with serious faces, dressed in robes of rainbow colours.  They formed a half-circle around him and when the final figure strode in to face him, dressed all in white, Samuel recognised the man immediately.

‘Balthazar?’ Samuel asked incredulously.  ‘You’re responsible for this?’

The wiry man nodded solemnly.  ‘I am, Samuel.  I was forced to.  You left me little choice by being so stubborn.  All I want is for you to hear what I have to say and then I know you will be convinced by our cause.’

Samuel picked up a large cushion from the corner and, placing it in the middle of the room, he dropped himself upon it, for he was feeling exhausted already from his efforts to walk.  His captors, receiving a nod from Balthazar, did likewise and sat facing him, with Balthazar sitting nearest.

‘This had better be good, Balthazar,’ Samuel said, sitting back into an even more comfortable position.  His head was slowly clearing and he thought he only needed a few minutes before he could muster enough energy to spell.  Those facing him remained sitting stiff and upright, their legs crossed.  ‘I could have you before the Emperor’s court for kidnapping me and I’m sure the Order would have something to say about it also.’

Balthazar raised a hand in dismissal.  ‘I was willing to take that chance with you, Samuel.  Once you hear what I have to say, I hope you will feel somewhat enlightened and you will understand why we had to take such drastic measures.’

Samuel’s sight was gradually returning and he could now see that these men were all magicians, but not one of them was talented enough to warrant his concern.  Their skills with magic were minor, yet the fact they had resorted to potions to capture him marked them as unpredictable, perhaps even dangerous.  The man to Balthazar’s left seemed familiar.  He had not spoken a word, but between Samuel’s instincts and the man’s idiotic grin, Samuel was fairly sure he was the chirpy fellow who had drawn open the curtains.

Samuel raised his hands.  He needed some more time to recover his strength.  ‘Enlighten me, then,’ he said resignedly.

‘We are no fools, Samuel.  I myself began my life as a magician within the Order, but I soon realised how hollow and senseless such an organisation is—a tool for the Emperor.  I may be a proud Turian, but I cannot so blindly follow the Emperor’s will.  I also have a grand vision for the future.  That is why I formed the Union of Modern Magicians, for we have banded together to help bring a more purposeful tomorrow.’

‘And how would you do that?’ Samuel asked, with no lack of scepticism.

‘We do not have the Magicians’ Council pulling our strings and we do not have the Archmage looking over our shoulders.  We can achieve things that would take the Order years to even discuss.  Oh, I see that you are doubtful, but I understand—truly, I do.  These others were doubtful at first, but they came to see how I see and now we all work together to build a new future, as can you.’

‘So what do you actually do?’ Samuel asked.  ‘I mean, what’s your plan?’

‘For now, we are strengthening ourselves, building our numbers.  Each year we grow stronger and soon we will be a power to match the Order.  Turia craves for a voice of reason amid all its terrible confusion.’

‘Well, how many members do you have now?’ Samuel asked with genuine curiosity.

Balthazar rubbed his chin with one long finger thoughtfully.  ‘Including the seven of us here now...there are eight of us.’

‘Eight,’ Samuel responded, raising an eyebrow.  ‘And how long have you been recruiting members?’

Balthazar chuckled.  ‘Oh, barely three years.’  He actually sounded proud.  ‘We grow stronger every year.’

‘Except, of course, for last year,’ the chirpy fellow reminded him.  ‘Daniel and Sullumner both gave up and went home.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Balthazar admitted.  ‘But this year, things will be different.  With you counted amongst us, Samuel, the Order will finally be forced to treat us with respect.’

Samuel could hold back no longer.  His mouth dropped open and he could not stop himself from laughing right in their faces.  The men’s smiles sagged and wilted as he cackled away in front of them.

‘I’m sorry.  Truly, I am,’ Samuel managed between giggles.  ‘But you don’t know how ridiculous you sound.’  He would not normally have so easily broken down into such fits of laughter, but their concoction still seemed to be affecting his judgement.

Balthazar stood defiantly and the others leapt up to match him.  ‘I will not be mocked by a boy, Samuel!  I offer you my hand in friendship and union and you mock us all!  This is too much!’

‘Please,  Balthazar!’ Samuel finally managed to say, forcing a straight face.  His cheeks ached from all the merriment.  ‘I truly respect your ideas,’ he lied, ‘but I think your goals are somewhat fantastic.  How can you possibly even entertain the idea of challenging the Order?  By the very definition, you would be facing the Empire itself and, once the Emperor catches wind of such a plan, he will put an end to you all without hesitation.  How can you hope to achieve anything?’

‘When they learn that we are a power to be reckoned with, they will yield to our demands.’

‘And how will you manage that, Balthazar?  Look at you!  There are only eight of you and, I don’t mean to offend, but you don’t exactly have anything to bargain with.’

Balthazar’s lips were pursed tightly.  ‘We will be reckoned with, Samuel, because we have you to bargain with.  I have heard whispers upon the streets and in the dens of Cintar where such information is traded.  It is said that a magician of extraordinary power is coming.  Eyes and agents are searching everywhere across Amandia, but I suspect you may be the one they are searching for, Samuel.  I speculate that your mysterious lack of aura is a sign of much greater talents hidden within that even you may not have come to realise exist.  I did not want to resort to such means, but you leave me little choice.  You have no option but to help us.’

Samuel did not like to be threatened, especially by such a ranting fool as this.  ‘And why would I help you, Balthazar?’

‘The extract of Eldinswurt is especially potent to us, Samuel.  It disrupts a magician’s ability to concentrate.  We will not give you the antidote until you do help us.  Without it, you will never cast magic again.’

Samuel stopped laughing at Balthazar’s words.  He reached into the ether and, indeed, found that he still could not gather himself enough to spell.  He sat up straight on the cushion, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the thought that Balthazar may be telling the truth.

‘I see you realise your predicament,’ Balthazar said, now grinning.  ‘Even one as strong as you cannot prevail against my intellect.  You cannot escape and, given time, you will come to see my point of view.  We will teach and guide you.  It could take weeks, months or years; we are patient.  Only then will I give you the antidote.’

Samuel gained his feet to stand before his captor, looking up at the man.  ‘Oh, really?’ he asked with a wry smile before throwing his fist up into Balthazar’s shocked face.

The man’s nose made a sound like a cracked walnut and he gave out a shrill squeal of pain and surprise.  Quick as a fox, Samuel turned and dived out the window.  He just caught a last glimpse of Balthazar clutching his bloodied face with both hands, before turning to see where he was going.  Only then did the realisation of what he had just done hit him, for he was high above the ground and in immediate and mortal danger of breaking his neck.  He plummeted through the air and was lucky enough to strike the thick hedge below, crashing through its dense foliage and rolling out onto the ground.  There was a loud snap that had him dreadfully worried; Samuel hoped it was a branch and not his leg.  He quickly ran his hands over himself to check for any jutting bones or bloody patches, for he had heard how the worst injuries often took the longest time to be felt.  Thankfully, everything seemed to be in place and he afforded himself a great sigh of relief.

He dragged himself from the ruined remains of the hedge and thanked what-gods-there-may-be he had struck the soft bush and not the iron fence behind it.  He looked up at the gape-mouthed men who were all staring out from the window above and smiled, giving them a farewell salute.  Balthazar was yelling ‘Samuel!  Come back, Samuel!  We need you!’ with blood and tears streaming down his face.  Samuel merely limped over to the wall, heaved himself up upon it and dropped down into the lane, trotting away as best he could.

As he neared the School of Magic, he decided he would have to tell Master Glim about this.  They were, for the most part, harmless, but Balthazar and his Union of Modern Magicians had well overstepped their bounds this time.  Master Glim would know exactly what to do with them.

They made no attempt to chase him down and Samuel only had a sore ankle to bother him by the time he arrived back at the School of Magic.  He was relieved when Master Glim told him that Eldinswurt needed no antidote and had no permanent effects and, truly enough, his spells began to return after just a few hours.  Master Glim had gone to see Balthazar immediately, promising to chastise the man for his intolerable behaviour.

‘I don’t think you will have any more trouble from them, Samuel,’ Master Glim stated upon his return, meeting Samuel in his dormitory.  ‘By the time I arrived, they were already packing their bags.  They were terrified, but I let them know in no uncertain terms that they had gone too far this time.’

‘What did they say?’ Samuel asked.

‘Balthazar was crying like a baby.  What did you hit him with?  His nose looks terrible!’  At that they both laughed.

‘He’s just lucky I couldn’t use magic,’ Samuel told his teacher.  ‘He would be nursing much more than a broken nose right now.’

‘I’m sure.  Anyway, we came to an agreement.  Balthazar and his colleagues will take a trip to think things over.  I told them if I see them before next winter, they will have to reckon with the Magicians’ Council.  I think that put plenty of fear into them.’

‘So you’re not going to tell the Council?’

‘No,’ Master Glim professed.  Balthazar’s Union is always up to some mischief.  They’ve never really made any real trouble before and it gives us somewhere to send those students who aren’t quite suited to the Order.’

‘You mean the lunatics?’ Samuel asked in jest and Master Glim laughed aloud.

‘Yes, that’s right.  Some of our graduates have strange ideas, and it generally keeps them out of mischief if they are marching around behind Balthazar, so he actually provides us with a service—of a kind.  The Emperor wanted all other magical institutions forbidden, but Grand Master Anthem convinced him it was better to let them be.  There are many people with magical talent who can be nuisances in the Order, so we let them practise some minor magic and perhaps they can even be of some service to the city.  The Council generally keeps an eye on them, but it sounds like they have been getting lax if Balthazar has been freely running around causing mischief.  I’ll send them a reminder.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘Very well.  I suppose all’s well then.  I felt a little sorry for Balthazar.  I’m sure he only wants to improve things, as he says.  It’s unfortunate that he’s a madman.’

‘There are many people with good intentions in the world, Samuel,’ Master Glim explained, ‘but the intent does not always justify the method.  You could have been seriously hurt.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘Well, thank you for talking to them.  I think I’ll just rest for the rest of the day until that vile poison gets out of my system.’

‘Good,’ Master Glim responded.  ‘Rest well.’  At that, the man left Samuel to nurse his swollen ankle.

Most lessons with the new Masters were conducted outside by the school walls instead of within the classrooms.  The walls could withstand any magical or physical punishment that the students could throw at them, and, with all the new apprentices arriving, they were running short of space.  They had learned many new and useful spells, such as flinging large stones as missiles, and creating magical shields to stop incoming arrows and they practised like that, day after day.  Samuel was quite intrigued at first, but soon grew bored, as he could already manage most of what they were being taught.  Some of the new teachers were intrigued by the fact that Samuel’s magical aura was undetectable and they tried to have him demonstrate his best spells, but after Samuel let them see a few half-hearted efforts, they soon assumed he had little to show them and left him alone.

There were many minor injuries amongst the new apprentices, mostly physical injuries involving awry spells, and many apprentices had already left after the first month, unable to keep up with demands.

Dividian was adamant that this was acceptable, as he only wanted the most successful students to stay.  For every failed apprentice who left, another two came to try their luck.  Any man or boy with any hint of magical skill was brought back to the school to see what could be made of him.  Cots in the dormitories were doubled and when the new buildings were finished, students began moving into those.

Some of the Adept were eating their meals, sitting at the downstairs level of their bunkhouse, while others were still over the stove, frying up their dinners.

‘Do you really think they want to make an army of magicians?’ Chadly asked, calling over from his sizzling pan.

‘Not an army of magicians,’ Goodfellow corrected.  ‘They want magicians accompanying regular infantry—as guides, advisors, tacticians and that kind of thing.’

‘Some people are talking of an invasion,’ Lan Farlan said.  ‘I’ve heard all the Masters in the far north have been recalled to Cintar to give reports.  Perhaps they think Garteny is preparing to invade?’

Samuel was about to comment when Henry Kassin came rushing in.  His face was wild and glazed with perspiration.

‘Samuel!  It’s Eric!’ Henry panted between breaths.  He bent over, labouring for air.  Everyone dropped their books and meals and rushed to his side.

‘What is it?’ Samuel asked.  There was obviously something wrong for the boy to be so agitated.

‘I went to find him in the Great Hall,’ Henry continued.  ‘He’d gone there to practise a spell he had been working on.  Just as I walked in…’

‘Go on,’ Samuel urged.

‘He disappeared!’ Henry gasped.  ‘He’s gone,’ he panted, short of breath.

‘Gone?  What do you mean, gone?  Where?’ Samuel asked, growing frustrated.  He grasped the other boy and drew him up straight, trying to get some sort of sense out of him.

‘Where is he?’ others repeated behind.

‘I don’t know,’ Henry said, shaking his head and almost in tears.  ‘It’s something he’s been working on for quite a while with Master Dividian.  Eric said he nearly had it finished.  Then, the whole hall moved and...and then...when everything was normal again...Eric was gone.’

‘Eric disappeared?  Vanished, you mean?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Maybe it’s an illusion?’ Lan offered.  ‘A trick, perhaps?’

‘No,’ Henry said determinedly, tears streaming.  ‘I saw him.  He turned to look at me and his face went all awful.  It went all long and twisted and then he tried to yell, but he just vanished.’

Samuel released the other boy’s shoulders and turned to face the others.  ‘Let’s go!’ he said and they rushed out into the night.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, many Masters had already arrived.  Samuel strode down the aisle at speed, with his eyes fixed on the luminous remnants of an ominous spell hovering in the middle of the chamber.  It was a formation of weaves like nothing he had ever seen before: vast in its complexity and incredibly powerful.  Its presence hung ominously in the air as it slowly revolved, growling in his ears with thunderous intensity.

The Masters were standing around it, gawking and arguing over the thing, pouring all manner of spells over the room, trying to ascertain what had happened.

‘What happened here, Samuel?’ Master Kalbak asked as Samuel arrived beside him.  ‘Who cast this spell?’

‘Eric Pot did, Master,’ Samuel replied.  ‘And he has vanished.’

‘Vanished!’ Kalbak echoed with astonishment and the Masters all began talking excitedly.  ‘This is incredible!’

‘Where has he gone, Master Kalbak?’ Lan asked from beside Samuel.  ‘Can we bring him back?’

‘Oh, goodness knows!’ the old Master said, rubbing his chin.  ‘I have never felt such a spell.  He could be anywhere—or nowhere.’

‘How could young Eric have created a Great Spell such as this?’ Master Sveld asked from across the chamber.

‘We don’t know, Master,’ Samuel replied.

‘Fascinating!’ old Master Balium croaked, holding his hands aloft as he examined the spell.  ‘What a marvel!’

‘In the days of the Ancients, people could move their bodies over vast distances,’ Master Kalbak said.  ‘It’s possible he is, indeed, safe somewhere, or perhaps he will appear again here shortly.’

‘Get away from that thing!  All of you!’ came a cry from behind them as Master Dividian came hurrying in through the doors.  ‘By the old gods, what is that?’ he gasped as he met the cluster of magicians.

‘Eric Pot has vanished, Master Dividian,’ Master Sveld informed the withered old principal.  ‘It seems he somehow managed to create a travelling spell and has disappeared within it.’

‘What an astounding thing!’ Dividian said open-mouthed as he gawked up at the spell.

The air within the great revolving spell seemed to pulse, almost like a heartbeat.  Coloured clouds of pink, purple and blue magic swirled slowly around, formed from shattered shreds of weaves, and tiny flashes of light occasionally sparked between them.  Samuel was not sure what exactly the others could see, but the feeling of the spell was incredible enough, as if some part of the pattern had, indeed, been broken or torn asunder.  The spell made a sound in his ears like a mammoth slab of stone being dragged across another.

‘Can you replicate the spell, Master Jacobs?  Is the remnant sufficient?’ Dividian asked and the new Master, quietly examining the spell, shook his head.

‘Not at all!  It’s far too complex and all we have here are the shattered remains.  I can’t imagine how the boy managed to cast such a thing.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Dividian said with genuine disappointment.  ‘He was showing so much promise.  I was sure he’d have the spell mastered soon enough.  He should never have been allowed to practise on his own,’ he added with a sigh.

‘What about Eric?’ Lan asked.  ‘Can we get him back?’

‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Master Jacobs mused.  ‘It looks as dangerous as hell.  I wouldn’t like to step any closer as it is.  I think we should dispel the thing as quickly as possible.’

‘Master Dividian!  We must do something!  Eric may still be alive.  We must try to bring him back,’ Samuel urged.

‘Heavens, no,’ Dividian stated adamantly.  ‘This thing is dangerous enough already.  We can’t risk trying to meddle with it.  We must dispel it at once before it causes any more trouble.  The boy made a fatal mistake,’ he added with a wave of his hand.

‘What!  How can you say that!  Master Kalbak said he could have travelled somewhere, or he may even return any moment.’

‘If the spell was well formed, it would be plausible, but this is just a mess.’  He shook his head.  ‘What a terrible loss.  I’m sure the boy is good and dead.  Master Jacobs, can you proceed?’

Jacobs nodded.  ‘It’s quite unstable…but I think I know where to start.  Yes, yes…I can do it.’

‘Then go on, quickly.’

‘Wait!’  Samuel called out.  ‘Give him some time!  If we dispel it, he may never be able to return.  Master Kalbak!’

Old Master Kalbak looked to Dividian and shrugged.  ‘I’m only postulating, Samuel.  I really don’t know what could have happened to him.’

‘But it’s possible!  We can’t close it.  He could be left anywhere.’

‘We cannot leave it here, Samuel.  It’s a risk to us all,’ Dividian stated.  ‘Master Jacobs, proceed.’

‘No!’ Samuel shouted out.  ‘You can’t kill him!’

‘Quieten down, boy!’ Dividian snapped.  ‘Let the Master do his work or get out!’

Master Jacobs had already started to spell, reaching his power out tentatively towards the shreds of Eric’s baleful Great Spell.  Samuel, without thought, threw out a stream of magic that knocked Master Jacobs’ spell to tatters, leaving the robed magician gape-mouthed with surprise.

‘Samuel!’ Dividian roared out.  ‘How dare you!’

‘I won’t let you do it!’ Samuel declared.  ‘You must give him more time!’

Dividian raised a bony finger.  ‘Don’t you dare speak back to me, Boy!  How dare you interfere!’

‘I won’t let you kill him!’ Samuel retorted.

‘Get out!’ Dividian shouted out, almost screaming.  His face had flushed red and he was shaking with anger.  ‘Get out of here at once!  I won’t tell you again.  Master Jacobs, continue!’

Samuel stood defiantly with his fists knotted at his sides, while the other Masters and Adept watched on sheepishly.  Master Jacobs began his spell again and again Samuel obliterated his magic before it could begin its work.  Dividian’s eyes opened wide with disbelief and, raising a pointed finger, he sent a mad spell dashing at Samuel, who brushed it aside and pulled it apart in an instant.  Master Dividian was left trembling and shaking.

‘Don’t try your feeble spells on me!’ Samuel declared, pointing his finger back at Dividian.  ‘I could pull you to pieces just as easily!’

‘Samuel!’ sounded a shout as Master Glim and Goodfellow came rushing in.  ‘Stop that at once!’  Master Glim came to stand beside Dividian, looking for just a moment at the great swirling spell above.

‘Is this what you and Anthem have taught your students, Master Glim?’ Dividian asked.  ‘What monstrous youths you have created, that they attack their elders so wantonly.’

‘I apologise, Master Dividian.  Samuel, go out now,’ he added, looking at Samuel with all seriousness.

Samuel could not believe his ears.  ‘You want me to leave?  Master Dividian knew that Eric was working on this spell.  He knows something about it.’

‘Nonsense,’ Dividian retorted.

‘Yes, Samuel,’ Master Glim agreed.  ‘Go out now before you make things any worse.  I will take care of this.’

‘But they are trying to dispel Eric’s magic.  If they do, he may never be able to return.  They’ll kill him!’

‘Don’t worry, Samuel.  I will take care of it,’ Master Glim explained.  ‘There’s nothing you can do here.  Not now.’

Samuel looked to each of their faces.  Master Dividian was still red-faced and furious while Master Glim looked calm and sober.

‘Very well,’ Samuel conceded and started away.  He only hoped Master Glim knew what he was doing, for Eric’s life was at stake.  As he walked along the aisle, Master Dividian began arguing with Master Glim at full volume, with Master Glim speaking calmly and quietly each time Dividian paused to take a breath.  Before he had even reached the doors, Samuel could feel Master Jacobs’ spell already at work, progressively dismantling the remnants of the Great Spell of Travelling.

Samuel was summoned to the Council chambers the next day.  The spell had been dismantled and along with it went Eric’s chances of returning.  The laughter in the Adept dormitory had vanished along with Eric, leaving the room sullen and quiet.  When Samuel received a summons to go to the palace, he immediately dropped what he was doing, put on his formal black robes and made his way from the school.

He walked through the city, past the beckoning merchants and stone-faced shopkeepers, past the calling and haggling traders, heedless to their cries, and into the palace grounds.  The guards let him pass immediately on sight of his robes, as Eric had always said they would.  It was his first time within the walls of the palace, yet he had no stomach to stare at its many wonders.  He merely walked on, mourning what had happened and dreading what would come.

His sandalled feet crunched upon the tiny, loose stones and his heart thudded in his chest.  He climbed the many palace steps and the immense palatial doors were opened for him by four staunch guards.  A servant met him there, somehow knowing his purpose, and guided him along all the twisting corridors and stairs leading to the thick, ornate doors that marked the Council chambers.  He pulled one open and peered inside.  The large, round chamber was dim, but he could see a handful of figures across the room watching him.  He entered and pulled the heavy door shut once more.  He went down the carpeted steps between the bench seats until he was standing before the five waiting men.

‘You are Samuel, I presume,’ an aged, balding fellow with flaring nostrils said and Samuel nodded.  ‘It is good that you have arrived.  I think you know why we have summoned you here.  I am High Lord Rimus.  These are Lord Hathen, Lord Irshank, Lord Vander and Lord Jarrod.’

Lord Hathen was a large man with short, black hair and a thick, bushy moustache.  Lord Irshank was as wide as a barrel, with thinning hair brushed over from one side, while next to him was Lord Vander.  He was the shortest by far, red-cheeked and looking as if he had never laughed in his life.  Samuel set his attention on Lord Jarrod.  The man had a narrow face, exacerbated by the fact that his long, grey hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail.  His black eyes glinted in the light, staring back at Samuel, somehow without blinking at all.

‘It seems you have been acting out of place on occasion and being generally disruptive,’ Rimus continued.  ‘Also, we have been told that you used your magic in a threatening manner against your fellow students.  Yesterday, we understand that you openly used magic against a senior member of the Order—one of your very own teachers, or so I understand, and then you threatened none other than our good Master Dividian with violence.  Obviously, this is intolerable.  We can’t have this kind of thing going on in the School of Magic or anywhere, for that matter.  Therefore, we have called you here to determine what should be done with you.  Firstly, I want to ask you: are you sure you are faithful to the Order of Magicians?’

‘I am,’ Samuel immediately responded.

‘And to the Emperor and the Empire of Turia?’

‘I am,’ Samuel stated again.

Samuel could feel a cage of weaves creeping into place around him, like a spider tiptoeing out to encase its prey.  They were creating a shield in which to hold his power.  It was very strong and Samuel was not sure if he could breach it once it was fully in place.  They had heard how easily he had shattered Master Jacobs’ spells.  Dividian had told them everything and they were not taking any chances.  He waited nervously in the silence, feeling their magical casing sliding into place as they peered down at him.  Other spells swept across him—testing him, probing him.

‘So you say,’ High Lord Rimus said, ‘but your actions dictate otherwise.  If you were truly dedicated to the Order and the Empire, you would not be such a young upstart and we would not be receiving all these dire reports about you.  You come from somewhere in Marlen, I understand.  I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how fortunate it is for an Outlander such as you to even be allowed a chance to join the Order and how precarious your situation is.’

All the while, Lord Jarrod continued to gaze at Samuel.  The man did not move a muscle—like a snake watching its prey and readying to strike.

‘If I may beg to speak, my Lords?’ Samuel asked.

‘Very well, you may,’ Rimus said generously.

‘You must have heard about Eric Pot’s disappearance?’

‘And you think that is some form of excuse?’ Rimus returned.  ‘Do you think you were actually helping the situation—that you know better than all the Masters who have taught you?  Is that to be your defence?’

‘Of course not,’ Samuel defended.  ‘I apologise for my unruly behaviour.  There have been so many changes in the school recently and it is difficult for some of us all to come to terms with everything.’

‘Is that so?’ Rimus said suspiciously.  ‘Explain.’

‘Well, we have very little free time now and every day we practise for many hours.  The new spells we are learning are very difficult and sometimes dangerous.’

‘But I don’t see any of the others assaulting their teachers,’ Rimus stated.  ‘Why is it that only you cannot seem to cope?’

‘I don’t know, High Lord Rimus.’

‘Then perhaps enlighten me with what you believe should be done differently.’

Samuel was sure all this questioning was a façade, for he could still feel various spells delicately manoeuvring around him.  All they wanted was a chance to observe him—as if they were poking a dangerous creature with a stick to see if it was dead or merely sleeping.  Their efforts slipped through him as if he did not exist and it was difficult for Samuel to keep the satisfaction from his lips, even as uncomfortable as he felt beneath their critical gazes.

‘Perhaps we could go back to the way things were.  All the students liked Grand Master Anthem and now he is gone and we are working so hard, some of us are finding it very difficult.’

The men were stone-faced for long moments before responding.

‘We will consider the matter.  Leave it in our hands,’ Rimus stated.  ‘You may go.’

They had withdrawn their spells, but were obviously not going to dare even whispering with Samuel still in the room.

‘Is that all?’ Samuel asked, surprised they were done with him so quickly.

Rimus scowled and extended his finger towards the exit.  ‘Don’t push your luck, boy.  Begone.’

Samuel turned and quietly strode from the chamber.  The men did not make a sound as he left.

As he ventured home and was making his way along Kumbin Street, Samuel nearly bumped straight into someone standing directly in his path.

‘Excuse me,’ Samuel said, before noticing with a start that it was the magician from the Circle of Eyes who had visited him twice before in the School of Magic.  Samuel was surprised to see the man in the open and in clear daylight.

‘You should keep your eyes open, Samuel,’ he said humourlessly.  ‘You could find yourself walking straight into the end of a dagger one day.’  Samuel was about to retort, but the man continued, leaning closer and whispering into his ear.  ‘Quickly, now.  Follow me.  Many have already heard of your exploits, and I’m afraid you have caused far too much trouble for Lord Jarrod.  He has already arranged for your death and you are in no condition to defend yourself against his men just yet.’

‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked with sudden alarm.

‘Very sure.  Believe me.  I’m one of those he has paid to do it.  But you are of no use to me dead, so take that as a guarantee of my honesty, if you like.  Keep close to me and don’t attract any attention,’ the magician instructed.  ‘I’m not the only one sent to find you, but luckily, I was the first.’  And he began to move away at once through the jostling crowd.

Samuel would not normally have followed the stranger, but after meeting with the councillors and witnessing Lord Jarrod firsthand, he believed the man capable of anything.  Looking over his shoulders, he could sense no other magicians in the street.  Not willing to take any chances, however, he started following the dark magician cautiously, keeping note of everywhere he was led.  The man drew him along wordlessly though the maze of streets, finally slipping down a small, almost invisible alleyway.

He stopped before an unmarked doorway that had just a hanging cloth for a door.  The magician bent his head and then ducked inside.  Samuel stopped a moment and eyed the entrance warily.  Taking a deep breath, he pulled the cloth across and followed inside.

Within, Samuel found himself inside a smoking den.  The floor was covered in round carpets and small tables with cushions for seats, and men were smoking from the hoses that sprouted from large, ornate vessels on each table.  The air was thick with a pungent, spicy haze.  The magician was already sitting at the farthest table by the wall and was talking with a thin servingman.  He gestured for Samuel to come over as the servant was hurrying away.

‘What is this place?’ Samuel asked, sitting opposite the magician and adjusting his cushion.

‘It’s just a smoking house,’ the man replied, ‘but one of the best in Cintar, I must say.  Would you like to try?’

Samuel raised his hands.  ‘No, not at all.  It stinks like something awful—a bit like crap actually.’

The magician actually managed a slight smile as he began puffing from one of the curling hoses.

‘Plans will have to change, Samuel,’ he said, blowing out billows of smoke with his words.  ‘At the moment, you can consider me the only friend you have in this city.  You see, a lot was hinging on your good friend Eric Pot’s ability to perfect his spell of travelling.  Since the prospect of this unique ability popped up, everyone has been waiting expectantly to see if he could perfect it.  That fool, Master Dividian had Jarrod convinced he could guide the boy and finish the spell.  Once made, others would soon be able to copy it.  A spell like that would be priceless to many people for many different reasons.  But Dividian is an idiot.  The boy failed and it cost him his life.  It will only be a matter of time before the pieces start falling together and someone comes to the realisation that you, dear Samuel, are the next best thing to a spell of travelling.  Your Master Glim and Grand Master Anthem also had their sights set on that boy, Eric Pot, and had him nestled under their wings, but it seems Lord Jarrod and Master Dividian out-schemed them both and managed to have the Grand Master ousted.  They all assumed it was a spell of travelling that held the answer, but I have always known better.’

‘But what do you mean?’ Samuel asked.

‘Don’t you understand?  You are the one that everyone is looking for, even though you don’t know it.  You, my good boy, have the ability to kill the Emperor.’

‘Kill the Emperor?’ Samuel asked in disbelief.  ‘Why would I do that?’

‘It’s not a matter of why, Samuel.  Everyone believes it and that’s all that matters.  They were looking so hard, that when Dividian discovered young Master Pot’s skills with precursor journey spells, he came ranting and raving and convinced Lord Jarrod that the answer had been found.  I believe I’m the only one who yet realises what potential you have.  It’s quite funny.  The damned black-cloaks never see the obvious.  They went looking for deeper answers when you were there all along, staring them right in the face.  Although, I do admit the translation could throw almost anyone.’

‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked, baffled.

‘Oh, forgive me,’ the man replied.  ‘I forget you may not have heard.  That fool seer, Master Celios, has a terribly annoying habit of making accurate predictions.  One day he just spat it out in Old Tongue in the Emperor’s Court: Elem edundate, summa mardum il tuvum munummani quam, il varnate odum no commen ra.’

‘Fear him, the traveller who kills the king that cannot be killed, the magician that cannot be found,’ Samuel translated out loud.

‘That’s one version, Samuel, and the one that set all the old fools on an old fools’ errand.  This particular dialect is from a very old branch of the Old Tongue, and I have invested considerable effort into translating it myself.  If they had used less ornate wording, as all you black-cloaks are fond to do, and used a bit more common sense, they would have come to a more meaningful result: “Beware the killer of the immortal king, the magician that cannot be seen” is a more fitting translation by my reckoning.  Everyone was quick to assume the most obvious, as it validated the discovery of young Eric Pot’s travelling spell, but they failed to consider a much simpler answer: a magician who appeared a few months later, who failed to give off any magical emanation at all.  You were passed off as just a nuisance and a curiosity, Samuel, but you’re much more than that and all those fools looked right past you.’

Samuel was full of disbelief.  ‘You think I am the one that Master Celios was speaking of?’

‘I do.  And I believe Jarrod has just now come to the same conclusion and others will, too, if they have not already.  All have been willing to play the waiting game, intent on snatching up the spoils, but now that the first assumption has gone sour, everyone will be eager to steal you away—hence the order for your death.  You are too dangerous to be left alive, Samuel.  The Turians don’t want their Emperor killed—they want power and you are now a threat to all of that.  What cannot be controlled, must be destroyed.  That is the creed of the covetous.’

Samuel finally realised something that should have been obvious long ago.  ‘So it was Jarrod and Dividian I heard plotting in my dreams.’

‘What do you mean?’ the other asked with interest.

‘Sometimes, I hear pieces of conversations in my head, but mostly it is just intelligible nonsense.  The same two voices kept coming back to me, but I never realised who they were until now.’  Then another point grabbed his attention.  ‘But if you work for Lord Jarrod, why are you helping me?’

‘I do not work for them, boy.  We exchange favours for mutual benefit.  At least, that is what I let them believe.  To let them think I am in their employ is to my advantage.  Let’s leave it at that.’

‘So what do you think I should do?’

‘You cannot stay in Cintar.  It is far too dangerous and no matter how well you hide, they will eventually find you.  If you stay here, you will be dead within a few days at the very most—of that I am sure.’

‘Surely they can’t just have me murdered!  There would be some form of investigation.’

The magician sniggered a moment.  ‘You are so naive, Samuel.  They can make your death seem any way they wish.  Or you could just disappear altogether.  You wouldn’t be the first and I’m sure you won’t be the last.  It’s unfortunate this situation has arisen.  I can’t take care of you as I am far too busy and neither can I interfere with Jarrod, as he is an unfortunate necessity at the moment.  Anthem is the only one who could protect you now, but Jarrod has managed to remove him from the picture for the time being.’  He puffed a stream of smoke up towards the hazed ceiling.  ‘Your only chance is to leave Cintar altogether.’

‘But where would I go?’ Samuel asked.  ‘How can I just disappear?  I don’t want to leave.’

‘Very well,’ the man said with a shrug of his shoulders.  ‘Then enjoy your last hours.’

‘Wait, wait,’ Samuel pleaded.  ‘Tell me what I should do.’

‘Just leave the city.  You can come back once you have learned to fend for yourself.’

‘How long will that take?’ Samuel asked.  ‘The war in the north could have started by then.’

The magician smiled, almost mischievously.  ‘I’m sure it will.  The war is a triviality, Samuel.  Greater things are at work.  You must learn to turn your head and see more than just what is in front of your eyes.  I will tell you this, and if there is only one thing I tell you that you believe, then, let this be it:  you have a power like no other magician we know, but you are still a boy by most standards.  You must survive and develop towards whatever potential awaits you.  The Empire and the Order and even the Circle itself are inconsequential compared to what will come in future days and you must be ready.’

Samuel mused over the magician’s words.

‘Listen to me,’ the man continued.  ‘The Order is changing, as you have seen.  They have precious little to teach you now and are more of a threat to you than anything.  You must become your own teacher.  You must experience what lies beyond the walls of your tiny little school and beyond the walls of this city.  There are secrets you can only discover by looking inward—secrets far greater than anything you can be taught or shown by another.  I will send you far away, to the distant reaches of the Empire.  I want you to stay hidden and I want you to study your inner magic.  When the time is right, I will send word to you, but ignore everything else you may hear—about the Order or the Empire or the war.  If you do as I say, when you return to Cintar, you will be a king among magicians and you will realise that everything happening now is just bluster and nonsense.’

‘Where will I go?’

‘I already have something in mind.  There is a small town in the territory of Tindal called Gilgarry.  I have a man there doing some work for the Circle.  He can provide you with funds and arrange anything you need.  He goes by the name of Cervantes.  Keep your identity secret, even from him, and he will provide you with whatever you need.  As long as you remember that, you will remain safe.’

Samuel took a deep breath as he thought the matter over.  The smoke was leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat and he ached to be out of the place.

‘Very well,’ he finally said.  ‘I don’t see that I have much of a choice if I want to live.  I’ll pack my things and leave at once.’

‘Samuel,’ the magician said, levelling his gaze at the young magician opposite him.  ‘If you go back to the School of Magic, you may not have the chance to leave.  You should go directly to the South Gate and don’t look back.  There are many merchants there to supply your needs.  You can get a horse and provisions easily enough and be on your way before you are found.’

Samuel shook his head.  ‘How did everything come to this?’ he asked out loud.  ‘Everything was going so well and now my life is turned upside-down again.’

The magician took a deep breath on his pipe and exhaled pale blue smoke with a sideways grin.  ‘That is life, Samuel.  You should get used to disappointment.’

‘So it seems I must join you as you said, despite my own wishes.  Then tell me—what is your name?’

‘I won’t lie to you, but I cannot tell you my true name yet.  Suffice to know, I am known by some as Soddan.’

‘Little brother?’ Samuel asked, for he recognised the word in the Old Tongue.

‘Yes, it is a long story.  If you return to Cintar, I will probably know, but if you somehow find yourself needing me, you can ask for me here by that name.  My one pleasure in life is to smoke some fine Fiskian tobacco, so I come here on the rare occasions that time permits.’

Samuel waited a few moments, then with a sigh he said, ‘So, I will go.’  He stood from his cushion and nodded toward the cross-legged magician.  ‘Thank you for your help, Master Soddan.’

‘Bah!’ the magician responded.  ‘I am no Order lackey.  Don’t give me such titles.’

‘Very well.  Before I leave, I want to ask you something.  There is a man I have vowed to kill.  I will follow your advice, but I will not rest until I find him.  I have heard him talking with people in the Circle, so perhaps you know him.  His name is Master Ash.’

Again, the magician smiled knowingly, as if everything Samuel said had some hidden meaning.  ‘Yes, I know of him, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you any more information than that just now.  Suffice to say that I’m very sure you will have your chance to kill him if that is what you really desire, but first you must save yourself by getting out of the city.  Go now and be quick about it.’

At that, Samuel went over to the doorway, bent down, and ducked back outside.  He had no intention of going directly to the South Gate as Soddan had instructed, for he could not possibly disappear without telling his friends and he absolutely needed his notes and journals.  He wove his way through the streets, making his way back towards the north end of the city, skittish all the while.

Coming to Cornish Street, Samuel was divided as to whether he should take the most direct route by turning left or the longer route by turning right.  After a few moments of nervous indecision, he turned entirely about and decided to make his way as indirectly as possible to avoid anyone who may be waiting in his path.  Samuel could not help but notice a fellow standing idly a few strides away and looking directly towards him from beneath the rim of a tight green cap.  He could not help feeling even more anxious as the man began coming towards him.  He tried to walk calmly, but he could not help quickening his steps.  Every so often, he would look back over his shoulder, and the man was there, following some way behind, peering through above the crowd.  At last, Samuel sprang forward and began running as fast as he could.

Panting and tired a few streets away, Samuel glanced over his shoulder, but the man was nowhere to be seen.  He hurried the rest of the way back to the School of Magic, making a beeline without any further thought of subterfuge.  Only when he had passed through the open gates that broke the school walls did he feel any safer.

‘So, you’re really going?’ Goodfellow asked as Samuel hurriedly packed his satchel.

‘I have no choice that I can see,’ Samuel said.  ‘If I stay I’m done for.  I’m certain.’

‘Things are really falling to pieces,’ Goodfellow responded forlornly.  ‘Soon there will be no one left here at all.’

‘Don’t worry, Eric,’ Samuel told his friend.  ‘You’ve always been the sensible one.  I’m sure everything will work out for you and soon enough, I’m sure we’ll meet again.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Goodfellow admitted.  ‘So where will you go?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ Samuel replied.  ‘It’s better that you don’t know.  I’m sure Jarrod’s men are already after me, and who knows who else, so I will leave at once.  I shouldn’t even have returned here, but I couldn’t have left without letting you know and getting my journal.’

‘Do you want me to tell Master Glim?’

‘No,’ Samuel returned abruptly.  ‘Don’t tell him anything, except that I have gone away.  I’m not even sure I trust him any more.’

‘I just hope you know what you are doing, Samuel.’

‘Me, too,’ he admitted.

They shook each other’s hands and Samuel embraced his friend in a crushing hug.  Without looking back, Samuel then left the dormitory.  He went to the stables, where a couple of apprentices were tending the horses.  Samuel chose the best steed there and then checked her harness and saddle twice over after the boys had announced she was ready.

‘Does she have a name?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said one.  ‘Nobody ever told us if she does.’

‘Then I shall have to come up with a good one.’

Pushing one boot into a stirrup, he hoisted himself up.  He wanted to give the boys some advice that would see them through these days.  If the Council had its way, they would soon be heading off to war.  ‘Study hard,’ was all he could think to tell them and he clicked his tongue and started his mount towards the entrance.

Perhaps it would have been better, Samuel thought to himself, if he had accepted the offer of the Circle of Eyes and joined their ranks, or even Balthazar’s misdirected Union of Modern Magicians.  At least they did not try to disguise their nature.  They were honest about what they were.  Soddan was right in many ways.  The Order had no use for him now and so had simply decided to kill him.  All the while, he had thought he was part of some grand and honourable cause, but really he had just been a pawn all along.  All that did not matter now.  He was leaving such things behind him and he would soon forge his own fate.

He shook the reins and urged his animal on and out of the School of Magic, through the bustling streets and out of the East Gate without any hint of the lanky man or other pursuer.  With his black cloak flowing behind him, Samuel left the grand city of Cintar behind and began along the long and dusty road from which he had once come.

INTERLUDE

An excerpt from the Book of Helum (4:1:1)

LET ME BEGIN by stating something that may be startlingly obvious.  Magic is no fairy tale.  It really exists and affects our everyday lives, whether we know it or not.  Magic is the name for a powerful force that exists all around us, which can be harnessed and used if, of course, you know how.  To many people, magic seems a fascinating and wondrous thing, seemingly capable of accomplishing any number of tasks, but, in truth, it is merely another form of energy, such as heat or light or movement, but one which can be moulded by the will alone.  Magic can be directed with mere thoughts, which makes it seem positively remarkable, but given that reality itself is shaped by how we perceive it, the existence of something like magic should really come as no surprise.

Magic cannot however, as many people like to think, accomplish everything.  I have never seen or even heard of some of the things that are rumoured to occur in many old wives’ tales: such things as dancing furniture, talking fountains, frogs that change into princes or princes that change into frogs.  Magic can only accomplish very limited and practical things and not such frivolous nonsense.  It can be converted into any of the other forms of energy with great efficiency.  It is then up to the user to direct this resulting energy into more complex forms.  Heat can create flame, light can create illusion, and attraction can create wind and movement.  Combinations of energy can create very complex structures, such as storms and advanced illusions that feel firm to the touch and rich in the nose.

Nothing that is not real can be made from magic.  Of course, you can create illusions from magic, but only ‘real’ things can be formed, as opposed to ideological or abstract concepts.  You cannot create happiness or love or sorrow or even lies and truth, for they are creations of our imaginations and are not tangible things.  By altering the physical mind of a higher creature, you can make them feel happy or loving or sorrowful, but this is another thing altogether.

It has been theorised that variations in the ether cause the flows which we, in turn, harness and call ‘magic’, but I have often wondered what exactly causes these variations, for why should a perfect structure such as the ether find itself containing areas which vary from one part to another?  What should cause these differences?  I, of course, cannot tell from personal experience, but I have often theorised and my pondering has led me to regard the very universe itself.  For it is upon the ether that our universe is built, for otherwise, where would it be and what would be between the things that exist, but nothing?  If there was nothing, how could something then be put there and what would hold it in place?  The answer, of course, is that there is always something for matter to be placed upon, even when we cannot see it, and this thing we call ‘the ether’.  How then, can nothing be something?  The answer again, of course, is that it must be everything, for only by being everything can something exist as both nothing and something.  By bending and folding the endless fabric of the ether in place, something is created from nothing.

The nature of the universe is chaos.  This can be seen at any given moment in any given act.  Cups often fall from tables and break into many small pieces, but very rarely do the little pieces I leave at the base of my table (sometimes for many years at a time while I prolong my pondering) leap up and form a cup without my direct intervention.  My home is very often in a state of disarray, and never is it tidy unless I make an effort to make it so.  This is why chaos reigns, for energy must always be exerted to keep chaos at bay, while chaos will spring into being freely given the slightest opportunity.  This being said, if the nature of the universe is chaos, why then, do we fight against nature?  Why do we not, in our lives, allow chaos to take its due course?  Simply because we are creatures of habit, which is a form of order, and we survive purely through the fact that we challenge chaos.  If we did not, we would never accomplish anything constructive—again, a form of order.  Life, then, can be said to be a little knot of ordered chaos, acting in direct opposition to the turbulence of destruction around it.  Creation and destruction are ever at ends with each other; life and death; order and chaos.

The nature of the universe is order.  It can be seen at every opportunity that this is so, for everything in existence yearns for balance.  Given the chance, every mote of matter, every fragment of energy would prefer to be evenly spaced throughout the universe, completely without variation.  This, unfortunately, would result in a uniformity void of change or variance or anything remotely interesting, so it is quite lucky that order and chaos have each other to keep things in check, or everything would be rather plain and unappealing, indeed.

So we can now see how the nature of the universe is both order and chaos, for they coexist in both opposition and cooperation.  By their very nature, chaos and order are opposite, yet you can now see how they are part of the same thing—nothing more than folds and bunches in the fabric of existence we call the ether that we perceive as the figments of reality: matter, energy, time and space.

Still, this brings me back to the same old question—why?  This is the eternal question that has plagued philosophers such as me since we first discovered our navels.  Our only solace is that when we inevitably roll over and die, we may find out firsthand, but then who would we have to boast to?  In death, the knot of life that we are becomes unknotted and all that comprised us flattens back out into the ether and is free to be bound up again as part of something else.

Keeping in mind that nothing is ever lost—matter and energy and time and space can simply change form, but the ether is infinite and unchangeable—what becomes of our mind?

Your current consciousness would end and, if it were weak enough, it would become unbound and distributed throughout the soup of other such tiny motes of experience.  If the mass of experiences and memories and all that we call ‘self’ is hardy enough, it may remain singular enough to withstand the torrential ocean of death, and the spirit may remain intact.  These are the echoes of lives that once were and these are the spirits that sometimes return to terrorise us on stormy nights.  Not quite intact, not quite dissolved, they hang onto their existence with stubborn tenacity.  It may even be feasible that some learn to persevere indefinitely and forever resist the tugging presence of the ether and perhaps even learn to mould the ether around them.  These are what we foolishly call ‘gods’, for man has a habit of categorising all things with such labels in an effort to comprehend them.  Again, whether or not there is any point to this, we will perhaps never know.

This is the cycle of our existence.  Those who attain enlightenment remain conscious, one with everything, yet in a state of individuality, using the un-variation that surrounds them, to create energy and matter and life, creating potential that, one day, may itself reach enlightenment.  This is the only reason for life that we can fathom: to create more life.  And the reason for this?  I believe the answer is ‘to experience’, for once everything has lived and everything has died and the universe, all matter, all energy and all consciousness have passed back into a state of non-being, what will have changed?  What will be different?  Nothing.  Nothing, except all that which has occurred.  All things must end and all things will begin again, the universe included.  So what is there to do in the meanwhile?  Nothing, but to make use of the passing aeons by enjoying our experiences.  It is better than doing nothing, after all.

So what can we learn from all this?  Perhaps that life has no meaning?  Perhaps.  Perhaps that our only goal is to better ourselves as much as we can?  I believe that is more the logical choice.  We have an innate instinct to create and to procreate and to ever become greater.  This is a noble goal, but it should not be mistaken for greed or competition.  By improving others, we improve ourselves.  Money and wealth and personal belongings may have been necessary at one time, but we have evolved—we are changing.  We are well on our way to becoming that which we are capable of being and it is time we left behind the weights and anchors that keep our mortal minds and bodies tied to the earth.  We should take our place amongst the heavens, for there is limitless opportunity for those of us with the foresight to raise our gaze from the soil at our feet, where simple life struggles, and envisage the countless, churning stars above.

But I grow far too sentimental.  For I know nothing of this from my own personal experience and, if I did, I would not tell you anyway, for one must learn for oneself to truly find the way forward.  What else is there to do unless you are a god already?

My last point.  There are several ways I can conceive of for one to exist after death and remain conscious amongst the ether.  One is the path of betterment; another is the path of corruption.  While the former leads to beings we call gods, the latter leads to those whom we call demons, those who can only exist through the suffering and consumption of others.  They act in opposition to the gods, working to devour all others while selfishly sustaining themselves, destroying all life and potential instead of creating it.  To the creatures that seek to live their lives unhindered, such demons are a terrible threat.  They cannot be allowed to proliferate and must be countered by those who cherish life at all costs.  If any such beings were to gain a foothold on this world, the results could be disastrous, to say the least.

I have not heard of any demons interfering with this world for many ages, but of course, there are many ways for them to get here.  Indeed, they are ever trying to do so—whispering in the back of our minds when we are weak and needy, they can sound infinitely enticing with their promises of power.  They may even grant it, temporarily, in order to take that which they covet most.

Hopefully, no one in their right mind would listen to such demons—it being such a foolish act.  Of course, not everyone is in their right mind, and I fear that, one day, the demons shall appear upon our world, and we will be forced to battle for our very souls.

I pray I have passed on long before we see this day.

—Darrig Lin, Leader of the Council of the Wise

What is it that can best undo man, but man himself?

For men are little more than devils in the wait.

—chiselled into the stone wall in the vault room of the Temple of Shadows

CHAPTER SEVEN

A Long Way from Home

TINDAL WAS A land of grassy hills and meadows at the very limits of the Turian Empire.  Further east, there were only woods and mountains, devoid of civilisation.  Beyond that, the Eastern Reaches sprawled all the way up to the endless Paatin Wastes.  Villages were scattered about and, occasionally, Samuel found himself passing through what could almost pass as a small town.  The roadside fields were sown with grains or filled with grazing cattle, goats and black-faced sheep.  Every so often, a wagon would slowly creak by along the bumpy, rain-scoured road, its driver eyeing Samuel with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.  Few from central Turia ever had need to visit these distant parts, and the local people had their own customs, traditions and style of dress that marked Samuel instantly as a stranger.

Their accents were thick and curling and they seemed to have an entire collection of words that were entirely unique and often had Samuel in a quandary as to their meaning.

Samuel pulled his cloak tight as it fought to fly free, tugged at insistently by the bitter wind that howled across the hilltops.  Here, far from the reach of the Order of Magicians, Samuel’s robes were simply protection from the elements.  The affiliation such clothes represented was lost amongst the simple folk in these parts.  People here seemed much less complicated than in the cities, yet their lives were far more difficult.  Their very faces showed hardship and often despair.  Magical cures and remedies were unknown in these far-thrown lands, replaced by boiled roots and poultices that did little to improve any but the feeblest of ailments.  Many a bone ached with arthritis and many a tooth was blackened or lost.  It was a sorry state of affairs for anyone to live in such a manner.

Jess—as he had named his horse, after his favourite and only cousin— began unsteadily down the long slope towards the frosty meadows below, where the sporadic dots of milling animals could be seen amongst the short grasses.  Samuel patted the purse at his hip and winced as he felt its lack of substance.  Spells had granted him food and a bed before, but now, in these distant lands, it was only coin which gained favour.  The mention of magic often caused misgivings and Samuel had long since abandoned using his spells.  Even the use of these Imperial coins had become difficult.  The peasants preferred to barter, or use ancient currency from a time in their history before the Empire had marched across their lands.  The people eyed and bit Samuel’s coins, scrutinising them well, before begrudgingly handing Samuel his provisions.

The wind blew up again and his eyes began to water.  He hoped it was not too much further before he reached his destination, for he had long grown tired of travel.  It had taken over a month to reach these distant parts and he had no idea how much longer his journey would last.  He was certainly feeling tattered around the edges and could do with a long bath and a good rest.

After leaving Turia, Samuel had passed through his home nation of Marlen.  Reaching Stable Canthem, he had stayed shortly at The Burning Oak.  Master Kelvin had been elated to see him and they had talked long into the night, discussing every aspect of magic possible.  Kans was still there, begrudgingly serving the others.  Now that Samuel had experience as a magician, he could see that Kans was about the poorest excuse for a mage he had ever seen.  The man was lucky if he could cast a spell to save his life, which perhaps explained his unenthusiastic demeanour and lowly position at the inn.  Fennian was still working there and he was now a strapping young man himself.  He recognised Samuel at once and passed him a wink and a nod.

The Three Toads Inn was now run by a northern family who had no knowledge of Jessicah or her wretched parents.  Samuel only hoped that, wherever she was, Jessicah was happy and that her mother and father were somehow miserable.

While in Stable Canthem, Samuel had also called upon Mr Joshua who still traded in secrets and not-so-legal wares, and who was utterly astounded and overjoyed to see him (after he had recovered from the fright of having a magician come striding into his office).  Mr Joshua had declared he thought he would never see Samuel again, let alone dressed in the robes of the Order.  He stated that he always knew there was something special about Samuel, the moment he had set eyes on him.  He even looked into his records to see how much money he still owed Samuel, but Samuel only laughed and waved the offer off.

Mr Joshua made several offers for Samuel to join him in partnership, but Samuel had to politely refuse.  However, he did gladly pass on all he knew about the recent events in Cintar while Mr Joshua nodded and smiled as he listened, no doubt memorising every single word.  Mr Joshua was genuinely disappointed with himself when he could shed no light on the whereabouts of Jessicah.  He could only say that some ill-conceived scheme of her father had left them packing in the middle hours of the night.  Samuel was disappointed by the news, for he had been rehearsing the moment when he would reveal his horse’s name, and had imagined many times the feigned look of disgust on her face, followed by the giggles and laughs they would have together.  Still, he was surprised how very little escaped Mr Joshua’s attention.  Promising to visit at some time in the future, Samuel had turned from Stable Canthem and continued on his way.

His path had led him back through Stable Waterford, the tiny village of his birth, where he was met with a bouquet of familiar scents and sights.  The houses and buildings looked virtually unchanged and children ran and played in the streets, exactly as he remembered them doing when he was one of them.

Samuel had spied the weaving stall belonging to Tom’s and he went on in, with a childish grin on his face.  Tom’s parents were both inside, each looking a little greyer and a little plumper in the face.

‘Hello, there,’ Tom’s mother greeted him, standing up from her small stool, surrounded by half-finished baskets and lengths of mill plant strips.  Her face slowly showed recognition and surprise as she looked up at him.  ‘Samuel?  Is that you?’

Samuel did not have time to reply before she had leapt up and thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.  She seemed to have shrunk greatly since Samuel last saw her.

‘Yes! Yes!’ Samuel replied, laughing.  ‘It’s me.’

Tom’s father then stood and tried to shake his hand almost off his arm, while Tom’s mother continued tackling him.  He had a modest smile on his face.  ‘Good to see you, lad,’ he declared earnestly.

They then sat together on their small, wicker stools and Samuel told them all about his exciting life in the big city.  They had heard nothing of him since he had left Stable Waterford and Tom’s mother wanted to hear every detail, while Tom’s father nodded solemnly at each fact.  When Samuel mentioned being a magician, Tom’s mother had looked horrified for a moment, before recovering.  Tom’s father looked at her and glowered.  The air suddenly felt uncomfortable and Samuel had the sense to change the subject, leaving his tales unfinished.

‘What about Tom?’ Samuel asked after a time.  ‘Where is he?’

‘He has his own business now, trading barrels in the old Clarnet store,’ Tom’s mother answered.  ‘The Clarnets left the village about the same time…well, about the same time you did.’

‘Well, it’s been good to see you,’ Samuel told them, standing.  ‘I’ll go see Tom and then I must be on my way.’

Tom’s mother hugged him again and Tom’s father shook his hand once more, and then Samuel waved goodbye and left their store.  Outside, the day had grown warm and it was hot, sunny and dusty on the street.

‘Wait a moment, lad!’ called Tom’s father, hurrying out after him.  ‘I need to talk with you a moment.’  Tom’s father drew Samuel a few steps away into the shade.  ‘I want to tell you some things.’  Samuel waited expectantly and Tom’s father continued, somewhat nervously.  ‘Things have never been the same here since you left, boy.  Many things changed on the night of your parents’ murder, almost all of them for the worse.’  Samuel’s interest plucked up.  ‘There were many murders that night, although we didn’t tell you at the time.’

‘Many?’ Samuel asked.

‘Yes.  You see, for years before that time some foolish women, my wife amongst them, would meet each month, about the time of the full moon, and have a meeting.’  The man looked increasingly uncomfortable.  He glanced around at others on the street, as if they could hear him even from far away.  ‘It was just foolish women’s things at first—even now, I don’t know what they got up to—I don’t want to know.  Three families were butchered that night and several others in nearby towns, so I heard.  They were killed because they were meddling with things better left alone.  Maybe they didn’t mean for it to happen, and perhaps it wasn’t even true, but some people at least believed they had begun fooling with witches’ business.  In their ignorance and foolishness, they had been running around chanting spells and making silly incantations, even though they thought it harmless at the time.  No one here wants anything to do with witches, witch-hunters or magicians.’  He started sounding a little upset, but added, ‘So it’s best to keep such things to yourself.  Walking around here dressed like that will only get you into trouble.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel replied, looking down at his black clothes.  ‘Do you mean to say my mother was killed because someone thought she was a witch?’

‘I don’t know.  All I know is that everyone knew what those women were up to, and no one thought it would come to any harm, but only they were killed.  I thank my lucky stars I wouldn’t let my wife go in those last few months or we could’ve been killed, too.  The murderers were never seen and never caught.’  He sighed and gathered his thoughts for a moment.  ‘I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be sounding so upset, but that was a hard time for everyone—yourself included, I’m sure.  I’m not saying they were bad people—your mother and the other women—because I loved her like a sister.  It’s just they got mixed up in things they shouldn’t have.’  He wiped his hands absent-mindedly on his trousers.  ‘Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.  I thought it better you knew.  Why don’t you go see young Tom?  I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you.’

Samuel smiled as much as he could, nodded and walked away.

Walking into the old Clarnet store, Samuel found a young man hammering away at some newly-made barrels.  The man stood up straight and wiped his brow and Samuel had to look closely to recognise his old playfriend.

‘If it isn’t Tom Cooper!’ Samuel declared.

Tom peered at the strangely dressed man before him with some uncertainty.  ‘Samuel?’  His chin was covered in blonde whiskers and his voice was gruff and deep—all too deep for the young boy that used to jump into the river with Samuel on those hot summer days.  ‘I don’t believe my eyes!’

‘Believe them!’ Samuel said and they hugged like brothers.  Tom squeezed him like a bear, and Samuel had to break away before being crushed.  ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Too long!  Where have you been?  What have you been doing all these years?’

Samuel laughed.  ‘It’s too much to tell in one sitting, but I’ll try.’  Samuel began to tell of his time in Stable Waterford and Cintar all over again, making sure to avoid all mention of magic.

‘So what were you studying in Cintar?’ Tom asked him.

‘History, literature, politics, mathematics.  Nothing too intriguing.’

‘Argh!  Sounds terrible!  You should have stayed here with me.  Our adventures were never the same without you.  But look at your strange city clothes!’ Tom declared.  ‘And where are you off to now?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Samuel admitted.  ‘But I shall find out, as soon as I get there.’

They chatted a little more, but Samuel soon felt himself longing to leave.  It was wonderful to see Tom again, but the whole atmosphere in Stable Waterford had him feeling uncomfortable.  Remembering his past had turned out to be more of a painful experience than he could have foretold.  He shortly made an excuse and promised to come back again soon when he could.

Stepping outside, the village now seemed altogether small and empty.  Years of city living made his childhood village seem remote and lifeless.  So it was for only a few hours that Samuel had remained in Stable Waterford.

He had passed by his family’s home and waited for several long minutes at the end of the road.  It looked overgrown and long unused and the thought of seeing the place of his childhood had been all too alarming, so he had urged Jess on with a flick of the reins and a kick of his heels, and he turned his back on the place where his family had all been killed.

After a long and uncomfortable journey across nearly all the lands of the southeast, crossing rivers, hills, mountains and valleys, Samuel came to the unmistakable conclusion that he was quite lost.  According to the last directions he had received, he should have arrived in Gilgarry well before noon, but it was now getting dark and he was still winding around barren hilltops, with no hint of human habitation in sight.  He drew Jess to a halt and twisted in his saddle to look all around.  The sky to the west was a pale rose as the sun was just settling into the valley.  The wind was making a soft sigh upon the rocks and everything seemed peaceful in the dim dusk light.  As Samuel sat atop Jess and absorbed the scene, a movement on the hillside caught his eye.  A figure was clambering up towards the roadway and so Samuel clicked his tongue and shook the reins, setting Jess ahead at a walk.

As Samuel neared, he could see it was an old man, and he was climbing the hillside with obvious difficulty, grunting and struggling, sending cascades of rocks and stones clattering away below him.  Samuel dropped down and hurried towards him as carefully as he could.

‘Ho!’ he called.  ‘Old man, what are you doing there?  Let me help you.’

The man was puffing and gratefully offered his arm to Samuel.  Together, they made their way back up to the roadway, where the old fellow dropped down onto his backside for a rest.

‘Many thanks to you,’ he said, puffing and wheezing.  ‘I thought I’d never make it.’

Samuel eyed the old man’s leg and he could see at once his aura was pulsing around an injury.  ‘What have you done to yourself, old man?’  Samuel asked.  ‘How did you hurt yourself like that?’

The man took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped at his glistening brow.  When he had enough breath he managed to speak.  ‘I took quite a fall crossing the gully.  I’m not as spry as I once was, would you believe it?  Once I’m home, I’ll be right.  Mrs Down will take care of it.’

‘Where do you live?’ Samuel asked, surveying the hilltops.  ‘There’s no house or home in sight of here.’

‘A little way further,’ the old man responded.  ‘Once I rest here a time, I’ll go a bit further.  Soon enough, I’ll be there.’

The old man looked fit to drop dead already and Samuel was in need of some lodging for the night so he decided to help the man back to his home.  ‘Then perhaps I can offer you some assistance.  I’m in no particular hurry and, if you can hop on top of old Jess here, it will save you a lot of trouble.  I was heading for Gilgarry, but I seem to be a little lost.’

The man guffawed.  ‘Lost you are, all right.  You missed Gilgarry half a day ago.  You’re just on the outskirts of Lenham.  I’ll tell you what.  If you can get me home, Mrs Down will fix you a hot dinner and a bed for the evening.  How does that sound?’

Samuel could not help but smile.  ‘That’s exactly what I was hoping for.  I think you’ll be helping me much more than I’m helping you.’

The old man held up his knotty hand.  ‘Glad to be of service.  Simpson Down.’

‘Samuel,’ Samuel responded and they grabbed each other’s fists and shook.  The old man’s grip was as strong as iron.

‘Well,’ old Simpson said.  ‘No time like the present.’

He started to get up and Samuel offered his shoulder, helping the old man over to Jess.  Samuel mounted first and then helped pull Simpson up behind him.  The horse was not so pleased with the load.  She snorted and pulled her ears back with annoyance.

‘Back the way you came,’ Simpson instructed.  ‘I’ll show you the way.’

Jess had carried them only a short way before Simpson pointed up a narrow, twisting path that Samuel had not even noticed the first time past.  It was well dark before a light came into view, and Samuel was sure it would have taken Simpson half the night to crawl home in his current state.

The farm was high on a hill and looked out over the smaller hills and valleys all around.  Other small lights could be seen afar where odd farmhouses spotted the occasional hilltop.  Cows and goats stood idly in the paddocks, bleating occasionally in the moonlight.  An old donkey glanced towards them forlornly from where it was tethered beside the house.  The door flew open as they approached and an elderly woman, rotund at the waist and flushed in the cheeks, came rushing out.

‘Goodness gracious me, Mr Down!’ she called out.  ‘You had me worried half to death!  What have you done to yourself?’

‘No need to worry, Mrs Down,’ Simpson protested, and gingerly lowered himself down from Jess’ back.  When his injured leg took his weight, he winced and nearly fell down, but Mrs Down picked him up in a flash.

Samuel dismounted and came to Simpson’s other side, and they helped him hop towards the house.

‘I thought the Molgoms had taken you, for sure,’ Mrs Down went on.  Samuel had no idea what a Molgom was, but she went on.  ‘Thank you, young man,’ she said to him.  ‘I can’t thank you enough for helping poor old Simpson home.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Simpson responded as they edged him through the doorway, ‘by fixing us both some dinner.  And he’ll be staying the night.’

Mrs Down took a start at this.  ‘But look at the state of this place!  We’re in no state to take a guest.’

They dropped Simpson into a chair and Samuel looked around the room.  It was very simple, having a stove in one corner and a table and a few chairs in the middle.  There was one other door to the side, which presumably led to their bedroom.  Everything was tidy, but in desperate need of some maintenance.

‘No need to worry, Mrs Down,’ Samuel told her.  ‘I’m quite happy just to sleep on the floor, and then I’ll be off again in the morning.’

‘See, Woman?’ Simpson said.  ‘He’s quite happy.  No need to make a fuss.’

‘Simpson!’ she retorted and went over to the stove and began throwing some more hunks of wood into it.  A large pot was set on top, which was simmering and bubbling and giving off a delicious smell.  She then rushed back and bent down by Simpson, pulling up his trouser leg and inspecting the angry red graze on his shin.  ‘How did you manage this, Mr Down?’

‘Just mend it, Woman,’ he told her.  ‘I’ve got no time to argue with you with about it.’

Mrs Down took some hot water from atop the stove.  She dipped a cloth into it, wrung it out and then set to work washing her husband’s leg.  Finally, she wrapped the wound in another boiled cloth along with some herbs she had pulled from her tins, while Simpson leaned over and took a pipe from the table and set to work puffing on it.  Samuel could see it was quite a deep injury and it would take the old man some time before he could get about on his own once more.

When Mrs Down was happy with her work, and Simpson was happily puffing out smoke, she fetched them both a large bowl of stew from her stove top.  Samuel sat at the table and began eating heartily.  The stew tasted as good as it smelled, being thick with carrots, potatoes and some other curious vegetables he could not even begin to name.

‘So,’ Mrs Down said, finally sitting herself down to eat, ‘where were you headed when you saved my poor old husband here?’

‘His name is Samuel,’ Simpson interrupted, with stew on his lips and chin.  ‘He was headed for Gilgarry and got a mite misdirected.’

Mrs Down nodded.  ‘What are you doing in Gilgarry then, Samuel,’ she asked,  ‘if you don’t mind me asking?  We don’t get many folk from the capital out here.’

Samuel was surprised.  ‘How did you know I was from Cintar?’ he asked.

‘It’s written all over you, lad—on your clothes and in your tongue.  Even though we don’t get many out here, Imperials are as easy to spot as a wart on your nose—oh, no offence intended, of course.’

Samuel laughed.  ‘Yes, I suppose I must seem a little out of place, but I’m not actually Turian.  I’m from Marlen, but I’ve been studying in the capital for a while, so I guess I’ve picked up some of their accent.  Now I’m bound for Gilgarry to meet a colleague.’

‘Oh, and what’s your business, then?’ she asked.

‘I’m a traveller...ah, a travelling trader,’ Samuel replied awkwardly.

‘Trading what?’ old Simpson asked suspiciously.

‘Trading anything,’ Samuel said.  ‘Anything of value at all.’

Mrs Down raised an eyebrow at this, but said no more.  After they had eaten, she took their bowls and washed them outside in a trough in the yard.  Simpson announced he was tired and limped off through the doorway into the bedroom.  Mrs Down then gathered up as many cloths and blankets as she could manage and made a simple bed for Samuel near the stove.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said.  ‘We’re just simple folk and we can’t offer you anything more comfortable.  I hope it’ll do.’

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ he told her.  ‘I’ve slept on roadsides and verges for many a night.  This is luxury in comparison.  I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Well, it gets awfully cold just before sun-up, so don’t burn yourself on the stove there.  And if you need to use the privy, it’s outside and past the pile of wood—mind your step and take care not to fall in.  Would you like some hot water to wash up?’

Samuel nodded.

After he had taken care of Jess and washed himself outside, he came back inside.  The house was warm and comfortable from the roaring stove and Mrs Down was seated at the table beside a small pile of dyed linen that she was sewing.

‘You make your own clothes?’  Samuel asked, sitting opposite her.

‘Yes.  And we sell whatever else I can make.  I’m precious little help to Simpson during the day and we need all the money we can get.  I do what I can around the farm, but most of the time I think he’d rather run himself half to death than have me puffing after him.’

‘He does everything by himself?’

‘Oh, of course.  We’ve no children of our own.  It’s been hard times for us lately.  The fields are as dry as a dead dog’s tongue, if you’ll excuse me for putting it plainly.’

‘Oh?  I hadn’t noticed.’

‘I hope you’re a better merchant than you are a farmer, Samuel.  We’ve had scarcely a drop of rain for months now and it’s only getting hotter.  I truly don’t know what we’ll do this year.’

Samuel nodded, feeling sorry for the old couple.  He could see that life was difficult for them here and would only get harder with each passing year.  Without any children to help them, they would struggle to care for themselves without the charity of friends or neighbours.  When Samuel grew weary, he lay down on his blankets and fell quickly asleep as Mrs Down continued with her sewing, late into the night.

Samuel awoke to the sound of Mrs Down moving quietly around the room softly humming.  Judging from the light shining in through the window, Samuel guessed it was well after dawn and he was surprised he had slept for so long.  He slowly roused himself and staggered to the table, where Mrs Down was already placing a hot cup of tea for him.

‘Thank you, good lady,’ he managed to say with a dry throat.  ‘Where’s Simpson?’

Mrs Down was tending to her stove.  ‘Oh, he’s out on the hill.  I told him it’d serve him right if he fell down and ruined himself even more, but he won’t listen to me.’

Samuel nodded and continued sipping his hot tea.  When he had finished, he went outside to check on Jess.  She was standing happily next to the old donkey and it appeared she had already been given some breakfast as she was munching on a pile of wild grasses and oats.  Samuel peered up the hill as he stroked her smooth neck, listening to her crunch and bite her meal.  He could see the specks of animals all over the hillside and wondered how Simpson could possibly deal with so many animals by himself.

There was no sign of the old man, but Samuel decided to go check up on him before he continued on his way to Gilgarry.  He started up the rocky incline and was quickly panting and short of breath.  The air here was thin and certainly did not encourage such exertion.  His legs soon burned with each step he took.

Several curious goats began trotting alongside him, bleating and examining him with their black-slitted, yellow eyes, wondering who he was and what treats he had to feed them.  Samuel regarded their nimble steps with envy and continued clambering up the ever-growing hill as they followed after him.

He soon found Simpson with smoke curling out of the short pipe between his teeth, sitting high on a boulder, watching all that was laid out below. ‘Good morning, Samuel,’ the old man called out.

‘Morning,’ Samuel called in reply, scaling the boulder.  ‘How’s your leg today, Simpson?’ he asked.  There was a stick lying beside the old farmer, which he had no doubt used to help him up the hill.

Simpson inhaled and then blew out thin smoke that immediately raced away with a gust of the wind.  ‘It’s not so good,’ he replied.  ‘I managed to get up here, but there’s not much else I can do but sit on my bones and look around.  I managed some of the milking this morning, but it was quite a job.’

Samuel sat down beside the man while he thought about what to do.  He dare not risk any spell, for he had seen how superstitious these country folk could be.  He had not had much opportunity to practise his healing spells either, so he was not even entirely sure that he could help at all.  They sat like that on the rock for a while until the old man spoke up.

‘Can I ask you for a little assistance?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Samuel replied.  ‘What do you need?’

‘I don’t think I can stand up,’ Simpson stated plainly.

Samuel leapt up and helped the old man climb to his feet.

‘It’s a sorry state,’ Simpson said, shaking his head.  ‘Perhaps you can help me back down to the house so that I may I talk with Mrs Down.’

The old man took up his walking stick and slowly, arm in arm, they made their way back down the hill.  It took much longer than going up, as they had to choose the path of least gradient, winding back and forth, rather than charging straight down.  Simpson and Samuel both were panting when they arrived back at the little flat spot where the house was built.

‘I have an idea,’ Samuel stated, as they rested a moment outside.

‘Aye?  What’s that?’ the man said with interest.

‘My business is not really so urgent in Gilgarry.  If you like, perhaps I can stay here a few days while you find your legs again.  In return, you can provide me with a bed and Mrs Down’s good cooking.  I’ve been travelling a long time already and a few days’ rest will do me wonders.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that, lad,’ the old man responded.  ‘You have your own business to attend to.  We can get by here—we always do.’

‘It’s no trouble at all,’ Samuel stated.  ‘You’ll really be doing me a favour.  I don’t really have many practical skills and perhaps I could learn a few things around the farm.’

‘I tell you what, lad.  It’s obvious that you’re just making excuses now, but if you really want to stay, I really need the help.  We have no children of our own to help and the moment I hurt my leg, I was just horrified at the thought of how I would begin to manage the farm.  It seems like you came at just the right time, if you’re willing to stay.  If you change your mind though, you can be off any time you choose.’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Samuel said with content.

They went inside and Samuel had to repeat the argument all over again with Mrs Down and she was almost crying by the end of it, taken by Samuel’s generosity.  She gave them both some more to eat, then Samuel and old Simpson stepped back outside to continue the day’s work.  Together they slowly made their way up to Simpson’s rock, where the old farmer carefully sat himself down.

‘What do we do first?’ Samuel asked.

‘I’d start by taking off that cloak.  There’s no need to go making it any harder for yerself.  A light shirt’ll do.  As for work, the goats’ll come when I call ’em, but you need to keep an eye out for the odd mongrel and throw some stones at them if they come scrounging around.’

‘Do you have problems with predators?’

‘You mean dogs?  Aye.  There’s a pack around that I often have to chase off.  Once they taste blood, it’s harder to stop ’em, so I have to be quick.  We haven’t seen wolves or such for a few years in these parts.  I think the sheep in the lowlands are easier to catch and a tad juicier than my bony old goats.’

Samuel sat quietly for a few minutes as Simpson smoked his pipe.  The silence soon became uncomfortable.  ‘What can I do, then?’ Samuel finally asked.

‘See those sheep climbing up from the valley?’  Simpson said as he pointed and Samuel saw some tiny, fleecy dots further down the hillside.  ‘They’re Ned Palmers’ and they like to come up here and eat what little grass I have, so you can start by herding them back down again.  I try, but it does me no good.  Stubborn as an old woman, they are.’

Samuel stood up and took a deep breath to ready himself.  He kept his cloak on for, despite the old man’s words, the air was thin and bitter.  Simpson was no doubt used to the highland weather, wearing only his thin, lace-up shirt and well-stained trousers and boots.

Samuel began clambering down the grassy slope and was already sweating, despite the chill wind, when he neared the sheep.  Climbing down the hill seemed even harder than going up, if at all possible.

The sheep were munching the short, sparsely-patched grass, oblivious to him.  Their black heads and long, white wool looked a strange combination.  Samuel raised his arms and tried shooing them away, but they utterly ignored him, chewing the grass as if he did not exist.  It was not until he tried actually pushing one that it suddenly reacted and bolted away along the hill.  The others waddled after it, finishing further away and even higher up the hill, where they looked down upon him and bleated quizzically.

Samuel looked up to the old farmer, still sitting on his high rock.  Even from here, he was sure he could detect an amused smile on the man’s lips.

Samuel adjusted his cloak and circled above the sheep, now once again oblivious to him with heads down to the grass.  He waved his arms furiously and yelled out ‘ha!’—leaping high in the air.  The sheep took notice and with a jerk, they shied again, trotting from their meals and giving him a wide berth until, once again, they finished just above him on the hillside.  Samuel swore and ran after them, muttering curses.  He singled one animal from the others and chased it all over the hill while the remainder stood and watched, ever-chewing.  His mutterings became much more vocal, until he was yelling abuse of every form at the stubborn animal.

He realised he was getting nowhere when, finally, he had to stop because his legs were burning and his lungs were heaving desperately for air.  He could continue no further and cursed the sheep again as he bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling for breath.  The sheep bleated as it trotted over to its companions and rejoined them at their munching.

Samuel collapsed atop the grass and tried to think of an intelligent alternative.  Any spell he could think of would only panic them further and who knows where they would run—certainly not in any direction he wanted.  He contemplated lifting them all up and floating them down into the valley, but that would probably scare them to death and he could only manage one such heavy animal at a time.  Finally, he climbed back up to Simpson to gain advice.

‘Won’t do chasing them,’ the old man stated simply, ‘unless there’s a few of you,’ he added with a shrug.  ‘They’re dumb animals, but they know how to be stubborn, sure enough.  Gotta let them know who’s in charge.’

‘How do I do that?’ Samuel panted.

‘Don’t know.  Never done it,’ Simpson explained with a grin, blowing smoke through his lips.  ‘The other farmers have a dog or two to help them round up their stock, but I’ve never been fond of dogs.  Besides, we couldn’t afford to keep one—they eat too much.’

‘You could let it eat those sheep and solve two problems at once.’

‘Aye,’ the aging man grinned.  ‘But that wouldn’t do.  My neighbours are my friends, as well, despite our little disagreements.  Besides, Mrs Down has an allergy.  One dog hair up her nose and she’s sniffing and teary-eyed and can’t do a thing.  That wouldn’t do at all.’

Samuel helped Simpson with various tasks throughout the day, running up and down the hill many times, but mostly just to pass messages to Mrs Down.  For the bulk of the time, they just seemed to sit and ensure that his little flock of animals did not get themselves into trouble.

‘I could get used to this!’ Samuel stated at one point.  ‘It can be quite relaxing to sit here.  It’s not quite as hard as I thought.’

‘We haven’t done anything, yet,’ Simpson responded.  ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a lot to do.  Mrs Down took care of the urgent milking this morning, but we’ll need to manage them all tomorrow.  Then, we’ll have to lead all the animals down to the valley and back, as my creek’s almost run dry.  Several animals need to be caught and have their hooves clipped, but I suppose that can wait a few days more.  Really, we’ve quite a lot of work to do tomorrow.  I just thought I would start you off easy today and put off as much as we could.’

‘Oh,’ Samuel said.  It actually did sound like quite a lot to do.

They arrived back at the little house just after sunset and Samuel was exhausted.  Mrs Down had prepared some soup and roast vegetables, which Samuel swallowed heartily.  Somehow, her meals were delicious, despite her almost vacuous pantry.

The next morning, Simpson roused Samuel while it was still dark outside.  After he had managed to get his clothes on, Samuel helped the old man outside, and he was surprised to see that most of the goats and cows were gathered around the house in the dim, pre-dawn light.

Simpson set about teaching Samuel how to milk and it took him a while to catch on.  He had often seen it done when he was young, but had never tried it before.  It took several hours for them to finish milking all the animals and by the time they were done, Samuel could barely move his hands at all, as they were so sore.  When the milk was safely poured into the various large barrels beside the house they went inside for their breakfast.  Shortly after, they began back up the hill, with Samuel helping old Mr Down slowly limp along until they reached the jutting boulder.

‘I have an idea, if you don’t mind me trying, Simpson,’ Samuel said and the old man glanced towards him, still sucking on his pipe.  ‘It’s starting to look as if I’m not quite the best farmer.’

‘I’ll give you that one,’ Simpson said with a mischievous smile.

‘And I’m not really a merchant, either.’

‘I’m not stupid, lad.  Of course, you’re not.’

‘You knew?’ Samuel said with surprise.

‘Of course.  You think I’m daft?  You’d be the sorriest excuse for a businessman if ever I saw one.  Don’t take me wrong, but Mrs Down and I knew it wasn’t true the moment you spoke it.  You’re just not cut for it.  No merchant I’ve ever met would save his own mother from a fire, let alone help an old man home on a country road—especially one from the Empire.’

‘But you didn’t say anything.’

‘It wouldn’t be polite.’

Samuel chewed over the thought for a few moments.  The ways of these country folk were certainly perplexing.

‘So, what’s your idea then?’ Simpson asked finally.  ‘If it can help either of us, I’d be mighty appreciative.  I hate seeing you run around like a fool all day.’  Simpson bore a cheeky grin at the last part, with his pipe still clenched firmly between his teeth.

‘Well,’ Samuel began, still unsure, ‘perhaps I can try something that may help, but I want you keep an open mind.’

‘At this point in my life, lad, my mind’s as open as can be.  If it were any opener the birds would be nesting in it.’

Samuel nodded and started down the hill towards the sheep.  The woolly animals regarded him with indifference as the spiny grass continued to disappear down their throats.  One animal lifted its tail and a number of dark pellets bounced out onto the grass.

Samuel closed his eyes for a moment and felt calm serenity in that darkness.  Years of experience in reaching into the void came back to him, and he found it at once—that state of mind vital to channelling magic.  He gathered his energy and began to spell, weaving a complex formation of colour from pure energy.  In a matter of moments, he had created the illusion of a dog, albeit a  simple outline, floating just slightly above the ground.  Samuel chuckled.  Its face looked blankly ahead.

Samuel made his creation slide towards the sheep, throwing his voice from its snarling mouth.  ‘Arf, Arf!’ he barked.

The sheep didn’t even blink as the illusion slid directly through one of them and faded away along with Samuel’s patience.

‘Are you blind!’ he swore at the animals.

He felt the blood grow hot in his face and he ground his teeth together firmly.  For a moment he stood, clenching his white-knuckled fists, until, ‘Damn it!’ he screamed and tossed a furious knot of energy into the ground.  There was a boom and a flash and the sheep bleated all the way down the hill on their frantic little legs, away from the blackened patch of smouldering grass.  A satisfied smile lay on Samuel’s lips.  He laughed and nodded to himself.  He had shown them who was the smartest.

Turning back towards Simpson Down, Samuel was aghast to see all of the old man’s animals—goats and cows alike—disappearing up over the hilltop.  ‘Damnation!’ Samuel swore and loped back up towards Simpson, who was still sitting and smoking calmly.

‘So you’re a magician, then?’ the old man asked.

‘Yes,’ Samuel answered sourly, ‘but apparently not such a great one.’

‘Well, I don’t mind in the least, but perhaps if you could find a way to move those sheep without blowing up or burning down my hill, it would be a little better?’

‘Perhaps,’ Samuel replied and sat down, defeated.

Over the next few days, Samuel kept trying to think of ways in which he could use his magic to help around the farm.  Unfortunately, most of the jobs required hands-on attention and no spells he could think of could actually help.

Each morning before dawn, Samuel would be woken from his makeshift bed beside the table and he would yawn and rub his eyes before pulling on his black robes and following Simpson outside.  Most of the cows would be waiting by the house and so Simpson would begin to milk them, while Samuel hurried the others down to wait their turn.  If the goats were not already there, they would generally come sauntering down as soon as they heard Mrs Down calling out to them and rattling the tin buckets in which she kept the vegetable scraps.

While it was still early, Samuel and Simpson would lift the large milk-laden jars onto the rickety cart and the old donkey would begin to pull it along.  Samuel would ride Jess alongside, not wishing to hinder the poor donkey any further by adding his weight to the cart.

They spent each morning crawling from house to house, on hill and in valley, selling milk or trading it for grain, vegetables and other perishables.  The farmers and their wives were all surprised to see Samuel on his great horse and would stare until he was well out of sight.  Simpson would say ‘new hand’ to them, if anything at all, by way of explanation.

‘You don’t get many strangers in these parts,’ the aged man explained to Samuel in his thick accent.  ‘And you look a mite frightening to them with your tall horse and strange clothes.’

Samuel nodded and agreed there was need for a change.

It would be after noon before the cart creaked back to a halt beside the Down house and Samuel dropped from Jess’ saddle onto the bare earth.  His legs ached from mounting and dismounting the animal all day, every day, and so he was generally glad to stagger inside and fall into a comfortable chair.  After a brief respite, they’d spend the rest of the afternoon wandering about on the hill, keeping watch on the animals.

After a simple but delicious meal dished out by the ever-apologetic Mrs Down, Samuel would turn in early.  He would throw out his blanket beside the table and collapse upon it, falling asleep before the old couple could even tiptoe off into their room.

Before he knew it, Samuel realised he had been with the Downs for a week.  Old Simpson’s leg was well on the mend, but somehow Samuel could not bring himself to leave, for it seemed every day was a struggle for them and, despite the fact that he was run ragged from dawn until dusk, he seemed to be strangely enjoying it.

That morning, Mrs Down presented Samuel with a new shirt, vest and trousers, made in the local style.  He put them straight on, and Mr and Mrs Down nodded at him with approval, declaring that he looked almost like one of the locals.

Before Simpson had finished the milking that cold morning, Samuel had Jess hitched to the cart, leaving the old donkey looking at them curiously from beside the house.

‘He’ll be glad,’ Samuel mentioned as Simpson took notice.  ‘He’s looking fairly long in the tooth and I’m sure he’ll appreciate the rest.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?’ the old man asked from his milking, floppy pink teats in hand.

‘No,’ Samuel admitted.  ‘But hopefully I’ll learn.’

From then on, Jess drew the cart and Samuel leapt down to deliver the milk, collecting the money for Simpson and lifting the buckets of vegetable scraps up into the back.  At first he was bewildered by the strange square coins they used, but he soon caught on to their irregular monetary system.  The customers were all surprised to see Samuel doing all the work, but he was happy to do it.  Simpson’s leg was still hampering him somewhat, and it always took the old farmer a few wobbly efforts to climb back up onto the cart.  He seemed much more at ease holding the reins and smoking his old pipe and the work was more suited to a young man.

During the afternoons, they would sit idly and watch the animals graze.  It had not rained since Samuel arrived, and he could see the grass thinning by the day.  In response to Samuel commenting on this, Simpson said he would herd the animals to the north side of the hill for winter, while this side would recover and grow fresh again.  There were no fences on the farm, and if ever an animal did stray, a neighbour would soon have it back again, thankful for an excuse to visit and have a hot cup of tanabil leaf tea.  There were buckets and troughs to mend and Samuel set himself doing all these little chores on the farm that looked as though they had been waiting decades for attention.  He even built a roof to go over Jess and the donkey and began plans for expanding the house, all with Simpson’s technical assistance.  He did not have much skill at such practical things, but he learned a great deal from experimenting and referring to Simpson’s wealth of experience.  His magic was invaluable in helping him carry all his tools and construction materials.  He could shift sand and cart wood with a gesture, doing the work of many men on his own.

During the evenings, Samuel would help Mrs Down with meals and do some sewing himself with Simpson occasionally stepping out to see that no dogs were at his stock.  Meals were simple.  Occasionally, Simpson could buy some meat from a neighbour and they would eat a little better.  Late at night, when he had done all he could for the Downs, Samuel would find a secluded spot and practise his spells by moonlight.  He remembered Soddan’s advice and spent long hours in meditation, focussing upon his inner ability.  At times, he wished he had someone more experienced to learn from and discuss the ways of magic with, for there was a part of him that was uncomfortable in the company of common folk.  Having spent so long in only the presence of other magicians, common people sometimes seemed very simple.  Separated from the Order, however, Samuel had little to do but reflect upon himself, hoping to discover new ways to improve his thoughts and spells.  He practised all the summoning stances, power words of the Old Tongue and the hand-matrices, feeling the ever-growing intensity of energy he could muster.  It seemed that every day, he was just a little stronger than before.

As he sat high on the hill in the twilight, Samuel supposed it was not an unpleasant life, here on the edge of the Empire.  He felt as if fate or some powerful force was always keeping him moving.  As soon as he felt comfortable in one place, something would happen and he would have no choice but to gather up his things and move on to somewhere else.  He always felt more comfortable in the place from whence he had just come and the new place felt awkward, until, as usual, it was time to leave, and only then did he realise that place was the one for him.  Here, on the outskirts of the village of Lenham, he felt further from his friends and his home than he had ever been.  He was beginning to think he would never be able to put his feet up and just relax.  Even now, he was supposed to continue on his way to Gilgarry and meet the man, Cervantes.  When Simpson had recovered and the Downs could manage their farm comfortably again, Samuel would go on his way, but he found himself hoping that day would not come too soon.

Samuel’s big problem was those ever-hungry sheep.  Discouraging them was proving to be his bane.  Some days whole flocks would come up and chew the ground bare before Samuel would chase them for a bit, become tired and frustrated and then scare them away with a great boom that would echo all up and down the valleys.  He would then have to muster up all of Simpson’s animals before they fled too far, cursing himself for his impatience.

One fine and hot day, Samuel finally sat himself amongst the villainous sheep and decided to try and solve the problem for good.  He positioned himself on the grass, facing one docile creature as it munched away and he began to concentrate upon it.  Its aura was simple, yet in some ways similar to that found around men.  He knew all living things were filled with energy, but he had never thought that animals would be at all like people.  He wanted to find out more, and so he willed his senses further into the sheep.  Surprisingly, it was quite easy and he immediately met with visions of grass.  The image filled his mind, as if he was seeing out of the sheep’s own eyes.  Startled, he suddenly found himself separate from the animal once again.

Intrigued, Samuel began to investigate once more.  It was like being inside the sheep’s mind, and he could see a strange image of himself, warped and distorted, sitting in the sheep’s head.  Ghostly feelings of hunger and fear faded in and out.  It was as if he had tapped into some part of the sheep’s consciousness, or was experiencing its very thoughts.

It was an amazing discovery and one that made Samuel wonder why there had been little mention of such a possibility from his teachers.  It had not seemed difficult at all.  Perhaps it was a dangerous thing for a magician to do?  He would use caution and experiment further.  He formed the image of a savage snarling wolf and concentrated on it, pushing it in beside the feeling of hunger he could feel inside the sheep.  There was a jolt as the sheep suddenly panicked and broke away, bleating and galloping down the hill.  Samuel was himself shivering with fear, before he could regain control over his confused mind.  His heart was racing.  Vague images of tearing meat and blood-spattered wool lingered in his head.  Somehow, the strange alien memories had managed to pass from the sheep to him.

His attempts at fooling the sheep with complex illusions had proved useless, but this simple vision, pressed into the animal’s mind, caused such a stir in its memories that it had scared the creature silly.  Perhaps such simple creatures relied on more than their mere sight to judge the world around them.  Memories of a previous attack brought back all the senses—the smell, the sight, the terrible sounds and the taste of fear.  These combined to confuse the animal completely.  The distinction between past and present had blurred and it ran in senseless confusion.

The other sheep lifted their heads and sniffed the air, before returning to their constant feeding.  They could not sense what had so frightened their fellow and did not know what had caused its fearful bleating, so they continued on with their munching of grass.  Samuel planned to quickly remedy that.

He crawled towards the next closest sheep.  Upon examination, the first thing Samuel noticed was that its mind was strangely similar to the other’s.  Perhaps, it was true that sheep were too stupid to vary much from each other.  In this animal, he implanted different images, of fruits and grains.  The sheep searched the ground, sniffing and hanging out its tongue, trying to find the delicious food, but to no avail.  He tried other images, but the response was usually the same, with the sheep merely looking for the object or becoming confused before returning to its meal.  Samuel again formed the image of a wolf, yet this time tried to alter the location of the beast, so that it seemed to be high up on the hilltop rather than nearby.  The sheep raised its head and baaed.  It turned and waddled a few paces away, turning its head and baaing again.  The others raised their noses for only a moment while it hurried away down the hill.  This had proved the most successful method yet for getting rid of the stubborn beasts, for the animal was not scared almost to death.

With the next sheep, Samuel attempted exploring its mind to see what kind of thoughts a sheep might contain, but only images of other sheep and food came to him.  Investigating the others proved the same and, eventually, Samuel became bored with the creatures, for investigating one was like investigating another.  One by one, he managed to harry them all away by placing the wolf image in their minds.  It evoked such a strong reaction that Samuel assumed they must have encountered a wolf or two in the past, or perhaps it was some natural instinct.  He could use their memories against them.

‘Getting better,’ Simpson remarked from his stone as Samuel sat down beside him.  Samuel nodded.  ‘We might be in for some rain tomorrow,’ Simpson mentioned, pointing his smoking pipe end far to the east.  ‘Finally.’

‘No,’ Samuel stated.  ‘I can’t feel any rain for a while.’

Simpson nodded, raising his eyebrows.  ‘You can read the weather, too?’

‘Sometimes, but only a day or two ahead.  Not much use.’

‘Might stop you from getting wet,’ Simpson noted.

‘Not really,’ Samuel corrected.  ‘It’s one thing to know it’s going to rain and another to have the sense to keep out of it.’

The old man coughed and spluttered and finally spat out his pipe and laughed long and loud.  ‘That be true,’ he declared.  ‘That be true, lad.’

Samuel continued experimenting with the animals each day.  Their minds were simple—focussing on their direct needs, such as eating and resting.  The goats were slightly more complicated, often thinking of games and recalling fond memories of days past.  Samuel could make the old nannies and bucks prance about by pushing the memories of youth into their minds.  As soon as his influence stopped, however, they would immediately return to their more proper behaviour of standing around and doing very little.

Jess had an interesting mind and Samuel discovered she had emotions associated with different objects.  She considered the lesser animals with disdain and this certainly included people.  She housed some kinship with Samuel—that was reassuring at least—and regarded the donkey as something of a bothersome cousin.  He felt a pain in the horse’s rump and, upon closer examination, Samuel felt a small lump under the surface.  He scrutinised the energies of the area, and compared the patterns to its better side.  He remembered reading the simple theory that by compelling the energy around the injury to take the shape of the healthy side, it would promote the animal to get better.  They had been scheduled to learn more about healing, but then Dividian had taken over and battle spells has taken precedence.

Samuel bound his spell in place upon Jess’ small lump.  It was the same sensation as leaving the mage-lights to float on their own—like tying a bootlace—and the spell would hold its position until its energy faded.  Day after day, Jess’ discomfort became less as the lump diminished, until the point where his spell and her injury both faded together.  He surmised that if he had made the spell much stronger, it would actually serve to protect the area from future harm, much like magical armour.  How stupid of him!  Of course, this was true!  It was merely an extension of what he already knew.  Sometimes, Samuel embarrassed himself with his own ignorance.  He decided he would spend some time each day theorising on other such possibilities that may have slipped his notice.  He could not let his studies suffer just because of his current predicament.

Samuel soon found that, with practice, he was getting much better at controlling all the animals.  He could actually promote specific actions in the creatures, such as walking or turning around, and could control their bodily functions, such as passing faeces and urinating.  He could even time an event for a predetermined moment, as the animals seemed greatly in tune with the seasons and the time of day.  Simpson watched on in wonder as in unison his goats all walked together and formed a circle with their bodies.

‘Very impressive, lad,’ the old man declared, ‘but I’m not sure it will be of much use.  I suppose I could take them to the market in Gilgarry and entertain the crowds?’

‘I could try to improve their produce,’ Samuel suggested, contemplating his alternatives.  ‘What makes better milk?’ Samuel asked.

‘A stressed or sick animal gives bad milk, as well as one with poor feed or water.  I suppose one that has good health and sufficient food and water has the better milk.’

‘Well, I can’t do much about their diet, so I’ll see what I can do to cheer the poor creatures up,’ Samuel said with a smug grin.

Simpson and his wife were amazed when the milk improved in quality and flavour virtually overnight.  The village folk and other customers who bought their milk each day were amazed at the change in quality.  ‘The best milk around,’ everyone was soon saying.  The cows soon came waddling in with near bursting udders, which was fortunate, because demand for their goods increased as word of its quality spread.  Samuel had even begun casting spells upon the varying sized jars they carried the milk in: one spell to fortify the vessels and protect them from breakage, and another to chill the milk, keeping it as fresh as if straight from the teat.  They were simple spells that he had to repeat each morning, but they had a great effect upon increasing their profits.

‘What did you do to improve their milk so much, Samuel?’ Mrs Down asked.

‘I made them happy,’ Samuel answered.  ‘It only lasts for a few days at a time, but for the time being you have cheerful goats and merry cows.  I’ll see what I can do to make it last longer, if you like.’  He kept the other spells to himself for now.  Despite their kindness, these were still quite superstitious people and would perhaps find that amount of tinkering with nature disturbing.

Simpson nodded and rubbed his whiskered chin.  ‘Aye.  As long as it don’t do them no harm.’

‘Happiness rarely does someone harm,’ Samuel noted.

‘So you say, but I’ve seen my fair share of young fools fall onto their arses at the village dance because they were too happy.’

Samuel laughed.  ‘I’m not getting your animals drunk, so that shouldn’t happen.  They’ve not got bony arses, anyway, so I don’t think it would hurt them if they did.’

Mrs Down laughed and they set into their supper.  It was noticeably larger and tastier than usual.

Neighbours began calling and talking, poking around for a clue to anything new that Simpson might be doing with his stock but, as usual, he mostly just sat on his rock talking with the new hand.

‘What did you do to Branner’s sheep?’ one fellow asked one night as he called in to their home for tanabil tea.

‘What do you mean?’ Simpson asked.

A tiny smile started on Samuel’s lips as he scribbled some notes, listening in.

‘Branner says that the other day about ten of them came filing into his house and, all at once, lifted their tails and sh—I mean, deposited their leavings on the floor, and then all went out again.  Him and his missus were dumbstruck.  And he says that since then, they don’t come anywhere near here any more.’

‘Why that’s strange behaviour, to be sure,’ Simpson said, drawing on his pipe and looking at Samuel, ‘but I can’t say why sheep would do such a thing, sheep being sheep, that is.  I’ve never really cared for sheep.’

Samuel’s skills were improving steadily and one day, as he sat next to Simpson, he decided to test his newfound ability on a human subject.  He was fully confident of his capacity and so he turned his attention to the old man beside him.

At first, Samuel’s efforts went without fruition, but with each attempt he found his way deeper through the maze of complex energies of the man’s mind until he began at last to feel the strange sensation of foreign thoughts.  He could sense a rhythmical pulsing that changed in speed and intensity seemingly randomly.  Then, he began to hear a cascade of tones, rising and falling in sequence.  It was a song. Samuel realised that old Simpson was humming it in his head.  As Samuel delved inwards, he found Simpson’s mind to be a complex and shifting weave of memories and events, far beyond what he had experienced before.  The energy around him was overwhelming, like massive hives of delicate lacework.  He decided it would be very difficult to do anything in such a sophisticated place.  It might even be dangerous for them both.

Another time, as Samuel sat and listened to the old man whistle merrily to himself, Samuel had an idea for a simple experiment.  He began humming quietly in his mind.  Carefully, he felt out for the energies of old Simpson.  He let the two vibrations overlap, so that his own tune was mingled with Simpson’s.  It was very difficult work.  He had to concentrate on maintaining his own tune, feeling for Simpson's and then keep them bound together all at once.

After only a short time, Simpson took up Samuel’s tune as his own.  Samuel smiled to himself smugly, for it confirmed his theory: two things did not even need to be touching to affect each other.  All things were connected by the ether, whether it was obvious or not, and vibrations could travel between them easily enough.  Damn himself for being so stupid!  Of course, it was what his teachers had always told him; but, until now, he had never fully understood the notion.  In theory then, distance did not matter as long as a spell was correctly directed.  If he knew how, Samuel could read the mind of a field mouse in Garteny as easily as one in the palm of his hand, as long as he tied something unique into the spell—something that would only identify that particular mouse.  Of course, it was not quite that simple, but the premise seemed fair enough.  The theory would need much more attention, as it had the potential to change the way he cast his spells entirely.

Simpson carried on merrily singing his new tune high up on the rock, while Samuel pondered over his new train of thought.

A few days later, after much contemplation and deliberation, Samuel again risked an exploratory sortie into Simpson’s consciousness.  It was only after a few moments that Samuel suddenly felt every thought in the old man vanish and acute pain rang out from every direction.  He was thrown from Simpson’s mind and reeled onto his side as he struggled to orient himself to his surroundings.  The sudden purge left him dazed and it was some moments before Samuel could fully realise who and where he was.  Pain and confusion clung to him stubbornly.

Looking over to Simpson, Samuel could see the old man was clutching his jaw in obvious discomfort.

‘What is the matter?’ Samuel asked with concern as he rushed to Simpson’s side.

‘My damned tooth!’ the wincing farmer moaned.  ‘It’s gone bad and I just broke it gnawing on my pipe.’

Samuel scolded himself for not having noticed the injury before.  ‘I can do something for you, if you would like?’

‘Not gonna make me crap on the floor are ya?’ the old man asked suspiciously, still grasping his jaw.

‘No,’ Samuel laughed, ‘but I can numb the pain a little.’

Simpson nodded and Samuel gingerly entered the man’s mind, following the overpowering feeling of pain.  It led to a throbbing knot of sensations and Samuel immediately began testing the site for ways to reduce the old man’s anguish.  He did not want to totally stop the feeling—not truly knowing what effect it would have, but instead worked to lessen it to a mere soreness.  When he withdrew once more, Simpson already appeared very pleased with the result.

‘It’s almost gone,’ he noted aloud with some amusement.

‘Yes, and I’ll see what I can do about fixing your tooth.  It’s always better to treat the cause, rather than the symptom.’

‘As you say,’ Simpson responded, pushing his pipe straight back into his mouth and looking back out over the hillside with a stern gaze, as if ascertaining all the changes that may have occurred in his few moments’ distraction.

Samuel examined the aura of the old man and found the region where it seemed slightly deformed, beneath his chin.  He applied the same mending technique he had used on Jess.  He had no idea what would happen in this instance, but time would tell.

‘Mrs Down’s got some pain in her hands on cold nights,’ Simpson then mentioned, still staring out over the valleys.  ‘Perhaps you could find your way to helping her a little with whatever you just done to me?’

‘I will,’ Samuel promised.

‘Any sign of rain yet?’ the old man then asked, glancing towards the sky.  Great grey clouds rolled by, bearing towers of mist that stretched up to the heights.

Samuel looked up momentarily and felt for the tremendous mountains of energy carried aloft.  ‘No,’ he replied.  ‘I think these clouds will pass us by and unload their burdens further to the east.  I cannot feel any rainfall here for at least the week.’

‘Another week,’ the old man repeated forlornly.  He said no more than that, but Samuel could guess what he was thinking, for the hills were dry and dusty.  Every footfall sent up puffs of choking dust.

Samuel began to think of what he could do with all he had recently learned.

Another new name appeared on Simpson’s list of milk buyers, along with the many others who had now begun requesting the Downs’ milk.  It was the village elder, a man by the name of Manfred Sallow.

‘Is having an elder still a custom here?’ Samuel asked, as they bounced along the road behind Jess.

‘Aye,’ Simpson replied.  ‘When the Empire came through here they tried to finish most of the old traditions like that, but we still manage to hold to a few of our old ways.  Manfred doesn’t actually have much to do with running the village, except when someone needs to settle a dispute or make peace with the Imperials.  His family’s been doing it for as long as anyone can recall and he’s too stubborn to give it up.  He’s quite familiar with that Count Rudderford down in Gilgarry, so he generally gets things sorted out reasonably quickly.  It’s a double-edged sword, unfortunately, as Manfred is also responsible for collecting the taxes.  It can make him unpopular with some, but most folk realise that if Manfred didn’t do it, someone worse would.  Of course, I haven’t quite gotten round to paying my dues just yet,’ he added, with a mischievous grin.

The house was on the far side of the village and the early morning villagers still gawked at Samuel as they passed.  He was not as tall or strange as people had been told.  Indeed, he looked much like a normal young man, sporting the beginnings of a fuzzy moustache and beard.  Still, Samuel could virtually see the curiosity pouring from them.

‘Good morning, Simpson,’ some called.  ‘Good morning, Samuel.’

Samuel smiled and waved back, returning their greetings.

The home of Manfred Sallow was easily the finest in the village.  It was made from great lengths of timber and smooth, stone slabs, as opposed to the roughly hewn stone and mortar houses of the others.

‘You had better let me take care of this one,’ Simpson declared as he gingerly stepped down from the cart.  His manner told Samuel everything.  This fellow required Simpson’s personal, tactful attention.

He knocked on the door and a finely dressed man of late middle-age opened it in response.  His clothes seemed almost in the style of the Empire, as if he had been plucked up from some manor near Cintar and dropped into the middle of the village.

‘Simpson, how pleasant to see you,’ the man announced.

‘As you say, Mr Sallow.  I have what you ordered.’

‘Wonderful!  Bring it in and put it on the table.’

‘Samuel!’ Simpson called back from the doorway and the young magician jumped down from the seat and began to drag the appropriate jars towards the cart’s edge.  ‘I’m growing older and managed to injure myself a spell back.  Young Samuel helps me out and has proven priceless around the farm,’ he explained to Mr Sallow.

‘Indeed,’ Mr Sallow said.  ‘It’s unusual to meet any form of stranger in our village, let alone an Imperial.  Some say this young man is responsible for your turn of good fortune.’

‘I’d probably agree, Mr Sallow.  He’s a fine young lad and I don’t know how we ever managed without him.’

‘Especially as you don’t have any children of your own.’

‘That’s right, Mr Sallow,’ Simpson replied grimly.

Samuel stepped forward with the first great vessel cradled in his arms.  He edged past Manfred Sallow and looked for somewhere to put the large container.  A narrow hall led Samuel past a sitting room, into a kitchen, where Samuel heaved the milk up onto the table.  On his way out, Samuel noticed there was a young lady in the sitting room, reading from a small book.  It was immediately obvious that she was beautiful, with long, dark, braided hair and a sense of concentration as she scanned the lines of her book.  Samuel lingered in the doorway, studying her until she looked up and noticed him.  She simply smiled up at him and Samuel could feel his cheeks burning at once.

‘Samuel!’ Simpson called from outside.  ‘Don’t dawdle long.  We’ve plenty to do.’

Samuel nodded to the girl before hurrying off to get the other great jar.

‘That’s a fair amount of milk you’ve ordered, Mr Sallow,’ Simpson remarked.  ‘I wouldn’t have marked you for such a thirsty man.’

‘Oh, it’s not all for me,’ Manfred stated.  ‘If it’s as good as I’m led to believe, I’m sending a sample to my relatives in Gilgarry this morning, as a gift.’

‘That’s mighty fine of you, Mr Sallow.  Good day.’  Simpson climbed up onto the cart and Samuel followed.  Being their last delivery, they turned around and set about returning to the farm.

‘She’s his daughter,’ Simpson stated, not a few moments from the Sallows’ door.  ‘If that’s what you’re daydreaming about.’

Samuel chuckled in response.  ‘Sometimes I think you can read my mind.’

‘With that look on your face,’ the old man returned, brushing his whiskers and blowing a puff of smoke to the breeze, ‘I don’t need to.’

Samuel grinned at nothing and they continued on their bumpy way.

Samuel looked forward to the next day’s delivery.  When Mr Sallow opened the door, Samuel eagerly stepped past with the single, small jar in his hands, hoping to spy the daughter once again.  He peered into the sitting room, but was disappointed to find it deserted.  Samuel’s heart leapt, however, when he found her waiting in the kitchen.

‘You must be Samuel,’ she said, smiling.  ‘I am Leila.  Leila Sallow.  I’m sorry we weren’t introduced yesterday.’

‘Nice to meet you, Leila,’ Samuel returned with a smile that he could not contain.  After a moment’s awkward silence, he realised he was staring like a fool.  ‘Did you enjoy the milk?’ he asked quickly—too quickly.  Calm now, Samuel, he reminded himself.  She’s only a girl.  No need to panic.

‘Oh, I didn’t get to try it.  Daddy sent it away it before I could,’ she answered, smiling and rocking on her heels and toes.  ‘Are you going to the village dance next week?’ she asked.

‘I hadn’t heard of it,’ Samuel replied, ‘but I would certainly like to go—if you are, that is.’

‘I am,’ she smiled.  ‘I shall look forward to seeing you there.’

‘Perhaps, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘Perhaps,’ she responded.  There was an energy in the air, an excitement that had his skin covered in goose-bumps and his head feeling light—almost the same as when he summoned his magic, but strange and wonderful.  Magicians were not supposed to be able to feel strongly towards women, but right now, he certainly felt something he could not describe.

‘Samuel!’ Simpson called loudly from outside.

Samuel realised he was dawdling.  ‘Good day,’ he said to the girl and hurried down the hall.

Simpson was waiting on the wagon and, as soon as Samuel had vaulted up beside him, they turned for home.

‘Mr Sallow says he wants to have all our milk,’ Simpson explained.  ‘He says he’ll pay almost twice what I ask now so he can send it all down to Gilgarry.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Samuel said.  ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Of course, but I’m wondering what will happen when you leave and the milk goes back to the way it was.  If I let all my customers go now so I can meet Mr Sallow’s order, I may never get them back.’

‘I can promise you, I won’t be leaving just yet.  The longer I stay in Lenham, the more interesting things I find.  With all the money you make from Mr Sallow in the meantime, you’ll be able to afford to hire some help on the farm once I’m gone and we can build that barn you’ve always wanted.’

Simpson thought for a time.  ‘Aye,’ he said.  ‘That sounds fine.  You’ve got a sensible head on your shoulders after all, lad.  Perhaps you will make a decent merchant one day yet.’

‘I hope not,’ Samuel responded.

Simpson seemed very happy and whistled a tune for the trip home.  It was the very tune Samuel had taught him.

The new arrangement began several days later.  To Samuel’s displeasure, a wagon arrived on their doorstep bound directly for Gilgarry, and so Samuel did not get to see Leila at all.  She had been waiting to talk with him on the last few mornings, but her father had begun noticing the fact and had kept Samuel moving along.  When he enquired about the dance, Mrs Down said the village had one every month or so, so that everyone could kick up their heels and lose their cares once in a while.  They rarely went themselves, being old and having no children, and Mrs Down declared herself a terrible fool for not thinking to tell Samuel of it before.

The night of the dance came and Mrs Down presented Samuel with a fine new set of clothes she had made in the local style—clothes that were not worn and stained from his farm work.  His comfortable mage’s boots finished the look finely once he had polished them up.  There was no mirror, but Simpson and Mrs Down both said he looked very handsome and so he had to be content with that.  Samuel quickly saddled Jess and rode for the village with little else on his mind but seeing Leila.

The village square was decorated with coloured ribbons and lanterns and an enthusiastic tune was being played by a vigorous quartet of musicians.  Samuel tied Jess a short distance away beside some other horses and approached the joyful gathering.  Men and women were dancing arm in arm before the assortment of foot-tapping musicians.  Laughter and merriment prevailed.

‘Hello, Samuel.’  A grey-haired, old couple, arm in arm, said as they approached him.  ‘We are Mr and Mrs Luke,’ the old man said.  ‘We thought we’d introduce ourselves—we’ve been meaning to for a while.  Where are you from, then?’

‘Stable Waterford,’ Samuel said, looking over them for any sign of Leila.  ‘In Marlen.  Although I have spent some time in the capital.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Mrs Luke.  ‘I can’t imagine what the cities must be like.  And you help Mr and Mrs Down on their farm?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful.  Perhaps you could visit for tea one day and tell us all about yourself.’

‘Of course,’ Samuel declared, but then he spied Leila, momentarily visible between dancing bodies.  ‘Excuse me, please.  I see a young lady I’m hoping to talk with.’

‘Of course, Samuel,’ said Mr Luke through his thick, white beard.  ‘Off you go and have some fun.’

Leila saw Samuel approaching and a smile lit her face.  A young man was asking her something and she shook her head, brushing past him. Grabbing Samuel by the hand, she dragged the hesitant magician out to dance.  At first, he was not quite sure what to do, but he quickly picked up the gist of the movements.  Within moments, they were skipping and turning playfully amongst the other village folk.

‘You’re very light on your feet,’ Samuel said, noticing how neatly and gently she moved about.

‘Thank you,’ Leila smiled.  ‘And I’m quite surprised you know this dance.  I didn’t think anyone outside our village knew it.’

‘I don’t, really,’ Samuel declared, feeling the warmth of her waist in his hand, ‘but I pick things up quite quickly.’  It was not unlike moving between some of the summoning stances he still practised every evening.

They danced for a time and, as Samuel’s nervousness diminished, they moved a little nearer to each other with the start of each new melody.  For some reason, he was constantly aware of her hand in his.  He tried to relax a little and ignore the fact, but he would have had more luck ignoring his boots if they were on fire.  They twirled and danced, laughing and talking all the while about anything and everything, before finally collapsing onto a bench for a much-needed rest.  Samuel could not help but notice the scalding looks from many of the village’s young men.

‘How is it that you’re not yet spoken for?’ Samuel asked.  ‘All the young men seem to be horrified that I’m dancing with you.’

‘My father has been very possessive of me since my mother died.  None of the men around here is good enough for him.  He’s hoping to find me a lord or noble of some kind to marry, but they are few and far between in these parts—and all of them are Imperials.’

‘Is there no one suitable for you?’

‘I don’t want to live by my father’s standards.  He’s kept me locked up all these years, so I’ve never had time to even meet anyone, except when he bundles me up and takes me down to Gilgarry to display me like a prize cow.  Then, all those pompous asses fawn all over me, I tell them what I think of them and then Father brings me home again and won’t talk to me for days.  He says if I don’t choose a suitor soon I’ll end up an old maid.’

‘I wouldn’t say you are in danger of growing old anytime soon.’

‘Couples marry younger here than in the cities,’ she told him.

‘Aye,’ Samuel said.  ‘So I’ve noticed.

She sighed and looked about the crowd as if searching for someone, before returning her attention to him.  ‘What is it that brings you out here, Samuel?  You’re obviously well-spoken and educated, but Father says you help Mr and Mrs Down for no pay at all.’

‘I’m really not interested in money.’

‘That’s what people say,’ she said.  ‘They also say you are a magician, but I don’t like to listen to such common talk.’

‘It’s true,’ Samuel told her.  He was surprised that everyone seemed to know so much about him.

‘And you can do magic?’ she asked expectantly.

‘Aye.’

‘Can you do some magic for me?’

‘I thought people were distrustful of magic in these parts?’ Samuel suggested.

‘Oh, that’s only the ignorant ones and the old-fashioned,’ she explained.  ‘Who wouldn’t be fascinated by the chance to see some real magic?’

‘What would you like?’ Samuel asked.

‘A blue puppy!’ she burst out with excitement.

Samuel erupted into laughter, attracting a few glances.  ‘I can do magic, not miracles.  I think blue puppies are the fairies’ speciality.  I’ll ask them to make one the next time I see one.’

‘You’re mocking me,’ she said, still smiling, still holding his arm.

‘Yes,’ he admitted.  ‘I’m afraid my magic isn’t quite as spectacular as that.  I cannot make a blue puppy for you, but if you find me a puppy, I could make it blue, although it probably wouldn’t enjoy it.’

‘Leila!’ came a stern voice, cutting through the music.

It was Manfred Sallow, pushing through the crowd.  He stopped before Samuel and Leila, clearly furious.  ‘Come back to the house at once!’ he commanded with a barely restrained temper.

Leila’s face fell as she released Samuel’s arm.  She walked wordlessly past her father and through the watching crowd, not giving Samuel as much as a ‘goodbye’.

Manfred Sallow faced Samuel and spoke to him with a pointed finger.  He lowered his voice, but there was still no doubt that he was straining to remain composed.  ‘I’ll say this only once.  Do not speak with my daughter.  Do you understand?’

Samuel nodded calmly, for he was not angry.  He had met many such difficult people before within the Order and he knew a planned and logical approach would solve more than attempting to meet force with force.  As Manfred turned and started off after his daughter, Samuel had already begun to think of ways to overcome this new problem.

‘Don’t worry.’  It was Mrs Luke at his side.  ‘No one takes any notice of him any more.  It will be his fault when his daughter dies a lonely old spinster, the poor dear.’

Samuel put his planning aside and took a few moments to talk with the old couple.  From their discussion, it seemed they knew the Downs quite well, but had not been to visit for some time.

‘Mrs Down, the poor woman, lost her only child when it was just a babe,’ Mrs Luke explained, ‘and they tried for years to have another without success.  They both took it very hard.’

Samuel nodded in understanding.  ‘I felt there was something troubling them.’

‘Families are very important in these parts,’ Mr Luke revealed.  ‘I don’t know how things work where you are from, but here life revolves around the family bond.  All of us in the village tried for years to console them, but we just couldn’t make up for the death of their little one.’

‘My family were all killed when I was young,’ Samuel told them in all sincerity, ‘so I know what losing loved ones can feel like.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, Samuel,’ Mrs Luke said sincerely.  ‘But let me tell you—there’s no feeling as terrible as a parent losing a child, believe me.  You would never wish such a tragedy upon anyone.  Now, if you ever feel lonely, you’re welcome to just drop by for a nice cup of tanabil tea.  We generally have some on the boil for most of the day.’

‘Thank you,’ Samuel told them.

He rode home while the night was still early.  There was little to do once Leila had gone and he found that the other people of the village, apart from the kindly old Lukes, were not very enthusiastic to converse with him.  When he stepped back into the cottage, he found Simpson and his wife were still awake.

‘This is an early hour to be home, Samuel,’ Mrs Down said with concern.

‘Aye,’ Samuel returned sadly.  ‘I think it may take a bit longer for some of the village folk to get used to me.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘You’d think they’d have more to concern them than you,’ Simpson declared.  ‘With their farms and families to worry over, they would do well to welcome you into their arms, especially with all this talk of thieves about at the moment.’

Samuel looked up. ‘Thieves?’

‘So I hear.  They have been chased up by the Count’s men and have been hiding in the woods to the east.  No one goes in there except the odd woodsman and trapper, but they’ve been seen lurking around at night—up to no good.’

‘Well, we shouldn’t need to worry,’ Samuel said.  ‘By the way, Mr and Mrs Luke said to pass you their fond greetings and asked for us all to drop by some time.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Mrs Down said.  ‘It’s been so long since we had time to go visiting.’

Simpson nodded his assent and tapped his pipe out onto the table edge.  ‘That would be a fine idea,’ he said.

Samuel went to bed early that night with the face of the captivating girl, Leila, in his mind.

Samuel had formulated a plan to meet with Leila that next morning.  He rode into town and tied Jess up in the square before walking the short distance to the Sallow house.  He knocked on the front door, heart in his throat, and was relieved when a surprised Leila opened it.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered fearfully, looking back over her shoulder.  ‘Father is here.  He’ll be furious if he sees you.’

‘Where is he?’ Samuel whispered.

‘In his study.’

‘Show me,’ Samuel instructed.

Leila said no with her eyes, but Samuel squeezed his way past her.  She darted ahead and pointed to a closed door beside some stairs at the end of the hall.

‘Who is it, Leila?’ came Manfred’s voice from within.

Samuel closed his eyes and concentrated, at once feeling the energy of her father in the next room.  He quickly entered the man’s consciousness and set a spell.  When he was done, Samuel opened his eyes and smiled at Leila.  She looked terribly anxious.

‘He’s asleep,’ Samuel explained.

‘What did you do?’ she asked with some concern.

‘Don’t fret.  He was tired anyway.  I suggested your father take a short nap and he seemed to find the idea attractive.’

Leila pushed open the door, peeked in, and then went over to her sleeping father.

‘You can wake him if you want,’ Samuel expressed.  ‘He’s only sleeping.’

Samuel was worried that she would be horrified.  Instead, Leila giggled and waved her hand before her father’s face.

‘You are a magician,’ she laughed.

‘Yes.  I told you so,’ Samuel said.

She grabbed Samuel’s hand and led him into the reading room where they sat down together.

‘You can’t imagine how I’ve dreamed of someone to come and take me away from Father.’

‘I’m not about to do that,’ Samuel protested.

‘We could,’ she implored.

‘I have work to do here for the time being.  Don’t you think it would be best to reason with your father?’

‘He’s beyond reason.  He thinks he’ll marry me to some ancient merchant in Gilgarry, but I’ll die before that happens.’

‘Don’t do that.  To waste such beauty would be a horrible thing.’

Her cheeks flushed, but before she could say anything, Samuel put out his hand and cast a spell.  A long, green stem sprouted up from his palm and then bright, red petals began popping into being at its top.  Each grew larger, pushing together and folding outwards one by one.  When he was done, Samuel had produced a slender glowing rose, woven from light and tied with magic.  He quickly adjusted the spell so that Leila could hold and move it, making it feel a little like a solid creation.  It was radiant and shimmering and perfect—a mingling of several common spells, yet Leila found it breathtaking.  She gasped and kissed Samuel on the cheek as he gave it to her.

‘It’s so beautiful!’ she said, and with a laugh, ‘It tickles!’

‘It’s made from magic.  It’s a part of me, so to speak.’

‘How long will it last?’

‘Only a few days at the most,’ Samuel said.   ‘But when you hold it, you will feel happy inside.’  Samuel was speculating entirely about that.

‘It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.  Thank you so much,’ she said as she turned the rose over in her hands.  She kissed him again on the cheek, which was exactly what he was hoping for.  ‘What other things can you do?’

‘Let’s not talk about that,’ Samuel insisted.  ‘I’m not some performer sent to entertain you.  I’d rather we just talked.’

A sincere smile settled on her face.  ‘Samuel, you are so nice compared to the other people here.  I hope you stay a long time.’

They sat together in the sitting room and talked far into the afternoon, until, with some panic, Samuel realised that Manfred could wake at any moment, for he felt his spell had waned, and he quickly kissed Leila goodbye and hurried out.

‘I’ll visit soon,’ he promised and she waved him goodbye, smiling so that her cheeks dimpled and the corners of her eyes seemed to turn up in a way that lifted Samuel’s heart.

Samuel felt light as he trotted down the street.  He had never felt like this before and he felt more like a child now than ever, laughing to himself foolishly.  He was glad he was not in Cintar now, for he would not really want his peers to see him in such a state.

Leila’s father often travelled to Gilgarry and so, from that point on, Samuel and Leila would arrange to meet in a glade by the river.  Samuel looked forward to each short tryst and always dreaded leaving.  They held hands and the first time they truly kissed, Samuel feared he might explode from excitement.  He thought he was discovering a new direction in which to apply his studies, a whole new direction of life that he had never before experienced or even imagined, and one at which he planned to excel.

In the months that followed, people began to appear on the Downs’ doorstep, asking if Samuel could help them with a problem or two, for word had somehow spread that he had a way of helping with certain problems.  They each left feeling healthier or stronger or more quick-witted as Samuel saw to their common ills and ailments—simple things they had no way to remedy in these parts.

Amusingly, each person, not wanting to become involved in village chatter, requested that the visit remain a secret.  What perplexed Samuel the most was that these visitors often passed each other on the road up to the Downs’ house, so it was really no secret at all.  Samuel overheard one fellow claiming how he had come ‘to visit old Simpson and have a chat’.  When he entered the house, it was a fractured toe that was his true motivation and Samuel set a spell upon it that would soon set things right.  With the numbers of visitors dropping in, Samuel thought it would not be long before a queue formed at the door.

He supposed that this is what his duty as a member of the Order really was, to help all the common folk, yet he found their attempts at secrecy humorous.  Mrs Down declared it to be abominable and told Samuel it would serve them right to remain sick.

Winter took its good time coming, but they managed well on the farm.  Simpson had money to spare and each day they led the animals down the hill into the valleys of the neighbouring farms and allowed them to drink their fill from the dams and small streams.  When the rains began to return once more, Samuel spent much of his time with Leila.  Somehow, they managed to keep the fact from her father, but Samuel dreaded the inevitable moment when Manfred would learn of their affair.  Soon enough, the village folk would take notice, if they had not already, and then it was only a matter of time before word passed through enough tongues to reach her father’s ear.  When that day came, they would deal with it as best they could.  For now, they would enjoy every day together as much as they could.

The hills were coloured with flowers of every description as spring returned, but Samuel had little time to enjoy the sight.  He was kept busy dealing with a wave of pneumonia that was sweeping the area.  People from all around were coming to see Samuel and be cured.  It was ironic that the people in these magic-fearing lands persecuted any magician that came wandering along, but now they had the chance to have their ailments seen to, they were all jumping at the opportunity.

Some things, however, were beyond even Samuel’s abilities.  The ferocious summer was just getting started when a boy came galloping up the path towards the Down Farm early one morning, shouting loudly for Samuel.  The lad had tears streaming down his face and asked that Samuel follow him back to the Luke Farm with all haste.

Jess, Empire-bred, easily outstrode the skinny gelding that bore the young messenger and Samuel was soon leaping from her back before the old farm house.  The Luke children were waiting on the front steps, wailing and holding onto each other tightly.

‘We heard you might be able to help,’ said one young woman through her tears as she nursed her own small child.  ‘Please let it be true.’

Samuel stepped into the farmhouse and found the room a broken mess.  Mr and Mrs Luke were sprawled out on the floor.  Mrs Luke had her arms folded across her chest and a strip of white cloth was placed over her eyes.  She was plainly dead.  Mr Luke was sitting against the wall in a pool of his own blood, with his blood-caked beard drooped over his chest, surrounded by several of his sons.

‘We found them this morning,’ one of them said.  ‘It was the bandits.  We’ve sent for the Count, but they’re probably deep in the woods again by now.  They’ll be long gone before any of the Count’s men can get there.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Samuel stated as he knelt beside Mr Luke.  The old man was very near death, with a deep wound in his chest and a great crack in his skull.  His eyes looked blankly ahead and Samuel could virtually see the man’s life gushing out of him.  ‘It’s very bad,’ Samuel stated plainly.  ‘He has only a few moments left.  I can only lessen his pain.’

Calming himself, Samuel pushed his senses into Mr Luke’s mind.  He found himself surrounded by screaming streaks of agony and Samuel could only do his best to ease the old man’s pain.  He could distantly feel the tears on his own cheeks as the old man’s memories began flashing before his eyes—moments of youth, happiness and sorrow all passing in fleeting images.  There were only a few thin threads of life still in him, so Samuel withdrew to await the inevitable.

With his sight, Samuel half-expected to see the man’s final energies go soaring up to the heavens, but the final scraps of vitality around Mr Luke merely thinned and faded away.  A few final tattered threads of life seemed to stretch out towards the body of his wife, like desperate, extended fingers, before they, too, thinned and surely disappeared.

Samuel climbed to his feet and left the building, while the sons gathered close around their father.  ‘Where exactly are these woods?’ he asked the daughter on the front steps.

The path of the brigands was not difficult to follow.  The woods were quite some way, but the ground had been freshly trodden by the passing of several horses and it served to mark a trail all the way there.  Leaving the main path, Samuel followed the men along a narrow side track that led into the trees.  Jess negotiated the narrow course well, and even seemed to evade low-hanging branches for her master.

Jess did all the things that Samuel expected from her, but she regarded Samuel as something of a pet—a rather annoying one that required too much attention.  When Samuel sat atop her and urged her to ride, it was like a puppy scratching at the door to be let out.  At any other time, he would have been amused by the thought, but right now, Samuel had only murder on his mind.

He continued for some time, occasionally having to stop to find the trail, but was deep within the woods when talking sounded nearby.  He dropped silently from Jess’ soft, worn saddle.  She was nervous and eyed the path from where they had come, and so Samuel reassured her anxious mind, suggesting she stay still until he returned for her.

Samuel crept a short distance and peered through the bushes towards the men.  There were six of them, sitting around their makeshift camp, and Samuel thought at once that they looked somewhat strange.  Their clothes were simple wrap-around pieces of cloth and they had dark skin, deeper even than Lomar’s.  They had rings in their ears and noses and they seemed to be speaking in a guttural tongue that Samuel could not understand.

Listening to them laugh and carry on filled Samuel with anger.  He was already furious that they had butchered the kind old couple, but the sight of them delighting in the fact only served to fuel his anger.  He was full of rage and brimming with power as he stepped out into the clearing to face them.  The thieves were taken completely by surprise as Samuel came out of the bushes towards them and, when he began to cast his spells, it must have seemed as if hell itself had opened its doors.

Samuel flung sizzling spheres of fury onto the brigands—clusters of intense magic that were filled with his anger and burned with murderous heat.

The first brigand barely had time to stand as a jet of raging magic flew directly into his face and he fell onto his back, screaming and kicking at first, but quickly silent.

The second thief had a golden ring through his nose and a face of scars and he snarled as he leapt at Samuel with a curved knife.  Samuel barely noticed that mage-fire had begun dancing on his skin and the leaves around his feet had begun to smoulder.  The brigand neared at a snail’s pace, as if clambering through molasses and, all the while, Samuel’s focus was on the knife, stinking and dripping with the death of Mrs Luke.  Samuel lashed out with his fist using all his might and there was a flash of magic as he struck the man in the chest.  Bones and organs flew out through a sudden, gaping hole in the man’s back and his spine slumped down like a tail dangling behind him.  Blood and fluids boiled to vapour around Samuel’s extended fist and, as he drew his hand back to look at it wondrously, the brigand fell into a ruined heap.  Samuel could distantly feel that the muscles in his face were taught and stiff, as if stuck in a wide-eyed grimace that he could not control and he later remembered how wonderful the feeling had been, how tight his cheeks had felt—locked into an idiotic smile.

Samuel turned his attention to the remainder of the horrified men.  Two had found their swords and were charging at him, yelling in their guttural gibberish, as the other men fled into the trees.  Samuel was again filled with such a rage as he could not contain and he forced the energy to manifest around him.  A storm of magic burst from his palms like knots of lightning and threw the two swordsmen from their legs, setting them thrashing frantically on the ground.  They writhed and kicked even though they were already dead, their hair scorched, their skin smoking and crackling.

The fifth man was dashing for all he was worth as spells came flying after him.  He died as a knot of hissing power collided with a nearby tree, causing it to explode like a box full of fireworks.  His body flew through the air, riddled with countless splinters and pieces of wood, and wrapped itself around the trunk of another tree with unnatural suppleness.

The final brigand was now well away into the woods on spry legs.  Samuel could not see him for all the trees and bushes, but he could see the man’s very life, burning with desperate fear, darting away like a lantern in the night.

The fact that the brigand had dared to run so far, that he had even thought it possible to escape, filled Samuel with outrage.  There was a sound coming from his mouth like a howl, but he seemed to have no control over it.  He was anger incarnate, hate on two legs, and no one would escape his vengeance.

A white heat erupted from Samuel’s body, making him stagger back as it bridged from the ether into the physical world and flashed towards the brigand in a great scything arc.  Every tree and shrub and bush in that direction was suddenly hewn off at shoulder height, leaving the brigand’s body stumbling away as his head tumbled to the leafy, forest floor.

As leaves fluttered down, other trees groaned and cracked and a thunderous clatter began as great trunks and branches cracked and fell all around.  Some leaned to one side, creaking and threatening to fall from their severed stumps, whilst others boomed to the ground beside them.  As the leaves and bark and dust began to settle, it was evident that a great clearing had been made in the middle of the woods, as if by the stroke of some furious god.

The brigand’s body lay several paces past his head, pumping its vital life-blood onto the dirt in a growing scarlet pool.

Samuel’s chest heaved with burning effort, and stinging sweat poured into his eyes.  He surveyed the scene around him numbly, his wild eyes darting back and forth in search of others.  Only then did he realise he was laughing like a madman and he had to struggle to close his wide-opened mouth, pushing it physically shut with his magic-sheathed hand.

When he realised there was no one left to kill, his breathing began to slow from its frenetic pace.  The sweet feeling of magic and bloody revenge subsided and Samuel’s legs buckled beneath him.  He dropped to his knees and began sobbing as a sudden sorrow and horror filled him.  It was as if his magic had given him such wonderful ecstasy, but now a terrible emptiness was left behind in the space it had made.  He continued to wail and sob, hunched into a ball, clutching himself in his arms and writhing in the dirt for what seemed like hours.  Overcome by the emotions within him, he could do nothing but howl and cry until the feelings were finally vented.

After some time, dazed and somewhat confused, Samuel pulled himself up from the leafy floor and staggered towards his horse.  Void of feeling, he climbed onto Jess and turned for home, feeling utterly exhausted.  All he could do was lean forward in the saddle and hope that Jess knew what to do.  He did not know how he had summoned such power.  Such magic had been previously unknown to him—beyond even his imagination.  Such things had never been spoken of within the Order.  His spells had cast themselves at the beckoning of his thoughts and emotions, fuelled with a strength that had made them unholy weapons, driven by his anger and thirst for blood.  He felt not a pang of guilt or sorrow for the deaths of the dark-skinned brigands.  In fact, he was relieved they were now dead.  He could not bring himself to forget the sight of Mr and Mrs Luke dead in their own home.  The image of their lifeless bodies filled his mind the whole way home as his body cooled and stiffened upon the saddle.

The young magician sat on the rocky hilltop, watching the dry land below.  He had told Simpson and his wife what had occurred and they had both wept deeply.  The Lukes were old friends and it was an awful tragedy.  He did not tell anyone how violently he had avenged the Lukes’ murder, or how much he had enjoyed doing it.  Slaughtering the bandits had been a milestone for him.  It had forced him to a new level of power he had not even dreamt of, yet it also introduced him to a side of himself he did not know, a dark and horrible side that revelled in bloody destruction.  He should have shown some restraint in killing the men, but he had enjoyed it far too much.  He knew he should feel some guilt or some kind of revulsion at his actions, but he simply could not.

People would be horrified when they found the bodies.  Perhaps they would come to question him and he had no idea how he could possibly answer them.

Samuel looked to the clear blue sky and felt for moisture.

‘Rain,’ he commanded, whispering to himself.  High above in the cloudless sky Samuel could feel something was stirring.  A change had come.

A calling from below caught his attention and Samuel came scuttling down the dusty slope in response.  When he arrived at the house he found a horse tied outside with the Imperial colours of blue and gold adorning its saddlery.

‘Come inside, Samuel,’ Mrs Down beckoned to him.  ‘There’s a soldier here from Gilgarry—one of the Count’s men to see you.’

The uniformed man was waiting at the table.  A long, sheathed sword hung from his hip and dangled to the floor.  He was already sipping at a cup of Mrs Down’s tanabil tea, with his riding cap sitting neatly on his lap, and he seemed quite comfortable.

‘Oh, Samuel, is it?’ he asked.  He did not bother to stand or introduce himself or dabble with any niceties.  ‘I’m glad I’ve found you.’  And he took another hot sip before placing his cup back onto the table.  Samuel sat down calmly opposite him and waited for the man to continue.  ‘My men and I were sent up to pursue those thieves back into the wilderness,’ the soldier began,’ but it turns out we are no longer needed.  It’s been said that you are responsible for their deaths.’

‘That’s true,’ Samuel confirmed with a nod.

‘That’s really quite a remarkable feat,’ the soldier continued.  ‘Are you a swordsman of some description?  Ex-militia?’

‘No,’ Samuel stated simply.

‘Really?’ the man continued with astonishment.  ‘Then you have to be the luckiest man alive.  It’s astounding that you managed those men all by yourself.  I’d be very keen to hear the details.  They were a rough lot—savages come from across the mountains, by the look of them.  The animals had been at them by the time we came to their camp, of course, and made a nasty mess, but we’re sure they’re the same fellows who’ve been making mischief for a time.  We occasionally have to harry a highwayman or two, but this lot were really digging in.  They’d been clearing the woods and cutting timbers for some time, readying to build some form of fortification by the look of it, though I can’t imagine why.  Did you see or hear anything of use?’

‘Not at all,’ Samuel answered flatly.  ‘I found them and killed them.  I wasn’t interested in hearing what they had to say after what they’d done.’

‘Well, I can understand that,’ the soldier commented.  ‘Then, if there’s nothing to learn here, I may as well be off.  It seems you’ve become quite the hero around here,’ he said, standing and stepping towards the door, popping his hat back upon his head and wriggling it tightly into place.  ‘The Count will probably send his thanks.  Good day.  Good day, Madam,’ he added, tipping the edge of his hat to Mrs Down.  He then turned his attention out the door and scrutinised the dark sky.  ‘Well, it looks like it’s going to rain after all.  I’d better hurry.’

He mounted his horse and sent it cantering down the path as the first drops began to fall.

Mrs Down stepped outside and cried with joy as the cool drops splashed upon her face.  ‘Oh, Samuel!’ she called out.  ‘Can you believe it?  It’s raining!’  And she turned and spun like a maid at a dance, laughing with delight.  Tears rans down her cheeks and joined with the rain as it splashed her upturned face

It had not been hard, after all.  What could be read could also be written.  The hard part was in the learning how; yet experience, experiment and determination were always the keys to learning a new skill, or so Master Glim had always told him.  Some skills were difficult to master, yet others, such as this, proved relatively simple in the end, merely requiring just the right approach.  That was the trick.  Everything is easy once you know how.

The rain continued to grow heavier until it became a real downpour, falling in solid, roaring sheets.  Simpson came in with his walking stick, wet to his britches and with a childlike smile on his face.  He patted Samuel fondly on the shoulder and banged his pipe firmly on the table edge to knock out the water.  It was the first time in many a summer that the drought had broken and every family in the region would be celebrating.  The dams and streams would fill quickly if the rain persisted for a few more hours and the fields and pastures would burst with sudden new growth.  Such a windfall would pass to even the most humble family in the district.

It was still raining the next morning, but reduced to a soft patter.  Samuel went and sat atop the hill, grateful for the cooling rain on his skin, and watched the distant lightning approaching from afar.  Low rumbles of thunder grumbled and echoed periodically amongst the hills.  He could feel another day’s light rain following behind this one and the sense of each impending lightning bolt sent shivers down his spine.  Immense energy gathered amongst the clouds high above, until it reached an intensity that the sky could no longer contain.  A silver bolt would then condense and flash from the sky to the earth—incredible power released in the briefest instant—and the process would begin all over again.  The volumes of energy at work were inconceivable.  Human flesh and bone would turn to cinders trying to contain it.  Its mere presence, even so far away, was invigorating to Samuel, making his skin tight with goosebumps.

Samuel stood and began moving through his summoning stances as the sky flashed all around him.

Samuel and Leila lay side by side on the bank of the Tricklebrook, taking advantage of the fine weather.  The sun was warm, the sky clear and the grass long and fresh from all the recent rains.  Samuel pushed the last piece of bread into his mouth and chewed as he felt Leila’s warm head resting upon his chest.

‘Father will discover us, eventually,’ Leila said unexpectedly.

Samuel thought a moment before making his response.  ‘Then perhaps it is time we told him.’

‘I don’t know if I can do that.’

Samuel stroked her long, dark hair.  ‘Then we will do what we can when the moment arrives.  What if I asked for our marriage?’

‘He would send me away, I know it,’ she said, looking up at him.  ‘He will make me marry one of those horrible old men in Gilgarry.’

‘Then we will have to marry in secret.’

Her face and eyes and soul were so beautiful.  Samuel wished his entire existence could be spent like that, in her arms.  Not for the first time, he contemplated staying with her and forgetting the troubles of the Order.  The rest of the world seemed truly far away now and the threat of war and the troubles of the Empire could not touch his paradise in this tiny corner of the land—he had not even had a thought of Master Ash for months on end.  For the first time in his life, he felt truly wonderfully comfortable.  There, with her in his arms, it truly felt like coming home at last.

It was some months later when Samuel discovered a stranger’s horse tied outside the Down house and he recognised it immediately as belonging to the soldier who had called previously.  The man was waiting inside, sitting patiently while Mrs Down sewed.

‘Ah, Samuel!’ the man called, standing.  ‘I was beginning to think I might wait all day.’

‘You could have left a message with Mrs Down here,’ Samuel mentioned darkly, but the man seemed oblivious to his tone.

‘I was asked to speak with you personally.  Count Rudderford requests your presence.  He has arranged a banquet in your honour for tomorrow evening.’

‘I’m honoured,’ Samuel said, ‘but I am very busy here.’

‘It would be an insult not to attend,’ the man returned,’ and I’m sure you will enjoy the banquet.  It’s often said that the Count puts on fine entertainment—as good as you can expect in these parts anyway.’

‘Go on, Samuel,’ Mrs Down urged him.  ‘It can’t hurt to go see the Count and it’s always wise to keep the nobility on good terms.’

‘Perhaps,’ Samuel said before turning back to the soldier.  ‘Very well.  I have some long-overdue business in Gilgarry that I can see to at the same time.  Tell him I’ll be there.’

‘Very good,’ the soldier said with a smile.  He stood and placed one hand to the door.  ‘I’m sure the Count will be pleased,’ he explained, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

‘Bugger the Count,’ Samuel muttered after him and went to see what Mrs Down had simmering in her pots.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lost but Not Forgotten

SAMUEL RODE JESS through the misty valleys and along the narrow, hillside paths, heading ever downwards from the highlands around Lenham.  After nearly half the day had passed, he came upon the hillside town of Gilgarry.  He rode the full length of the main street, judging the town to be quite prosperous and, with several houses and a new marketplace being constructed, it seemed to be growing still.  A few polite words to a passing woman gained him the directions he needed and he was off again to find the Count’s estate.

Count Rudderford’s estate was only ten minutes from the centre of Gilgarry, built against the steep hillside.  Samuel announced himself to the few untidy soldiers that lingered at the entrance and they bade him enter.  They were a rough-looking bunch, obviously well under-trained compared to the Royal Guards of Cintar, and they casually pointed to the main manor house when Samuel announced his intentions and then went back to their milling around.

The Count came out in the finest of garments as Samuel dropped from Jess and handed her reins to a freckle-faced maid who had appeared at his leg.  She seemed to know animals well enough and so Samuel let her lead Jess away to be watered and tended to.

‘Mr Samuel, so I assume,’ the Count greeted enthusiastically.  He took Samuel’s hand and shook it vigorously.

‘Samuel, please,’ Samuel returned, as politely as he could.

‘Ah, wonderful!’ the Count exclaimed.  ‘You must come in.  I’m so glad you could make it.  Hillard will take care of you while I finish arranging the banquet.  Hillard!’ he called out through the doors behind him.  ‘Hillard!’  A middle-aged man trotted out, short of breath, to stand beside the Count.  ‘Ask Hillard for anything you need until tonight’s banquet is ready.  Perhaps he could show you around the grounds or organise some quick hunting in the valley for you.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Samuel said.  ‘I think I’ll just rest.’

‘Very well,’ Rudderford responded.  ‘Then I will see you for dinner.  Please make yourself comfortable.’

With that, the Count disappeared back into his manor.

‘You sound like you’re from the capital,’ Hillard stated as he led Samuel in after the Count.

‘That’s right, but I was born in Marlen,’ Samuel responded.

‘Oh, really?  I have a great aunt in Hayston.  Lovely place.’

‘I haven’t been there,’ Samuel stated casually.  At least this Hillard seemed more genuine in tone than his employer.

‘What brings you so far from home?  Do you have family in Gilgarry?’

‘Not really…but there is one man I was supposed to meet some time ago—a friend of a friend, really.  He’s name is Cervantes.’

‘Cervantes?  Then you’re in luck.  He visits regularly.  I would even expect him to appear at dinner tonight.’

‘That’s fortunate,’ Samuel said.  ‘I shall finally get to meet him.’

Hillard led Samuel through the overly decorated rooms and halls to a small, yet comfortable, guestroom near the back of the building.  Samuel immediately pulled off his boots and lay back on the bed, feeling the tension ease out of his muscles.

‘If you need me, please ring the bell,’ Hillard instructed, gesturing to a small hand bell resting on the bedside drawer.  ‘The Count has one in every room—so I may never have a moment’s rest,’ he added with a smile and he pulled the door shut behind him with a soft click.

The room had great blue, velvet curtains and a lavish, timber desk with drawers.  A large, oval mirror stood angled in its stand, reflecting one portion of the room.  Samuel pointed a spell and the mirror tilted straight.  Content with that, he closed his eyes and prepared for a short nap.

He was called to the banquet room as the light through the window was waning.  He had only awoken shortly before and had been poking through the drawers in the room out of boredom—they were filled with scarves and lace blouses and not much of interest.  Hillard took him to the banquet room, where the table was already occupied by a number of men and their wives.  They appeared to be a mix of local nobles, friends and relatives of the Count and they were all heavily engaged in drinking.  The room was a picture of opulence—lined and decorated with all manner of expensive works of art.  Carvings and paintings adorned the walls while bright cloth banners streamed and intertwined beneath the great ceiling.

‘At last!  Join us!’ Rudderford called, somewhat drunkenly and Samuel took a seat next to another jolly and ruddy-faced man.

Samuel accepted a mug of wine and, sipping tentatively, found it spicy but not too unpleasant.  He was introduced to all at the table and they each took it in turn to ask him question after question, which he tried to answer as tactfully as he could.  They asked all sorts of nonsense about his political beliefs and his choice of tailors and which merchants he preferred, none of which he had any idea about, until he mentioned his milk and they all proclaimed how Lenham milk was the finest in all Tindal and how they had such trouble getting enough of it.  Then, there was perhaps an hour of gossiping and rumouring and weightless tales, all of which Samuel tried to take as little part in as possible however they goaded him.  Finally, the food was carried out by a plethora of nimble-footed servants.

‘It is my pleasure,’ Rudderford slurred, using his wife’s shoulder to help him up, ‘to announce our guest of honour.’

Samuel stood and waved his hand modestly to the cheers from the drunken table as they clanged their mugs together and swallowed their wine.  As he stood, he suddenly realised he had drunk more wine than he realised, for his legs were somewhat unsteady beneath him.  He had failed to notice the servants topping up his cup after every time he had taken a sip.

‘Who is he again?’ an older, overweight man called from the end of the table.  ‘What does he do?’

‘I am Samuel, Sir,’ Samuel explained, his lips feeling a little thick.

The man looked to his neighbours, still obviously confused, until Count Rudderford clarified the situation.  ‘He disposed of those dreadful brigands in the hills.’

‘Good show then!’ the older man called out.  ‘Damned brigands!  That will teach them!’

Just then, a musician strode out before the table and began plucking some kind of exotic stringed instrument that he placed on his lap, accompanying it with a song.  He had a pleasant voice and so Samuel turned to watch him.  The man was singing the ballad of a local hero and Samuel found the tune quite pleasant.  As the musician played on, the main doors at the end of the dining hall opened and another man, whom Samuel knew all too well, walked in.  Samuel’s face felt frozen with shock and he wished he could think of some way to hide, but he was bolted to the spot and could only stare in disbelief.

‘Ah, here is Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called and the music stopped as all heads turned to watch the newcomer stride in and take a vacant seat at the far end of the table.

Samuel’s dreadful surprise was well founded, for he most definitely knew the man.  It was Master Ash.  He looked somewhat weather-beaten and dishevelled, with his hair grown into a tangled scruff and with a chin full of grey-tainted stubble, but it was most certainly the same man.

He began methodically filling his plate with slices of meat and, when he noticed Samuel, he slowed for the briefest instant, a smile creeping onto his face.

‘I see the hero of the hour has arrived,’ Master Ash spoke out.

‘What’s that?’ Rudderford called out.  ‘Do you know each other?’

‘Oh, not at all,’ Master Ash declared, ‘but this young champion sticks out like a sore thumb, compared to you lot of useless inebriates.’

‘Wonderful, Cervantes!’ Rudderford roared drunkenly, gnawing on a ham bone.

‘So you managed to kill a mob of brigands I hear,’ Ash called out to Samuel.  ‘What a fine job.  How many was it?  Ten?  Twenty?’

‘Just six,’ Samuel replied.  ‘But your face seems familiar.  Have we ever met before?’

‘I doubt it,’ Ash said sourly.  ‘I would have remembered.’

Samuel almost believed that Ash truly did not recognise him, for the man’s attention was focussed squarely on his meal as he cut at it and shovelled it into his mouth with vigour.  He may not have remembered Samuel, but for Samuel there was no mistaking that distinctive aura—somehow strange and misplaced.  Even without such unique energy, Samuel could never fail to recognise the man, for his visage was burned into Samuel’s memory like the face of his own mother screaming on the night she was killed.  Samuel just could not believe that he had met Ash here, on the farthest edge of the Empire.  Furthermore, he could not believe that Soddan had failed to mention that Ash was, in fact, Mr Cervantes.  It seemed too far-fetched to be any kind of coincidence.

‘And how goes your work today, Mr Cervantes?’ Rudderford asked, leaning over and grabbing at some roast potatoes with his hands.

Ash grew a thin-lipped smile as he looked to the Count.  ‘A minor obstruction,’ he replied.  ‘Nothing we could not overcome.’

‘So, the men are at work once more?’

‘Yes,’ Ash said.  ‘I can be most persuasive when I want to.  I think it must be my strikingly handsome features.’  At this, the gathering guffawed heartily.

‘What exactly is your business, Mr Cervantes?’ Samuel asked, calling over the lingering snorts and chuckles.

‘I am a collector of fine goods and treasures—a merchant of sorts, if you will,’ Ash replied smugly.

‘Mr Cervantes has been digging holes all over the countryside for the last year or two and it seems he’s finally found what he’s been looking for, so it is a dual cause for celebration,’ Rudderford said.

‘Oh?’ Samuel remarked with interest.  ‘What was it that he found?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rudderford said, waving his hand dismissively.  ‘I couldn’t really care less.  I’m only here to maintain order for the Emperor and keep all these savages from killing each other.’

‘It is a precious artefact,’ Ash said with confidence.  ‘It shall bring me a small fortune in the bazaars of Cintar.’

‘I would be greatly interested to see such a treasure.’ Samuel stated.  ‘I’m interested in such things myself.’  Whatever Ash was doing here, it was surely rotten.

‘Sorry,’ Ash said dispassionately and bit into the flesh at the end of his fork.  ‘I’m far too busy to conduct tours for every vagrant that comes wandering along.  Perhaps another time.’

At that moment, more music began and a troupe of musicians came striding into the room, playing a merry tune as the zither player retired.  A lady and a fellow in fine green hosiery skipped after them and danced around the chamber.  Rudderford and his guests seemed very pleased.  Ash did not.  He now kept his eyes set squarely on Samuel as he chewed through his meal.

Halfway through the entertainment, Ash stood quietly and came over, putting his long hand firmly on Samuel’s shoulder.  ‘I’ve met you before, haven’t I?’ he whispered into Samuel’s ear, before leaning even closer so that their skin was almost touching.  ‘I am on a mission for the Order, so keep your mouth shut and forget you saw me.  This is secret business.’

‘The Order?’ Samuel said.  ‘Perhaps I could help you then?’

‘No.  My work is nearly complete and I don’t want any young fools taking the credit for my efforts.’

‘Very well then,’ Samuel conceded.  ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

Ash patted Samuel firmly on the shoulder as he departed.  He gave an unconvincing smile and returned to his place for the rest of the performance, watching the dancers prancing around and waving a leg of chicken in time.

The guests were all falling further and further into their cups and so Samuel announced he would be retiring while he had the chance.  Rudderford objected, but finally, after Samuel had insisted several times, the Count summoned Hillard to lead Samuel back to his room.  Ash ignored him as he left, seemingly captivated by the performers as they all cavorted around the table.

Samuel awoke early and had a simple breakfast, supplied by a chatty servingwoman, alone in his room.  He went outside, bracing himself against the bitter wind, and roused the stablehand—a boy this time—who soon had Jess readied.  He was still shocked to have come across Ash here in Gilgarry.  He only wished he had killed the man on sight, but he had been too surprised and full of wine to even think about it.  And he could not even guess why Soddan would have sent the magician here.  Soddan had told Samuel to meet with Cervantes for assistance, but surely he had known of Samuel’s hate for the man.  Was this some kind of reward for Samuel or some kind of trap?  He was utterly confused.

‘Do you know of Mr Cervantes and his work?’ Samuel asked of the stable boy.

‘Aye, Sir,’ he nodded.  ‘He’s got men out by his campsite near the vale.  My pa’s doing some work for him, digging holes and the like.’

‘Which way would it be then?’

‘That way, sire,’ the boy pointed.  ‘Down the way to Willow Vale.  You canno’ miss it.  It’s near the ruins of the old keep.  The field is full of great big ’oles and there’s tents and shovels and whatnots.’

‘Thank you,’ Samuel said and began down the dusty track, following the directions the boy had given him, curious to see what Ash was up to.

After a short ride, the campsite became visible in a field to the side of the road, overlooked by some decaying ruins on the hillside.  Samuel rode down the crumbling and broken path toward the site and dismounted.  Men were rousing themselves slowly from tents and warming their frozen hands over the stirred embers of last night’s fires.  Others were arriving by horse and foot and it was evident that work would be beginning again soon.  The field was, indeed, pockmarked with diggings of various dimensions.  Wisps of frost inhabited them and clung to the hollows.  All but one such hole seemed to have been abandoned, for it still had buckets and shovels and ropes and all manner of tools lying around its circumference.

Samuel wandered over to the raised edge of what was some form of digging, and discovered it to be a well-constructed shaft of about twenty strides across.  The sides had been reinforced with boards to keep them from falling in.  Peering down, Samuel could see a large object protruding from the earth at the bottom.  It was still half-buried, seemingly partly encased in stone.  From what he could see, the thing was circular, like a great coin of some kind, and had some lines marking its face, but they were too difficult to see clearly from this angle and the thing was covered with scraps of mud.  Samuel enhanced his sight, but the artefact seemed to have no magical properties at all.

Samuel looked towards the camp and noticed a few men gesturing and looking towards him, so he started casually back towards Jess.  He remounted the eager animal and set her away at a trot before he could be questioned.

So, it seemed that Ash was intent on retrieving this buried object.  Whatever it was, it was obviously of considerable value for Ash and the Circle to have been searching for it for so intently and for so long.  There was something about it that sparked a faint memory, and Samuel’s magician’s instincts took control of him.  He was sure there was something about the object in his notes and the thought of discovering some ancient relic had him so excited as to temporarily set aside his revenge of Ash.  The thing was still trapped firmly in stone and would not be going anywhere for a while at least.  Samuel guessed he would have time to do some research before returning to finally kill the man who had slain his family.  The thought had him spurring Jess on with excitement.

Samuel was home by midday.  He could hear Mrs Down pottering around inside as he removed Jess’ saddle and laid it across one of the round wooden beams beside the house.  Jess whinnied and Samuel stroked the soft sheen on her neck and whispered to her reassuringly as she slurped from the water trough eagerly.  The sun had warmed enough to dispel the morning chill and the crickets were chirping in unison all around.  High on the hill, animals were milling around in small groups, as they liked to do.  A faint, cracking noise echoed up from one of the far and misty valleys, where someone was felling great giants of trees to make way for more pasture.

The door creaked as Samuel stepped inside and Mrs Down looked up from her new spinning wheel.  Her hands busily stretched out the wool on her lap as it was pulled into a long strand and wound around the large bobbin.  Her foot was in an ever-pumping motion, sending the smooth wheel around and around for hours on end.

‘Samuel!’ she exclaimed.  ‘How was it with the Count?’

‘Fine,’ Samuel returned with a smile.  ‘I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I see to something.’  He went immediately to his old satchel that hung in the corner.  He drew out his wallet of notes and scrawlings and began to quickly search through the pages.  There was something familiar about that artefact, and Samuel was sure he had seen it before, perhaps in some tome within the Great Library.  He hoped he had possessed the sense to make a note of it at the time.  ‘Is Simpson up on the hill?’

‘Of course he is,’ she answered, pulling off the swollen bobbin and replacing it with another.

It was there, the object, scribbled on the tattered corner of a page—a rounded tablet bearing a six-pointed star, fatter in the middle and thinner at the edge.  Samuel could not be sure, but it looked to be the same thing that Ash had found.  He quickly read his notations that circled the drawing.  He had found a few passages on it long before in the book of Garrum.  The Argum Stone, it was called in the Old Tongue.  From the little that Samuel had recorded, it seemed to be some relic from the Age of the Ancients.  He had jotted a note confirming that the relic was a seal-stone—only a locking piece for another item that it could provide or reveal.  Without having a way to unlock the Argum Stone, the true power within it was dormant and useless.

‘What makes you look so grim, Samuel?’  Mrs Down asked.

‘I have to return to Gilgarry tomorrow,’ he replied.

‘You enjoyed it that much, then?’

‘On the contrary.  It’s a dreadful place, but there is something I must attend to.’

‘Very well, then.  Why don’t you go see your young lady friend?  That should cheer you up.’

‘I hope so,’ Samuel agreed.

He left shortly.  Normally, he would have been grinning from ear to ear at the thought of seeing Leila, but today, a feeling of dread was hanging over him like an ill omen.

Fortunately, Leila’s father was not at home and so, with a giggle from Leila, they went outside for a walk together, darting between the homes and following the narrow, muddy paths between each wall.

‘How was your visit with the Count, Samuel?’ she asked as they strolled down toward the river.

‘He and his court are just a bunch of old drunkards,’ Samuel declared.

‘Of course,’ she affirmed, shaking her head at his ignorance.  ‘All the nobles are.  What else do they have to do, but count their money and drink themselves silly?  Why do you think I don't want to marry any of them?’

Samuel smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

They went down to the river and lay on the grass under the warm sun.  They began kissing, and, one thing leading to another, it was not long until they were naked in each other’s arms with the sun on their bare flesh.

It was barely an hour later, as they were still entwined in each other and Samuel was half asleep, when the sound of hoof-beats approaching from up near the road roused them both.  The two of them began pulling their clothes on in a frenzy, with Leila giggling almost hysterically as Samuel became tangled in his own trousers, nearly sending himself rolling into the river.  Two men began leading their animals down towards them and Samuel and Leila tried to look innocent, each sharing a smirk.

They stood and greeted the strangers.

‘Good day to you, gentlemen,’ Samuel greeted.  ‘What brings you to this beautiful spot?’

‘Actually, we came looking for you,’ one man said, ‘if you be Samuel.  The village folk said you might be found this way.’

He was a middle-aged and burly man, with a crooked nose and long white scar running from his eye down to his neck.  His companion was younger and much scrawnier by comparison, with an Adam’s apple poking out from the front of his neck like a child’s fist.

‘Yes, I am,’ Samuel said, holding Leila’s hand.  It irked him somewhat that their whereabouts seemed to be widely known.

‘I understand you may be able to help me with an awful ache in my joints.  It’s been said that you have quite a way with such things.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Samuel said, hoping to see the pair off as quickly as possible.

He let go of Leila, who sat back down to watch the river crawl by while Samuel did his work.  The scarred man stepped closer for Samuel’s inspection, while his scrawny companion took hold of their horses.

‘If you could take a look at my knee,’ he said, wincing and bending to roll up his trouser leg.  ‘The rotten thing’s been awful sore for some time.’

Samuel nodded and bent over to look closer.  Strangely, the joint seemed perfectly fine.  His aura was clear and untarnished, and Samuel was just thinking ‘that’s strange’ to himself when a movement caught his eye.  A dagger came up towards his belly and Samuel flung himself away, just barely escaping.  A scream sounded from Leila and Samuel twirled around, off balance, to see if she was harmed.  She had her palms by her half-open mouth.  Her face was pale with fright, for she had turned just in time to see the attack.

‘Damnation!’ the man swore, holding the long knife in one hand.  His scarred face was screwed up with anger and he flicked his trouser leg back down around his ankle before coming after Samuel.  He took another swing with the gleaming blade and Samuel contorted away once more, ducking and twisting to keep out of reach.  The man was a skilled killer, judging by his actions, but Samuel was quick as a rabbit if need be.  Years of moving in the strange ways of the summoning stances had forged in him excellent balance and coordination.

The other scrawny man still held the horses and grinned with missing teeth.  ‘Aha, Bardick!’ he called out.  ‘He’s spryer than you, for sure!  Catch him, quick!’’

Samuel had barely a spare instant to think as the scar-faced man continued with a flurry of jabbing and waving attacks, grunting with each effort.

‘Samuel!’ Leila yelled, clutching her hands to her chest.

‘Stay back!’ Samuel spat out.  Thankfully, it seemed they were only interested in killing him and were not interested in her.  Rolling aside, Samuel had enough time to gather himself.  In the space of a heartbeat, instinct took over and he shot out a spell that held the man fast—as rigid as a statue.

The scrawny man gawked in disbelief as Samuel calmly dusted himself off before taking the dagger from the man called Bardick’s rigid hand.

‘What’re ya doin’, ya fool?’ the scrawny man yelled out, before Samuel spelled him as rigid as his companion.

It took only a moment to enter both their minds and begin sifting through their memories as easily as flipping through the pages of a book.  Shortly, Samuel withdrew from both of them to find Leila sobbing at his side and calling his name.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told her calmly.  ‘They can’t hurt us now.’

Leila gave a shriek as the scrawny man began moving, turned, and walked away, leading his horses back up the slope and towards the roadway.

‘Samuel,’ Leila cried at his side, clutching Samuel's arm.  ‘Where is he going?’

‘Back to Gilgarry.  These men are assassins, sent to kill me.  I have put a spell on that man and now he will try to kill his master instead—a magician called Ash.  I doubt he’ll succeed, but it will be a fitting end for whichever of them fails.’

‘What about this man?’ she asked, looking at the one called Bardick with alarm.

Samuel took Leila squarely by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.  ‘Listen to me.  Go home,’ her told her darkly and pulled her hands away as she tried to cling to him.  ‘Please.  Your father will be home soon.  I will send word later.  I need to be alone with this man for a time.  I’m going to give him something he deserves and I would rather you did not see.’

She stepped back and nodded, sensing the venom in his dark mood, and gathered up her shoes.  She hurried from the riverbank and up towards the road without turning back.

‘You have no choice, but to answer me,’ Samuel said to Bardick, pointing a finger to the man’s nose.  ‘I want you to listen carefully to every word I say.  Do you understand?’

Bardick nodded as well as he could—as much as Samuel’s spell would allow him.  When inside another being’s mind, time can pass strangely, and a host of memories can be observed in only a moment.  This man had committed foul deeds aplenty in his life, as Samuel had learned.  Such vile acts filled his past that Samuel wondered how the man could live with himself, but Bardick had enjoyed every moment.  There had been an image of Ash, talking to Bardick and to the other scrawny cut-throat—Olliander.

‘Some magician has turned up from the Order,’ Ash had said.  ‘I want you two to go and find him and get rid of him.  I don’t want any trouble.  He looks harmless enough—just a young upstart, but you had better take care of him quickly, just to be sure.  Stick his body in a ditch somewhere or do with it as you will—I don’t care about the details.’

At that, Olliander had turned to Bardick with a perverse smile, and Bardick’s mind had filled with gleeful expectation.

There had been all kinds of other thoughts and memories flashing around in Bardick’s twisted mind, but somehow Samuel’s attention had been drawn to one particular scene of grisly murder.  It had become apparent that Bardick and Samuel had already met, many years before.

Bardick had changed over the years—older, uglier, meaner—but time had not been able to fix his crooked nose or erase the long, white scar from his face that had flashed in the moonlight on that night long ago.

Dark memories of his mother’s screams and his father’s blank, staring eyes came back to Samuel like a creeping ghoul.  He could feel the bitter taste of hatred rising in his belly.

‘When I was a boy,’ Samuel said, choking back tears, ‘you helped kill my family.  Do you remember that?’

Bardick's eyes showed no recognition.

‘You came into my house and you killed my family.  You tried to kill me, but I jumped into the river and escaped.  I was just a boy at the time, but I’m sure you remember—I saw it in your head.  Do you remember who I am?’

Slowly, realisation appeared on the man’s face and Bardick managed to nod just a fraction.

‘You were the boy,’ Bardick gasped, compelled by Samuel’s spells to answer.  ‘—the boy that escaped that night.’

‘I was.  What has happened to the rest of you—the others that killed my family?’

The man’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.  He was fighting Samuel’s spell, trying not to answer

‘Answer!’ Samuel demanded.

‘Some are dead,’ Bardick said, shaking his head slowly.  ‘The others…I don’t know,’ he trailed off.  Tears began to run from his eyes.

‘How many others have you killed?’ Samuel yelled, feeling the wetness of tears flowing down his cheeks.  ‘How many others have you murdered!’

‘Many,’ the man gasped, with drivel dripping from his lips.

Bardick’s mind was breaking under the force of the spell.  He was resisting the compulsion to answer and it was destroying his mind.  ‘What do you know of Ash’s plans?’ Samuel then asked, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand, trying to keep himself composed.

Bardick shook his head in confusion.  Perhaps he did not know a man called Ash.

‘What of Mr Cervantes?’ Samuel asked, but Bardick could not answer.

The cut-throat gave a rattling gasp and slumped to the ground, stone dead.

Samuel shook his head.  He had done his best to set a suitable spell of control, but the human mind was just too complicated and fragile.  He kicked Bardick’s body over with his boot, over and over until it rolled into the river with a splash and began floating away with the slow waters.  Samuel picked the man's cursed dagger from the grass and threw it in after him.  He did not know if the other scrawny fellow, Olliander, would also suffer such a fate, but neither did he care.  The man would either kill Ash or die himself and Samuel could quite happily live with either of those outcomes.

Leila! Samuel suddenly thought, turning to look up the grassy slope and shielding his eyes from the bright sun.  At once, he clambered up to the dusty road and broke into a run.  He raced as fast as his legs would carry him until he reached the Sallow house and burst in through the front door.

There was a shrill scream as he bumped straight into Leila.

‘Shh,’ she said, putting a finger to her lips.  ‘Father's out in the yard.  What happened to that man?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘I was so worried,’ she whimpered, throwing her arms around him.  ‘I thought they would kill you.’

‘A man in Gilgarry sent them to kill me.  He will keep trying until he succeeds.’

‘What will you do?’ she whispered into his ear and Samuel could feel her heart tapping against his chest.

‘I must kill him first.  I will go at once.  I don’t think his men will be so easy to overcome the next time.  They will be better prepared once they realise I am not as harmless as they assumed.’

He drew himself from her embrace and took a step away.  ‘Take care, Leila,’ he told her.  ‘I would never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you.  I will return soon.’

She had tears in her eyes and stepped after him, but Samuel backed away.

‘I must go,’ he said, and stepped out the door.  He had wanted to hug her again, but if he had his way, he would never have left her embrace.  At a time like this, other issues demanded his attention.  It was time to kill.

He walked down the street to where he had left Jess and did not look back.  Some village people greeted him as he passed, but Samuel could only nod to them in return.  As he rode out of Lenham, Samuel realised that the entire village must know about his relationship with Leila by now.  It was painfully obvious to anyone but a fool, with all his comings and goings from her house and their frequent meetings.  It would not be long until her father found out and then there would be another problem to deal with—but that was another matter for another time.  First, he would deal with Ash.

It was well after dark when Samuel crept near the camp.  Small fires were burning around the tents where men drank and ate their dinners or crept off to relieve themselves in the chilly paddock.  Samuel carefully probed the encampment with his senses, but he could feel no trace of magicians or Ash’s curious aura.  With little else to go on, he turned his attention to the artefact in the pit.  The moon was only a slim crescent overhead, and so Samuel walked casually to the digging’s edge, hoping no one would pay him any mind in the darkness.  Looking down, he could see the shape of the tablet below, reflecting in the moonlight.  The great round shape was completely revealed now, lying flat on the pit floor, chiselled free of its stone prison.  No one had yet noticed him, so he took hold of the nearest ladder and descended into the pit rung by rung, until the last step had his boots crunching onto the gritty soil and stones at the pit’s bottom.  Down here, the pit seemed much deeper than it appeared and all sound from above had ceased.  The temperature had dropped considerably and Samuel felt a shiver dance up his spine.

He squatted over the object and carefully ran his hands over its cool surface.  It seemed to be made from some perfect, grey stone—almost metallic in texture— cold and hard to the touch.  Even this close, the object still revealed no trace of power and Samuel wondered if the thing was really the artefact from his notes, or just some old decorative sculpture of fanciful design.  His fingers traced the edge of the six-pointed star.  There was no hint of magic to the thing, but to Samuel’s instincts it still seemed somehow…powerful.

Carefully, Samuel formed a Lifting spell, and cast it around the great object, for he intended to raise the artefact and turn it over for further scrutiny.  Strangely, his spell slipped right off, leaving the object sitting firmly in place.  He tried again, intensifying his efforts, but again his weaves would not hold.  Intrigued, Samuel leaned closer to examine the thing.  He dared not try a more powerful spell, for he did not want to raise the attention of Ash or his men.  If he was caught down in this pit unprepared, he would not stand much of chance.

Tapping its surface with his fingers, Samuel could only feel awe at such an artefact, for it somehow could resist his magic altogether.  He was beginning to believe it really was the Argum Stone, for he had never before heard of anything that could defy magic in such a way.  It was little wonder Ash was after it.  If someone could learn the secrets of its magic-defying properties, it could have great consequence upon the world.  For now, however, there was nothing Samuel could do.  Only ropes and hard work would be able to raise the thing.  Being able to do little by himself, Samuel decided it was time to return his attention to killing Ash.

Samuel climbed out from the pit and went back to where Jess was waiting.  It seemed Ash was not here, so he would have to search elsewhere for the man.  After Ash was good and dead, Samuel would be able to study the mysterious object at his leisure.  He mounted Jess and made for the Count’s estate through the chill evening mist.

Entering the banquet hall, Samuel found the room filled with most of the same men and women he had seen the evening before, all talking gregariously and quite obviously all as drunk as ever.  None of them paid him any attention as he made across the room to the Count.

‘Rudderford.  I need your help,’ Samuel told the drunken man.

‘What are you talking about?  Who are you?’ Rudderford slurred.  ‘Oh, it’s that Samuel fellow.  Come.  Join us.’

‘I just want to know where I can find Mr Cervantes,’ Samuel said, speaking slowly and clearly to the befuddled man.  ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘There’s still some wine and ale and liqueur I think and there’s plenty of meat left as well,’ Rudderford continued, throwing his hand out towards the table to demonstrate.

Samuel was getting frustrated.  He tried entering the old fool’s mind, but Rudderford’s thoughts were all turned to slurry from the wine and could not be brought into focus.  Forcing himself to calm for a moment, Samuel asked the man once more:

‘Where…is…Mr Cervantes?’ he asked carefully.

There was a loud noise as the great entry doors slammed shut behind him.  Samuel spun around to find Ash standing there with a score of armed men at his side.  ‘Am I too late for dinner?’ the tall magician asked of the room.

‘Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called out, standing and holding up his mug, spilling wine all over.  ‘At last you’ve come!  Come!  Eat!  Bring your men.  There’s plenty for all!’  Rudderford then fell back into his seat and continued chewing on a slab of beef.

‘Ah, my good friend, you’re here!’ Ash said as he strode forward, spying Samuel.  ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.  That was a pleasant surprise you sent me.  Then again, I do suppose that one good turn does deserve another, doesn’t it?  I suppose we must be even, then.’  Ash came over and took a seat at the table, leaning over and casually filling his plate while a servant filled his cup.

Ash’s men also began helping themselves to everything on the table, filling their plates noisily and going back to sit against the wall while they ate.  They had swords by their sides and some of them eyed Samuel carefully as they dug their teeth into their meals.

‘Come, now,’ Ash called out towards Samuel.  ‘Don’t just stand there pouting like a fish out of water.  Won’t you join us for dinner?’

Samuel gave the man a dark look.  ‘I will not,’ he replied firmly.

Ash stood up and came over to Samuel with his plate held in one hand.  He stood painfully close and looked down at Samuel as he picked at some of the morsels in his hand.

‘You’d think I’d be angry that you sent one of my own men back to kill me, wouldn’t you?’ Ash said softly.  ‘I’m assuming that Bardick is dead, too?  Actually, it doesn’t matter to me in the least.  What’s important is that I get my work here done.  I admit, perhaps I was a tad hasty in ordering your death, but my task here is nearly finished, and I didn’t want anything ruining it at the last moment.’  He pushed some flesh into his mouth and continued talking while he chewed down upon it.  Samuel remained silent and continued glaring at the tall man all the while.  ‘Very well, I regret that I tried to kill you.  I’m sorry.  Are you happy?  My mission here requires complete secrecy and is of the utmost importance.  I’m under instructions not to take any chances, for the good of the Empire and all that—I’m sure you understand.’  He stuck a few cherry tomatoes into his mouth and smiled as they popped inside his overstuffed cheeks, letting red juice and tiny seeds spill between his lips and down his chin, which he then mopped up with his sleeve.  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he managed to say.  ‘You go back to your little village and continue doing whatever you are doing there.  In a few days, I’ll be gone.  How about that?’

Samuel glowered at the man.  ‘Actually, Soddan sent me to find you,’ he stated factually.

Ash stopped chewing and raised his eyebrows.  ‘Ah,’ he said and made a slight chuckle.  ‘Then I guess I did overreact.  If you’d just said so at the start then none of this would have happened.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t quite forget so easily what you’ve done ,’ Samuel stated, squeezing his fists by his sides.

Ash seemed surprised by this and retaliated ferociously, holding his plate in one hand and shaking a finger of the other at Samuel’s nose.  ‘Then listen to me, you little upstart!’ he said, now hissing with anger, spittle and pieces of half-chewed food flying free.  ‘One word from me, and my men will cut you to pieces!  I’m offering you a truce from the goodness of my black heart and if you don’t want to accept, I guarantee that you will be the one who comes out worse for wear!’

Ash’s men began setting their meals aside on hearing his raised voice.  They put their hands to their weapons and stood, watching closely.  Samuel eyed them warily.  He began readying his magic, summoning it into himself with a long silent breath.  He felt he could take care of Ash here and now, but the armed men were another thing.  They were not lazy and dishevelled like Rudderford’s sorry lot.  Their boots were polished, their armour was firmly strapped, and their swords looked clean and sharp.  They were Empire-trained and could probably cut him down before he had dealt with even half of them.  He eyed them all, desperate for some solution to come to mind.  Finally, with a great exhalation, Samuel released his power once again.

‘Very well,’ Samuel finally decided, raising his hands before him.  ‘I will go.’  There was little else he could do.

He carefully began moving back towards the door, which a pair of Rudderford’s servants began opening for him.  Rudderford and his guests were all still drinking and talking merrily, as if they had not even noticed a thing.  As Samuel edged his way outside into the hall, Ash gave him a wry smile.

Full of bitter disappointment, Samuel sped back towards Lenham atop Jess.  He damned himself once more for not killing Ash and he damned himself for running like a fool.  He kept running over in his mind what would have happened if he had just killed Ash when he first had the chance, and what could have happened if he were not such a coward.

Samuel was bothered little by people needing cures or advice over the next few days and so he spent as much time with Leila as he could, enjoying every moment with her.  They had taken to sitting in an isolated glade much further up in the hills, even though the days were frosty and chilly, where they were less likely to be bothered by friends or strangers alike.  Here the river was only a narrow stream, which coursed quick and shallow along its pebbly bed.

Ash would, no doubt, be finished with his work in Gilgarry by now and have headed back to Cintar.  Samuel had abandoned any fantasies of riding back there to try and kill the man.  Every time he had tried to avenge his past, it had only brought him more trouble.  Now, he had a future to think of.  He had a chance to forget about all the woes of his past and begin anew, forging a new life here with Leila.

As they sat arm in arm, the thought came to him that he would like to marry her as soon as possible.  He would devise a plan to present to her father in order to gain his blessing.  Manfred was the type who would only accept such an offer if it ensured his daughter and himself a prosperous and wealthy future.  Samuel’s skills should not make that too difficult.

‘Do you love me, Samuel?’ Leila asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Samuel looked deep into her eyes and took in every detail of her beautiful, perfect face.  They sat like that, looking into each other, until Samuel had to pull her close and hug her fiercely.

‘Yes, of course.  I do love you, Leila,’ he whispered to her, his eyes now closed tight.  He could feel her soft body pressed against his and smell her hair in his face.  ‘I love you so much.  I could never be happier than I am at this moment with you.  I can’t believe I have you, that I have found you at last.’

Her arms pulled tighter and he ran his fingers over her head and through her long, dark hair.  He kissed her ear, gently, and she pulled away, again looking into his face with tears in her eyes.  Samuel was about to open his mouth to speak when she pressed a finger against his lips to keep him quiet.  Then, she leaned forwards and replaced her finger with her lips and they fell back, kissing in a tight embrace upon the soft grass.

‘Would you marry me if you could?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, of course—if I could,’ she replied, looking up at him.  Her full lips revealed a heavenly smile.  Her raven hair caught beams of the sun.

‘But your father will only let you marry someone rich…someone influential…someone with powerful friends—with a house and a considerable estate.  Isn’t that so?’

‘So he always says.’

‘What if I became that man?  I could get some money very easily and we could buy some land.  We could start a farm or any kind of business he pleases.  What do you think of that?’

Leila’s smile dropped away as she contemplated his suggestion.  ‘I’m sure it would impress my father if you were all those things, but he also wants his daughter to marry into an influential family and you cannot create one of those with your magic.  Can you?’

Samuel made a sly smile.  ‘Actually, it would take a little planning, but…’ then he laughed.  ‘Seriously, I’m sure your father would overlook that if I could provide everything else he wanted.  He’s been waiting long enough and he hasn’t found anyone suitable for you yet.  You’re almost eighteen now.  Soon, there’ll be only old men to marry.  I’m sure we can convince him to our way.  He must want you to be happy, after all.’

‘He’s been thinking of a few old merchants’ sons in Gilgarry and York.  I’m sure they’re ghastly.  I want to marry you.’

‘Next week—’ Samuel began, when something at the corner of his vision caught his eye.  It had seemed like a murky shadow, lurking at the edge of Leila’s aura, but it fled immediately as he tried to focus upon it, dissolving like cleansed oil.  Rubbing his eyes and blinking, he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination and returned to his previous thoughts.  ‘Next week, I shall go to Merriwell,’ he continued.  ‘I hear that there’s a silver mine there.  If I can find a few new deposits for them, I’m sure they’ll pay me handsomely, and then we’ll have easily enough money to buy some land of our own.’

‘You can do that?’ she asked, moving around behind him.  She circled her arms around his waist and leant her chin upon his warm shoulder.

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied.  ‘Easily.’

‘What’s it like being a magician?  Do you feel special?’

Samuel thought for a moment.  ‘Not really.  It’s just what I do; what I am.  It’s my skill—as a blacksmith or a baker has their skills, but I know I couldn’t be either of those.  Instead, my skills are with magic.  I can use it to do all sorts of things, but I accept it like anything else.  It’s even rather mundane now.  As I learn new things it is exciting, but once you’ve done anything enough times, it becomes matter-of-fact.  It’s all I’ve practised for so long, I don’t know what else I could do with myself.  I’d probably have to beg, or go back to being a stableboy.’

‘You were a stableboy!’ she laughed, but stopped herself abruptly.  ‘What can you do with magic, Samuel?’ she asked, trying to undo her lack of tact.  ‘Can you do anything you want?’

‘Who knows?’ Samuel responded.  ‘We now know only a tiny fragment of the magic that was once known, but new discoveries are always being made.  We have the power to heal; we can influence the rocks and the waters and the skies.  Some can move objects.  Perhaps in the future, we can make ourselves fly, or eradicate all disease and hardship, or even learn to live forever.’

‘But should you discover such things, Samuel?’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, drawing her around to face him.  The stream continued gurgling and washing by on its way.

‘Well, for all the power that the ancient peoples once had, for all the magic things they could do and for all the knowledge they once knew, what has happened to them?  Where are they now?  It cannot have served them too well.’

Samuel thought about this for the first time and realised that there was more than a speck of truth to her reasoning.

‘Do you know,’ Samuel began, musing half to himself, ‘someone once told me that I was going to kill the Emperor?  Can you imagine that?  Me?’

Leila laughed softly.  ‘That doesn’t sound like you, Samuel.  How could you kill anyone?’

‘I guess we never know quite what we are capable of until the situation arises.’

‘I have another idea!’ she announced, changing the topic altogether.  ‘If my father does not take your offer to marry me, we can simply run away together.  We’ll see how he likes that!’

‘Do you mean it?’ Samuel asked.  ‘I thought you wouldn’t dare upset your father?’

‘Of course!  He can’t run my life forever.  We’ve a wedding to plan and a family to begin!  He’ll forgive us eventually.  He’ll have to!’

‘There’s just one more thing.  When I first became a magician they told me I wouldn’t be able to have children—even that I wouldn’t be able to fall in love.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true, Samuel,’ she told him.  ‘You can see it’s not.’

‘Me, too.  I mean, I’m sure it is true for everyone else, but just not me.  For some reason, I can still feel everything just the same as I did before.  Being a magician hasn’t changed me the way it should have at all.’

‘Then that’s wonderful, Samuel.  Don’t question such fortune.  It’s a wonderful gift you have, and I have you—what more could either of us ask for?’

Samuel laughed and they hugged each other tightly once more.  It was perhaps the happiest moment he had felt in all his life.

Evening found Samuel sitting at the table, reading over his notes yet again as Mrs Down sewed and absent-mindedly hummed a soft tune.  Simpson was out on the hill, watching for dogs that had been prowling these recent nights.  Samuel had been unable to keep his mind away from the strange artefact Ash had unearthed—the Argum Stone—and he scoured through all his notes from top to bottom and back again, desperate for any further hint as to the object.

‘Spring of clarity,’ he read from his tiny jottings, damning himself for making such brief and cryptic comments.

He kept flipping back to the diagram he had copied.  He was sure it was the same object from Ash’s pit.  Why else would the man work so hard at unearthing it?  The Staff of Elders was the only known remaining artefact from the Age of the Ancients.  Another such relic, whatever its power, would gain its owner considerable fortune or power.  Whether Ash was working for Lord Jarrod or for the Circle or merely for himself, Samuel did not know, but any way it still smelt of a conspiracy.  Shaking his head, Samuel finally closed his journal and thanked his stars he would not be returning to Cintar to involve himself in such a mess.

A knock came at the door and Samuel looked up, suddenly aware of another magician standing just outside the house.  He should have felt the presence earlier, but he had been consumed in his notes and he damned himself for his mistake.  A magician at his door in this part of the world could only signal misfortune.

Mrs Down put her bundle carefully on the table and pushed back her chair.  ‘How strange for someone to call at such an hour.’

‘Don’t move,’ Samuel ordered and Mrs Down was stopped by the tone in his voice.  ‘Go into your room and don’t make a sound unless I call for you,’ he instructed as he stood and carefully approached the door.  Mrs Down hurried into her room and closed the door softy behind her without question.

There was definitely a magician standing just outside the door.  Whoever it was, he was scanning the room with magic.  Samuel could see the spell come floating across the room heedless of his presence.  He crept up to the door and opened it wide.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

The mage was dressed in all black in the manner of the Order, with a thin cloak that hung down to his knees wrapped tightly around him.  He appeared somewhat startled to have Samuel suddenly standing before him and had obviously been absorbed in his spell work.

‘I’m looking for the magician,’ he said humourlessly, quickly recovering his wits.  ‘Where is he?’

Samuel felt a spell form.  He recognised the spell from his own short experience with mind control, and quickly blocked it before it could take hold.  The magician’s face showed puzzlement, then realisation and, lightning fast, a blade came up from under his cloak.

It was now Samuel’s turn to be surprised and he fell onto his backside as he desperately evaded the attack.  The magician stepped into the house after him and Samuel spelled a barrier between them that ran from wall to wall.

The mage stopped short and put his hands up to feel the invisible barrier.  He was thoughtful for a moment; then he stepped back and began channelling power with his hands held forth in the way of the Fourth Matrix.  Magic burst forth and Samuel could feel the weaves of his barrier screaming as they were torn apart.  He clambered to his feet before too much damage could be done and hurled himself at the mage, dropping his spell at the last instant and crashing into the man.  Glinting steel skittered across the floor as they both tumbled outside and onto the ground.  Before either could act, they both sprang away from each other and onto their feet, each surrounding themselves with a flurry of shielding spells and protections.  Samuel could see at once that the magician’s defences were powerful and expertly constructed, making his own efforts seem outright amateurish in comparison.  The spells would protect him from almost all direct magical assault and Samuel took quick mental note as to their design.

Realising his own shields would not outlast his opponent’s, Samuel sought inside himself for the raging magic he had used to slay the dark-skinned brigands.  For some reason, it would not come, no matter how he beckoned or reached for it.  ‘What good is such magic if it only comes when it chooses?’  Samuel thought to himself darkly.

The other magician had not been entirely idle in these few moments and had summoned himself a sizeable reservoir of energy, ready to begin his attacks.

The stars shone clearly above in the moonless night sky and the light from within the house cast the men in a ghoulish yellow light, one half of their faces lit, the other swathed in perfect darkness.  As the magician took a cautious step, Samuel could feel his defences being tested and measured, and so he threw out a hissing sphere of magic at the man before his spells could be scrutinised too closely.

The magician prepared himself to absorb the blow by strengthening his shielding spells to his front, but was clearly surprised when Samuel’s attack struck with only a flash of light.  He only realised the ruse as Samuel’s arms snaked in from behind, pushing slowly through his spells and locking around his neck.  The magician was not so easily caught, however and snapped forward at the waist, tossing Samuel over his shoulder and onto the ground.  Samuel’s breath was knocked from him and the mage, quick as an eel, wriggled free and away.  The man seemed to be as experienced with combat as he was with magic, which was unusual for any mage.

Samuel was back on his feet in a moment, but had to quickly defend himself as a stream of knives came whistling towards him, flying out of the magician’s hands in a flurry.  Each one was sheathed in a spell and carried by magic.  Samuel formed the Harmony Stance and made the Second Matrix with his fingers and his shielding spells bloomed back into life.  The knives struck in a volley, one after another, and were deflected onto the earth with a spray of silver sparks.  Each one took a chunk out of Samuel’s defences, but none made it through.

Barely a moment after the last blade had been parried, Samuel twisted into Forward Stance and shot his arms out into the butterfly position.  His spell ignited with a flash, sending a blast of heat and wind roaring at the other mage, two spells intertwined as one.  The magician was engulfed in the sudden roaring bonfire that sprang up all around him.  Samuel’s head buzzed and felt light from the sudden flow of power, but he kept shoving magic into the spell as fast as he could, making it burn hotter and higher.

It was a powerful spell, to say the least, but still nothing like the magic he had summoned against the bandits.  The effort of summoning already had him dripping with sweat and shaking with exertion after only brief moments.  Still, this fire spell was of masterful proportion—much greater than he could ever have managed in the past and much greater than even he had expected.  His teachers would be impressed with his abilities if they knew—perhaps even horrified.  Soddan had been right in some ways at least.

Samuel let his spell burn a while longer before allowing it to cease and the roaring flames dissipated as if blown away by the wind.  He looked for the other magician, but could see nothing remaining in the darkness.  The bright light of the flames had scarred his vision, leaving him trying to blink away the coloured stars in his eyes and adjust to the darkness once more.  Even his magician’s sight could not help, as the scene was a twisted melee of spent magic.

He took the moment to catch his breath and rub his salty sweat from his eyes.  Slowly, a darker blot in the blackness became apparent.  The magician was squatting down on the ground with his charred cloak smoking behind him.  He was clutching at his face but, surprisingly, he was still alive.

Samuel carefully stepped closer.

‘You are powerful,’ the man rasped through his hand.  He had the accent of a northerner, sounding eerily similar to Eric Pot.  ‘I salute you.  I thought I was the best, but I see now it was a mistake to underestimate you.  I could not sense your power, so I was unprepared for such a wonderful spell.  Tell me, how did you manage to hide your presence so well?’

‘That’s a secret I’m not so willing to share,’ Samuel said.  He formed a spell to scry the magician’s mind, but the man was well guarded.  He needed some kind of distraction.  ‘Get him!  Now!’ Samuel commanded out loud, and a hundred armed men came charging in upon the mage from out of the grass.  The air was filled with a roaring and clamorous noise as they bore down upon him with their swords raised.

The mage was a little startled as he strengthened his defences and Samuel caught the few flashing memories that came tumbling out.

‘Damn you!’ the magician spluttered as he realised he had been fooled.  The charging men passed through him from all directions and vanished once more.

‘Your name is Tabbet,’ Samuel told the magician with some satisfaction, ‘and I see we do, indeed, have a mutual friend in Master Ash.’

‘So,’ Tabbet said, still cloaked in darkness.  A toothy smile appeared there.  ‘I see you are curious to know what I know.  Is it true?  Do you really want such things?’ Tabbet then dropped all his protective spells and a flood of images came exploding out into Samuel’s still-probing mind spell.  It took Samuel completely by surprise and he had no time to cut off his magic.  The other man’s memories came spilling into him, overwhelming him.

In that instant, Samuel saw all that Tabbet had been up to that day.  He had come up from Gilgarry, asking after ‘the magician’ and he had read each person’s mind in turn.  He had met a pretty young lady who had been crossing the street with a smile on her pretty lips and had been greatly amused to learn who she was.  Samuel even felt the grin that had crossed Tabbet’s face as he instructed the girl to go and kill herself.

‘No!’ Samuel uttered with despair as the scene played out before him.  ‘Not her!’

‘You see,’ Tabbet informed Samuel, struggling to his feet.  His hand came away from his face and Samuel could see hand and face both were burnt raw.  ‘I had won before I even faced you.  Your girl is dead.  No magician should ever take a woman.  It is heinous and unnatural.  See what your actions have wrought?  Your feelings have killed you both.’

A spell formed and Samuel was powerless to protect himself, still overcome by horror as he was.  The ground underneath him exploded upwards, sending him flying limply into the air like a doll and his mind filled with reeling vertigo.  He saw some speckled lights—stars—and it returned some sense of direction.  ‘No!’ he thought to himself, trying to claw sense from confusion.  ‘She’s not dead!  It’s a trick!  A spell!  It’s not too late.  It can’t be!’  If he did not act, he was done for, but the realisation was slow in coming.  Maybe she wasn’t dead and if he could just finish Tabbet quickly he could reach her in time.  It was his only hope and he clung to it for all he was worth.  Yes!  I can save her!

Samuel filled with magic as if his senses had been reborn.  A click sounded in his ears, followed by a roar as power bloomed within him.  He launched himself even higher into the air with a burst of lifting, up towards the star-filled sky.  High above the roof of their little house and barn, Samuel hung momentarily.  He could see Tabbet waiting below with a blazing spell ready in his hands, searching amongst the soil as it rained down all around him.  High up in the pitch-black night, nestled in the dark, Samuel was invisible.

Tabbet turned as something moved behind him and desperately threw out his spell.  The grass there flashed and was incinerated, but Samuel was not to be seen.  The man screamed with fury as he realised he had been fooled yet again and he twirled about frantically, urgently readying another spell.

Samuel landed lightly on his feet a short distance away, blazing with magic.  Tabbet spun to face him at the sound of his footfall, desperate to have an end to this affair.

‘I have no time to waste with you any longer,’ Samuel hissed.  His words crept from his mouth like a column of spiders.

‘We shall see, boy,’ Tabbet returned and dropped into the low, Horse-rider’s Stance.  He then twisted his toes in and circled his arms around into the crusader position.  It was a very difficult and powerful stance, capable of drawing vast volumes of power in the right hands.  Few men could hope to spend such power without threatening to destroy themselves.  ‘You should have run when you had the chance.’

Tabbet sent forth a wall of magic and Samuel took a determined step towards it.  The force of the spell fell upon him with the weight of a house, but Samuel was not found unprepared.  The air was knocked from his lungs, but his defensive spells held firm.  Again, Tabbet cast his spell and again the massive weight struck, booming like thunder and scattering the grass out into the darkness.  Samuel, however, could only hear the galloping roar of his own unbridled power growing in his ears—it was as if he could hear the universe in motion, frantic drums of mayhem in his head.  Another blow struck, but Samuel lifted his foot and took another stubborn step, leaving a deep impression behind.  Tabbet had his fingers desperately twisted into complex formations, far more involved than the normal matrices that Samuel had learned so far.  He could only guess where Tabbet had learned such things, for the dark magician’s aura flashed and folded with each movement, concentrating and redoubling with each spell he hurled.

‘Why won’t you die?’ Tabbet screamed with frustration.  ‘What kind of a magician are you?’  He threw spell after spell and Samuel took step after step towards him with his jaw set defiantly.  Each spell was more powerful than the last as Tabbet drew great gulping volumes of power, ignoring the toll it would surely have on his body.  An oily shadow now surrounded his aura, clinging to him like sodden fabric.

As Samuel took a final step, barely an arm’s reach away from the man, Tabbet realised he was lost and turned to run.  It was a fatal mistake, for the magician was now defenceless, stumbling away on rubber legs.

Samuel held his upturned palm towards Tabbet and made a crushing gesture.  With a series of loud snaps, Tabbet folded in every direction he should not; a knotted clump of barely recognisable bone and flesh jutting from black rags.

The joy of magic vanished as Samuel released his hold on the ether.  Tears poured from his eyes as if erupting free from his sockets, but he had no time to feel such things.  The burning in his bones and the stinging in his muscles would have to wait.  He ran over to Tabbet’s horse and swung himself up onto the saddle.  Its mind had been paralysed to hold it still and Samuel quickly untied the spell.  He kicked the animal in the ribs and spurred it on as fast as it could go, carrying him at breakneck speeds under the pale starlight.  He denied what he had seen, refused to believe what could have happened.  Thoughts raced through Samuel’s mind on how she could still be alive, but terrible images flashed before him as he drove Tabbet’s horse for the village with everything it was worth.

Samuel’s heart filled with choking dread when he saw a small crowd gathered outside the Sallow house.  He tried to climb down from Tabbet’s horse, but his limbs had become leaden and he fell from the saddle onto his face.  He could hear some commotion and some shouts from the house, but the noises were buzzes and drones in his ears.

Climbing awkwardly to his feet, he staggered on and pushed his way past men and women alike, struggling inside the house and into the reading room.  The sight that met him struck like a blow, as if an unseen fist had punched through his chest and seized his heart in its steely grasp.

Manfred Sallow was sitting on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching the body of his daughter desperately in his arms and sobbing wildly.  Despair boiled up into Samuel’s throat, choking him.  He shook his head and tried to somehow dispel the scene before him, but it would not go.  A knife lay at Leila’s feet, slick with blood, and she and her father were literally covered in the same scarlet fluid, almost as if they had been bathing in it.  Her face seemed quiet and peaceful despite the scene, but there was no aura around her at all.  She was long dead.

Samuel scrambled desperately down to Leila’s side.  He knew he was shouting something, but he had no control of himself or his words.  He tried to take her in his arms, slipping and skidding on the floor, but her father would not let her go and other arms grabbed Samuel firmly and pulled him away.  He struggled futilely against them, but he had no strength left with which to resist.

‘No!  Leila!  No!’ he heard himself screaming.

Manfred Sallow’s horror-twisted face looked towards the onlookers with reddening anger.  ‘Why did she do this?’ he sobbed, trembling and shaking with his daughter still in his arms.  He hugged her body close against him and continued sobbing, letting out a long howl of despair.

Samuel was empty.  He hung limply in the arms of whomever or whatever was holding him.  There seemed to be a block of ice clotted in his chest and the blood had frozen in his veins.  She was dead.

Manfred laid his daughter down and then, grunting and with the great effort of a fattened hog heaving itself from the mud, he clambered to his feet and came lumbering forward like a madman.  Samuel made no effort to move as Manfred’s fists came crashing into his face—he barely noticed the fact at all.  His head was knocked aside and about, and he felt something that was once pain, but his eyes stayed locked on Leila’s gentle face as the room turned sideways and he struck the floor.  Warm, salty blood began to pour through his nose and mouth.

More hands lifted him and a heavy-set man turned Samuel around to face him.  ‘You’d better leave, son,’ the man said, sounding like a voice in a dream.

Samuel nodded dumbly and took an unsteady step towards the door.  He stopped for a moment, letting the doorframe take his weight so he could turn and take one last look at her.  The stark image of Leila lying so peacefully, as if she were having some wonderful dream, and the great stains of blood and bloody handprints all over her pale white dress seemed to burn into Samuel’s mind.  He felt that his heart was trying to climb up in his throat and he had to take a great gulping breath as the air just did not seem enough.  There was nothing he could do.  He felt drowned in helplessness and sorrow.  Manfred Sallow was screaming and having fits, fighting the men that held him, clawing to be at Samuel, but the young magician barely noticed at all.  As he staggered out of the house, his mind could not escape its continuous, torturous knell—she is dead, she is dead, she is dead…

The Downs were waiting in their house filled with worry when Samuel finally returned.  Simpson had come down from the hill when he had heard the ruckus only to find a hole he could bury a couple of cows in at his steps and an inch of soil spread over the house and barn, not to mention the mutilated body lying nearby.  He had found his wife shaking and sobbing under their bed and he still had no idea of what had happened.

With a stuttering tongue, Samuel managed to explain the event with Tabbet and what had happened to Leila.  Mrs Down broke down in tears and even Simpson, stoic at the worst of times, had red-rimmed eyes as he tried to comfort her.

‘What will you do now, lad?’ Mrs Down asked.

‘I am a damned fool,’ he said, choking on his words.  ‘I should have killed that bastard Ash three times over by now.  Now, he has killed Leila.  I’m going to go find him and I’m not coming back.’

‘Just think carefully, Samuel,’ old Simpson said.  ‘You’ve lost a lot already and you may go getting yourself killed, too.’

Samuel pushed his notes into his satchel and gathered his things with unsteady hands.  He shook his head.  ‘It doesn’t matter now.  I’m going.’  He stopped and looked at the old couple squarely.  ‘I’m going to kill him at last.’

‘Take care, lad,’ Simpson said and Mrs Down crushed Samuel in a great sobbing hug.

‘You should play some music to the animals from time to time,’ Samuel instructed.  ‘They like it.  I’m taking Jess with me, but there’s another horse outside—the magician’s.  It’s Imperial stock and sturdy enough.’

Lastly, he pushed his long-neglected magician’s robes into his bag and left the house.  Simpson came out onto the steps as Samuel hurriedly readied Jess.

‘You know you’re welcome back any time,’ old Simpson noted.  ‘We can never repay you enough.  You gave our sad old lives some meaning at last.  You’ve been like a son to us.’

Samuel pulled the last leather straps tight on Jess’ halter and, after quickly checking things over, threw himself up onto the saddle.  ‘It’s I who can never repay the both of you.  If not for your kindness, I never would have stayed here—I never would have met her.  For the first time in my life, I was free of the death of my family—I finally had the chance to actually live; I escaped from my past.  I loved every moment here with all my heart and I will miss you both more than I can express.  Goodbye.’

Samuel kicked his heels and set Jess cantering away, only pulling to an abrupt halt at Tabbet’s ruined corpse.  Vaulting down again, Samuel tied the body to a saddle ring with a length of old cord.  He would dump the wretched thing in the woods where the animals could have it.  As Jess trotted down the stony winding path, Samuel raised one hand in brief goodbye and left the Down farm behind him, with Tabbet’s body snaking behind across the stones.

At the end of the path, where the Down house was but a distant light on a hill, Samuel brought Jess to a snorting halt.  The animal whinnied, her breath making frosty clouds and she stamped her hooves impatiently.  Samuel looked to the farmhouse one last time and sighed.  He then pulled Jess around and they began along the long, circling road that hugged its way down the hills to Gilgarry, dragging the dead magician behind.

It was just before first light when Samuel passed through Gilgarry and, shortly after that, he reached Count Rudderford’s estate.  The temperature had plunged overnight and a sheet of frost lay over everything.  Roosters were crowing and smoke hung low in the valley below.  A servant was returning with a cart of firewood, ready to stoke the day’s oven.

Samuel had ridden through the night and felt wooden in his saddle.  All he cared about was killing Ash—preferably, in some gruesome and most painful fashion.  Leila was dead—he could not deny that fact—but the thought still felt strange and numb.  For now, it was just an empty statement, void of substantial meaning.  Leila is dead.  He would never again hold her hand, stroke her skin or hear her laughter.  The promise of sweet revenge was the only respite from such thoughts and he clung to them like a drowning man to a clutch of twigs.

Samuel had no idea as to Ash’s strengths or the number of men and magicians at his beckoning.  In fact, he had no idea if the man was still in Gilgarry at all.  If Ash had more men like Tabbet at his beckoning, then Samuel’s task would not be so easy.  Then there were the soldiers to deal with.  Samuel did not mind dying at all, but he could not bear the thought of Ash escaping once more.  In order to even the odds, he would need some men of his own and Count Rudderford was the only one who could provide them.

He rode into Rudderford’s stable and left the sleepy, young stablehand to care for Jess and his satchel.  He then crossed the frosted courtyard and opened the door to the Count’s manor.  His soft-heeled boots tapped softly along the short hall that led to the banquet room.

The banquet table was being stripped by several servants, all carrying away the plates of half-picked bones and goblets of spilled wine from the night before.  None questioned Samuel, nor made any attempt to stop him as he made across the hall and headed for the Count’s chamber.  Having found it, he kicked the door open and crossed the rug-covered floor to beside Rudderford’s lavish bed.  Rudderford was sprawled asleep, still snoring next to his wife who was now wide awake and watching Samuel with eyes aghast.

‘Get up,’ Samuel told her, ‘and get out.’  She nodded and crawled from beneath the covers, pulling on a robe and hurrying out, leaving the door open behind her.  ‘Wake up,’ Samuel said, leaning over Rudderford and shaking his shoulders.  Having his love murdered and no sleep along with it gave Samuel very short patience.

Rudderford groaned and finally opened his eyes.  ‘You’re going to do exactly as I say,’ Samuel said, asserting his influence upon the man.  ‘We’re old and fast friends and you will do everything you can to meet with my approval.’

‘Of…of course I will,’ Rudderford stammered.  His mind was thick from the night’s wine and he was still half-asleep, so Samuel’s spell took its good time taking hold.  ‘You don’t have to tell me twice, old friend.’

Samuel could feel that a few subtle braids of magic had already been placed in Rudderford’s mind, designed to make him more manageable.  Samuel replaced the spells with his own, noting the handy work of Ash or one of his men, although he sensed the taint of Tabbet.

A number of men in various states of undress then stumbled in through the doorway, bearing swords.  One man even held up a large wooden ladle defiantly.

‘What are you doing?’ Rudderford demanded of his men, sitting up in his bed.  ‘What brings you charging into my chambers at this early hour?’

‘But the lady said that...’ the foremost guard began to reply, but Rudderford cut him short.

‘Oh, tell her to shut up and all of you go back to your beds,’ the Count said and returned his attention to Samuel.  ‘What can I do for you, my good friend?  How wonderful for you to call on me.  It’s Samuel, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Samuel said.  ‘Let’s have some breakfast first.  I’m starving.’

‘Of course.  Please forgive me.  I’m afraid I had too much to drink again last night.  My head is ringing like the bells of Saint Veddum’s.’

The servants were obviously taken by surprise when the Count appeared so early for breakfast and they all hurried to prepare his meal.  His wife poked her head nervously from around a corner before shaking it in confusion and disappearing again.

After Samuel had eaten what he could, he turned to business.  ‘What has Mr Cervantes been doing all this time in Gilgarry?’ he asked.

‘He’s been digging all over the place, as usual, looking for old ruins, treasures and such.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘I do believe so,’ Rudderford stated thoughtfully.

‘Do you know his real name?’

‘Of course.  He is Mr Cervantes, collector and merchant of fine and exquisite goods.’

‘That’s what he told you?’

‘Yes.  He’s a fine man.  But he goes through workers like you wouldn’t believe.  They’re terrified of him.’

‘Does he have many men with him here?  Any magicians?’

‘Oh, he has many men at his camp by the site.  Most of them are local peasants, but he has his guards and a few men from Cintar, too, although I have never seen any magicians in Tindal in all my time here.’

Samuel thought a moment.  ‘When does he plan to leave?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure.  He was adamant he was going to leave a few days ago, but he still seems to be having some problem.’

Samuel thought about it a moment.  Perhaps the relic was still proving difficult to move.

‘What I would like for you to do, my good friend Rudderford, is to get all your best men in here with all their sharpened swords and cudgels and whatever else they like to hit things with.  Then, I want you to send a message to Mr Cervantes that one of his men is waiting here for him, wounded, and when he comes in, we’ll all bash him to death.  How does that sound?’

‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ Rudderford asked.  ‘He has paid me very generously after all, and he has the Emperor’s blessing.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Oh, I see.  Very well.’

‘See to it at once,’ Samuel instructed and Rudderford immediately called for a servant to convey the orders.

‘Should we charge him with something?’ Rudderford asked sheepishly.

‘He is a traitor and a murderer,’ Samuel explained.

‘Ah,’ Rudderford said with a satisfied nod.  ‘Then we certainly must have him punished.’

It took several hours for Samuel’s plan to be organised.  Rudderford had about thirty men on his estate and Hillard had been sent to get more from Gilgarry.  It was taking them much longer than expected to arrive and word soon came that Mr Cervantes and his escort were already approaching.  Samuel could barely contain his joy when Ash bustled in to Rudderford’s hall with only six men at his side, none of them being magicians.

‘Where’s my...’ Ash began, but stopped short on spying Samuel leaning against the banquet table.  ‘You fool, Rudderford!  What do you think you are doing?’

Rudderford signalled and his guards rushed in and lined the room.  A couple of servants had already drawn and barred the entry doors behind them from the outside, trapping Ash and his men inside.

Ash’s men drew their swords and stood ready around him.

‘Disarm your men, Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called.  ‘My good friend, Samuel, has told me of your heinous crimes.’

Ash put his hands on his hips and laughed.  ‘Your good friend?’ he repeated mockingly and laughed aloud.  ‘You are a weak-minded fool, Rudderford.  Very well.  Put down your weapons,’ Ash told his men and they hesitantly placed their swords onto the floor.  ‘You fool Magician!’ Ash then told Samuel. ‘You’re meddling with the Emperor’s business!  What do you think you are doing?’

‘I’m killing you,’ Samuel replied.

‘Then I suppose you have me.  Do as you will.’

Samuel opened his mouth to speak, but as quick as lightning, Ash thrust an unseen dagger into the ribs of one of his own men.  The others stepped away, horrified as Ash continued to perforate the man as he fell, frantically stabbing the helpless soldier over and over so his blood was spurting all over.

‘By the gods!’ Rudderford declared beside Samuel.

Ash had a crimson-edged grin set on his manic face as he raised his palm towards the fallen man and shouted out in a strange and foreign tongue.  Samuel braced himself, for he could feel something coming through the ether.  As the spell manifested itself, the dead man’s blood sprang up from the floor and, as it met with Ash’s outstretched palm, it changed into a billowing scarlet mist.

‘Kill him!’ Samuel cried out, too late, for his ears were ringing with magic and an enormous spell was coming after the first.

The vaporous cloud bellowed forth, seething with purple-hued magic, transforming into a screeching fire that instantly filled the room.  Samuel barely had time to cast a shield around himself and Rudderford, pushing all his power into it to protect them against the magical firestorm.  The room vanished as the enchanted flames licked all around them, making a thunderous noise, as if hell itself had engulfed them.  Samuel continued to pour his power into his shielding spell, for the strange fires pulled his weaves to scraps on contact.  As the spell dissipated, the banquet hall was revealed once again through acrid smoke.  Everything was charred and ruined.  Blackened flesh and melted steel dotted the room.  The banquet table and chairs were withered, smoking blocks.  Every painting and sculpture and ornament had been turned to charred and molten waste.  No one was left standing in the room besides Samuel and the Count—only smouldering shafts of bone gave their fates away at all.

Rudderford surveyed the scene around him with astonishment.    ‘Oh, my!’ was all he could say.

The entry doors hung open, broken on their hinges and Ash had surely fled.

‘Quickly!’ Samuel shouted, springing into action.  ‘If your other men ever arrive, hurry them to Mr Cervantes’ camp.’

‘Yes, of course,’ stammered the cowering Rudderford, still looking at his ruined chamber with dismay.

Samuel ran across the hall, his boots hissing with each step upon the scalding floor.  Outside, a distant horse-borne figure could be seen galloping away towards his campsite.  The other horses still stood tied to the nearby watering trough and Samuel quickly untethered the nearest one.  He leapt upon it, yelling and spurring the animal after Ash.  It lurched forward with a snort and was quickly galloping across the frozen and sludgy grounds in pursuit.  A light snow had begun sometime that morning and a thin, white sheet had formed all over the bare hills.  The tiny specks of drifting ice disappeared on contact with Samuel’s flushed skin and he could already feel the cold working its way into his cheeks and knuckles as he rode.  He was woefully underdressed for such weather, but was not prepared to turn around and go back to fetch a cloak, and neither was he willing to waste even a drop of power warming himself.  Instead, he gritted his teeth and forged on determinedly.

Ash was already far ahead and his animal was proving much faster than Samuel’s, disappearing away between the hillsides.

Past the farms and fields Samuel flew.  In the icy wind, he kicked his steed over and over until it frothed at the mouth.  As the campsite rounded into view, Ash could be seen shouting and calling his men from their tents and breakfasts and a heavy wagon was quickly being harnessed.  The great shape of the Argum Stone could be seen, roped flat upon it.

As Samuel neared, Ash’s men armed themselves with picks and shovels and came running towards him.  They were clearly not trained soldiers and Samuel had no time to squander dealing with them.  He sent a spell ahead of himself—a compression of air that hit the men with a whoomp, kicking up a jet of snow and knocking them senseless to the ground.  His horse jumped clear over them and continued on.

Ash was climbing upon the wagon while the last of his men finished hitching the horses.  ‘Keep your distance!’ he roared as Samuel pulled his horse to a stop.  ‘You’re proving to be a thorn in my side, Magician!’

‘You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this,’ Samuel called back.  He actually felt a smile on his face.  ‘Say goodbye to whatever evil gods you worship.’

Ash drew a small vessel from inside his cloak.  He held it up a moment, scrutinising it closely.  A greenish liquid could be seen slopping around inside.

‘Suddan-ani!’ Ash then spoke and pointed a long finger towards Samuel.

It was all the warning Samuel needed and he threw himself from his horse at the faintest gathering of a spell.  A brilliant beam of light shot out from the vial as Samuel rolled to the ground.  With a screaming shriek, the horse dropped beside him in two kicking halves.  Its steaming innards spewed out from its severed body like enormous, lurching worms boiling from their nest and Ash laughed aloud at the sight.

Samuel had no time to ponder the strange spell.  He regained his feet and sprang high, powering his leap with magic, kicking Ash in the teeth and landing atop the roped artefact.  The tall magician recoiled, clutching his bloody mouth with a wolfish yelp.  Samuel kicked him again and Ash toppled headfirst from the wagon onto the turned earth.  The remaining men had now scattered from the wagon and were bolting up towards the roadway as fast as their legs would carry them.

‘You think you’re so great,’ Ash hissed from the ground, spitting blood and climbing back onto his feet, ‘but your pathetic Order of Magicians is nothing.  I have the power of the Ancients in my grasp!  Amun-morbayah!’  He yelled the last word, an ancient word trembling with age-old power, and Samuel felt his feet fill with pain as the artefact beneath him was suddenly white hot, scorching the wagon and searing his boots; hissing like quenched iron and burning straight through to the soles of his feet.  Samuel leapt from the wagon and tumbled into the snow, shovelling it around his feet by the handful to quell the pain.  As the feeling eased, he found Ash had already drawn another vial from one of his hidden pockets.  Its luminous contents could be seen splashing around inside as the tall magician murmured furiously into it.

‘Nothing will stop me from killing you!’ Samuel said defiantly, standing and flicking flecks of ice from his garments.  He settled his mind and began to gather energy as calmly as he could.  He would be ready when Ash struck next.  ‘You killed Leila and you killed my family!  No matter how many strange spells you employ, your time in this world has come to an end.’

‘Very dramatic, young man, but I have no idea of what you are talking about and you obviously have no idea of what you’re dealing with.’

Ash then called aloud another incomprehensible word and another beam struck out from his vial.  This time, Samuel was ready.  His magical shield flew into place to protect him from the spell, doubled and fortified as he had learned from Tabbet, but it was still not enough.  The screeching beam began piercing his defence like a finger poking its way through sheets of wet paper.  Samuel realised he only had moments before his spell was completely broken, so he concentrated all his remaining power into that tiny spot where the beam was focused.  At the last moment, he thrust his shield aside with all his mind and might.  His plan worked and Ash’s beam skipped off to his left and struck the ground with a great explosion, throwing up dirt for a hundred paces and creating a long, dark furrow amidst the pale snow.

‘Impressive,’ Ash noted.  ‘Little wonder you managed to best Tabbet.  I guess I should have let you be in your little village, but it’s too late for that now.’  The man opened his palm to reveal another small vial—this one seemed to contain a blackish fluid that clung stubbornly to the glass around it.

Samuel would not let the man have any more time to ready his strange magic and sent a half-dozen spells of burning energy screaming towards Ash, but it was already too late.  Ash only had to whisper into his hand and an unholy wind sprang up.  The distance between them was too great and Samuel’s spells slowed in their path, then stopped as the magical wind became a howling gale.  They struggled vainly against the mad wind, until finally reversing their course and flying backwards, passing overhead and landing in the fields far behind him, exploded with dull booms in the roaring wind.

He desperately tried to think of some spell to negate the wind, but Ash’s magic was alien and would not be turned.  Grit and ice bit into Samuel’s face, blinding him.  He tried to cast a spell, but all he could see and hear and feel was the almighty wind, striking him and biting him on all sides.  A sudden shape loomed before him through the swirling sand and Samuel had no time to act.  He tried to escape aside, but the thing smashed into him, cracking bones and throwing him backwards.  A great weight began piling up on top of him and squeezing the life out of him.  Above it all—above his own cries and even above the thunderous noise of the wind—Ash’s laughter echoed on and on until there was nothing left but darkness and utter screaming silence.

Voices came distantly to Samuel.  Cool air touched his skin and entered his desperate lungs and hands were pulling him from under the earth.  He coughed up sand and dirt while hands lifted him and brushed away the soil from his face.  His body felt pain with every movement and he felt as if his ribs were poking through his skin.

‘Samuel, my good friend,’ someone called.  ‘Are you alive?  Oh, this is terrible!  What has Mr Cervantes done to you?  Shall we go after him?’

‘No,’ Samuel wheezed.  They would only be slaughtered.  ‘I will kill him…myself,’ he managed before passing out with pain.

Samuel had long and uncomfortable dreams.  He dreamed of Ash leering over him and Leila.  Ash kept trying to pull her away, but he held onto her with all his might.  Then Leila and Ash were gone.  Dark shadows awaited at the corners of his sight and always he was being pulled downward through the earth, being sucked under where nightmarish creatures waited.  Howls of laughter echoed all around as he desperately clawed at the earth that worked to swallow him.  In the distance, he caught a glimpse of something huge shambling towards him.  It was a terrible and evil thing, immensely powerful and full of hate.  It was coming—day by day it drew nearer—and it would eat the world.

‘Father! Father!’ the thing was calling out in a dry and raspy voice as it trembled closer.  ‘I need you, Father!  Don’t die!  Don’t leave me here alone!’

Samuel was frozen in place and, as the thing neared, he could see that it had a human face atop its enormous misshapen body—and the face was clearly his.

‘Father!’ Samuel hissed.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the roof as thunder sounded from the storm outside.  The room was grey and empty of life.  He recognised it from before—the velvet curtains, the drawers, the tall oval mirror.  He was in Rudderford’s guest room.  Lightning flickered outside and lit the room for an instant as the rain spattered and tapped lightly against the window.

Father is dead, Samuel thought and continued to stare up at the ceiling.  Leila is dead, too.  Time passed slowly and the rain continued to fall outside.

Pale morning light shone into the room when Samuel next awoke.  He went to roll over, and a sharp pain quickly told him his chest was badly hurt.  He lay still, taking shallow breaths until the pain had lessened, and then he formed a spell to examine the injury.  Several ribs were cracked and broken and his skull was also rimmed with fractures.  They were all many days old.  He set some spells in place to help remove the dead and clotted matter and to help speed his healing.  His head ached with every tiny movement and he found it difficult to ignore the pain.

He would go after Ash as soon as he could, but it was pointless unless he could formulate some kind of defence against the man’s bizarre magic.  Healthy, he had proved much less than a match.  Injured as he was, he was helpless.  If he had just been able to summon the same power he had used against the brigands, then he was sure Ash would have been no match.  Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the loss of Leila.  Whatever it was, he had just not been able to find the power he had needed.  At the one time in his life he really needed to be strong, he had failed.

He would have to wait until he was sufficiently healed, perhaps another few days at this rate, and he would then return to Cintar.  There, he would no doubt find Ash gloating over his new treasure.  This time, Samuel would be better prepared.  There would be no more surprises.  Ash would pay for all that he had done.  Not even hell itself would stop Samuel from extracting his revenge.  When the man was dead, and only then, would Samuel allow himself to rest.  Until then, every thought, every breath, every heartbeat would be dedicated to the death of Master Ash.

CHAPTER NINE

Return to Cintar

SAMUEL LOOKED OUT over the rolling sea crests.  The bitter ocean showered his face with freezing sheets of spray as the ship drove through each heaving wave, one after another.  Still, he did not afford himself the luxury of sheltering below deck.  Somehow, the discomfort seemed fitting.

He was at least a week behind Ash—it had taken that long for his body to heal enough so he could hold himself atop Jess.

Rudderford’s men had arrived just in time to see Samuel blasted into a shallow digging and buried alive by Ash’s gale spell.  They had rescued him as Ash had sped off atop the wagon, bearing his prize away with all haste.  They had been wholly amazed when they found Samuel still living, covered in debris and earth.  They were even more astounded to see him riding away again a week later, almost as if nothing had happened.

Jess had carried him to the small riverside town of Heathshed, where Samuel had hired a river-barge to carry them both downstream, throwing down a pile of Count Rudderford’s coins to the wide-eyed boatman.  The magician’s dark mood brought few questions from the tattered old man, and the slow-flowing river did nothing to soothe the burning hatred in Samuel’s heart.

They had eventually arrived in the port town of New Garlen where, locals said, a great vessel had arrived, like none they had ever seen.  It had been enormous, with more sails hanging from the great masts than many of them could count.  A strange fellow had then appeared, accompanied by a dozen armed men.  They seemed to be guarding some precious thing lashed to his wagon, but no one had been able to get near enough to see what it was.  The vessel had bloomed into life and scores of men had hurried ashore in their longboats to help recover the men and their cargo.  As soon as they were aboard, the many great sails all rose as one and the ship had surged out from the bay.

It had taken most of Count Rudderford’s purse, but Samuel had finally managed to buy passage for himself and his beast on the only vessel leaving that day and he quickly set out after Ash—for Cintar.

Samuel spent his time looking over the waves and pondering Ash’s strange new form of magic.  Never before had he heard of magic being drawn from fluids.  The trigger words that sparked the spells were strange and charged with power—which made Samuel suspect they were from the Ancient Lick.  If so, it meant Ash had somehow discovered a key to unlocking the lost tongue.  Spells born from the Old Tongue or tethered by willpower alone would be of no match.  To defeat Ash, Samuel would need to plan carefully.  If he could only gain some power of the Ancients for himself, or even learn to control his evasive, terrible outbursts of power, then perhaps he could finally kill the man.  Samuel savoured the thought for a moment, envisaging killing his enemy painfully and deliberately, before reality spoiled his delightful diversion.  Logic foretold that a methodical and meticulous method would be best.  Ash had proved cunning and resourceful in more ways than one, and there was no way to gauge exactly how powerful a magician he was.  Chances could not be taken.  As it was, the strange purple weaves of his magic tore normal spells to shreds.  Samuel did not want any more surprises.

With so much time and so little to do but sit and gaze out to sea, Samuel spent long hours thinking of Leila.  He could not help it.  He wished he could somehow shut her out of his memory altogether, for the vivid image of her blood-soaked body made him choke with sadness, but he could not.  Not even his disciplined magician’s training could stop dreadful thoughts from charging back into him without warning, flooding him with sorrow, overwhelming him.  He could not believe she was really gone.

Sometimes, he almost thought he could feel her tender touch against his arm, and would catch himself looking for her, mistaking a sound for her voice, a creak for her steps.  His heart ached and the stinging salt mixed freely with his tears on many occasions.  The sailors observed his behaviour and kept well to themselves, whispering and muttering about him all the while.

At the tiny island port of Pallem, Samuel changed vessels as the Pride of Jerrod would take him no further north.  It took a good deal of persuasion, but Samuel finally managed to gain passage for himself and his horse on a ketch with a shifty-looking crew, called the Southern Bird.  The captain was familiar with Cintar and knew of the Order; he gladly accepted Samuel’s payment.

Samuel had considered compelling the man with a spell to grant him passage, for his purse was now emptied.  However, it was becoming more evident to Samuel that even the slightest meddling in a person’s mind could have dire consequences.  Animals seemed to suffer little ill effect, but human minds required meticulous attention for even the tiniest alteration.  Just the act of entering a man’s mind seemed to create a cascade of changes within.  The only safe way to alter the thoughts of another was via passive suggestion and that would only work if the subject was not resistant.  The magician, Tabbet, had broken those rules within the mind of Count Rudderford, altering the man’s mind in exact and expert ways.  Then again, Rudderford had been an extremely simple man.  The difficulty of manipulation seemed to rise in direct proportion to the complexity of the mind.  Magicians, Samuel postulated, with their lifelong mental training would be nigh on impossible to affect.  Samuel sighed and nudged the foot of some railing with the toe of his boot.  There were so many facets to magic.  He would need the span of several lifetimes to even begin to master them all.

Jess was nervous on the deck as the little ship groaned and rolled, but Samuel soothed her mind with a lullaby and managed to keep her calm.  The sailors aboard the Southern Bird seemed to sense something unnatural about Samuel and, as the voyage wore on, the men skirted him with greater girth.  They made no attempts to converse with him, but that suited Samuel fine.  Work went on around him as if he were a fixture, with the crew throwing dark glances and muttering, even making the occasional gesture to ward off evil.  Samuel did not care to dispel their superstitions and, when he was not on deck with Jess, he kept himself locked below in his tiny cabin, scouring through his journals and notes over and over again.  He did not really expect to find anything new in those papers, but the act gave him something physical to focus upon.  He had seen well enough of the sea already and wanted to be alone with his misery.

The city looked quite different from this vantage point but, as the Southern Bird made harbour, Samuel realised the docks of Cintar had changed little, if any, since he had last seen them.  Great, tall ships lay anchored within the sanctuary of the cove.  Tiny longboats ferried cargo back and forth from ship to shore, while the smaller craft, such as the Southern Bird, could pull alongside the long stone-and-wood jetties that stuck out from the shore, well beyond the city walls.

Samuel actually felt relief to see Cintar again.  He had been at sea for far too long and his stomach had experienced quite enough of sea travel.  It had taken about ten days for the tiny bobbing ship to skirt its way along the coast and Samuel had spent more than his fair share of that time leaning over the side.

Men moved all over on the docks, carrying bundles and containers of all forms, while the officials stood ready with handfuls of paperwork.  A long, wide plank was pushed from the pier onto the Southern Bird and one such fellow stepped past Samuel to talk with the captain.  Samuel urged Jess up onto the dock, pulling her by the reins.  Her hooves clattered nervously on the wood, but Samuel finally had her safely up on the pier.  He was not entirely sure why he had brought the animal all the way back with him.  She had been his companion since he had first left Cintar, so it just seemed fitting that they should return together.

Seeing the crowded confines of the city laid before him, however, brought a worrying thought back to Samuel.  It had been foretold by Celios the Seer that he would kill the Emperor and, despite Samuel’s best efforts to escape the place, destiny had found a way to draw him back.  He had no intention of even approaching the Emperor, but Samuel had the nagging worry in the back of his mind that perhaps he had no say in whatever destiny had planned for him.

Samuel was still wearing the simple clothes he had grown accustomed to in Tindal, with his black magician’s clothes still folded tightly in his pack.  As he led Jess up the steep roads from the docks, he seemed to be seeing the city with fresh eyes.  The fashions seemed strange to him now and all the noise and pushing and shoving seemed quite overwhelming.  He could imagine nothing more in contrast to his life in Tindal, where, looking down from the goat-spotted hills, he could go days on end barely seeing a soul.

He found his way promptly to the School of Magic, spying more dark clothing and magicians’ robes the closer he came, but many of the faces were unfamiliar.  Without a pause, he led his animal through the entrance and was given only a few glances by passing students.  He entered the stables, where the apprentices saw to Jess upon his commands, jumping at the tone of his voice.  While the boys were tending to her, Samuel stepped into a vacant stall with his pack and quickly changed into his loose-flowing magician’s robes.  They would hide his features somewhat and allow him to make his way around the school without attracting attention.

Samuel stuffed his other clothes into his satchel and fastened the buckles.

‘Mind my horse well,’ he told them firmly.  ‘Keep my pack up in the cupboard up there.’  They nodded, as he eyed the topmost cabinet.

He left the stable boys to their work and strode out of the stables, feeling strangely awkward in his old mage clothes.  The sun shone strongly for a moment as the clouds briefly parted.  Returning to the School of Magic brought back many memories.  At another time, Samuel would have smiled or laughed aloud, but instead he took a deep breath and started off to find Master Glim.

As he made his way across the grounds, he was astonished to catch sight of a magician he knew very well and he had to run to catch up with the man’s long strides.

‘Lomar!’ Samuel called as he caught up with his friend under the shade of the enormous oak tree that sprung up beside the Great Library.  The grey paving stones were all cracked and pushed upwards around the base of the tree and its roots had done similar damage all around.

Lomar stopped and turned around.  It took him a moment to recognise Samuel, but then a smile beamed across his face.  ‘Samuel,’ he said.  ‘You’re back!  What a wonderful surprise!’  He then looked around the courtyard for any others.  ‘Is it safe for you to be here?’

‘I had to return,’ Samuel said.  ‘Let’s go inside so we can talk.’

Inside, the Great Library was dim and deserted.  No one had yet drawn open the slatted window shutters to let in the morning light and it was a good sign that no one was there.  Still, Samuel drew Lomar into a distant vacant niche at the very rear of the building.

‘I have bad news,’ Samuel spoke in hushed tones, ‘but first, I need to know what has been happening in my absence?’

‘Everything changes and everything stays the same,’ Lomar began.  ‘The Magicians’ Council is ever arguing and bickering.  There is ever talk of a war that never seems to begin.  Lord Matar and some others left the city in disgust.  No one has heard any word of them since.’

‘And Ash?’

Lomar raised an eyebrow.  ‘Master Ash?  I haven’t seen him, but I’ve heard he has returned after some period of absence.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I’ve followed him here from Tindal.  He has discovered an ancient relic and returned it here to the city.  It is called the Argum Stone.’

‘I have not heard of it.  There was some talk of him making some discovery, but I did not pay it much mind.  I honestly have been doing my best to ignore the goings-on of the Council.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I’m sure he was sent to find it by the Circle of Eyes.  It seems to be another device from the time of the Ancients.  I found a few notes mentioning it here in the library and I think Dividian has been researching it as well.  I’m sure the two must be collaborating, but I don’t know what they plan to do with it.’

Lomar shook his head with worry.  ‘Just what we need,’ he sighed.  ‘As if we need even more to concern us.’

‘What of Master Glim?  Is he here?’

‘Yes,’ Lomar replied softly, ‘but he is not quite the man he once was.  The changes in the school have taken their toll on him.  He is not quite his old self without Grand Master Anthem to spur him on.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘What of Eric Goodfellow?  Where is he?’

‘He’s still here,’ Lomar answered.  ‘Together with Eric Pot.’

‘Eric?’ Samuel exclaimed with disbelief.  ‘How can that be?  I thought he was dead.’

‘He’s alive,’ Lomar corrected.

‘So the spell of travelling was successful?  That’s incredible!’

‘It turned out his spell was entirely successful.  Eric was transported all the way to his hometown in Reve.  It took him a while get back here, but once he did, Dividian set him and Goodfellow straight to work researching the spell.  Dividian still hopes to learn the secret of such magic, but so far, they’ve had no luck.  It rattled poor Eric quite a bit, so I’m not surprised he has had such trouble repeating it.  There was a great fuss made over him when he first returned, but it soon faded away as the months passed without result.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Lomar replied.  ‘I was actually looking for them myself just before you found me.  Master Glim is giving a class.  Perhaps we should go wait in his cottage.  From what Goodfellow told me, I think it is not such a good thing if you are seen here.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Samuel noted.

They left the library, Samuel with his hood up, and made for Master Glim’s small residence.  A few candles on the wall lit themselves as they entered, despite the room being already bright with sunlight.

‘I see Master Glim is still learning a few things,’ Samuel said and noted the spells involved.

‘He’s had himself buried in research, now that he has little contact with the students,’ explained Lomar.  ‘I know he’s trying to make this candle-spell work only at night, but it’s understandably complicated.  Wait here and I shall fetch us both something to eat.’

‘If you see either of the Erics, could you let them know that I’m here?’

‘I’ll send word for them to come, but you should know that they are Master Goodfellow and Master Pot now.  Their graduation was said to be quite spectacular.  They are both highly skilled and will become great magicians of our time, I’m sure.’

‘That’s good news.’

With that, Lomar slipped outside.  Samuel sat and waited in Master Glim’s chambers.  Like all the magicians’ rooms in the school, it was humble but comfortable, being one single room that served as both bedroom and study.  A plush rug lay on the timber floor, helping the room to feel warm.  It was a fine piece of work from Western Garteny, where such craftsmanship was supposedly unmatched and Samuel felt guilty treading all over it with his worn old boots.  He sat idly awhile and then traversed the room, looking at all Master Glim’s things and peering at the notes spread all over his desk.

Gravelly footsteps sounded outside and Master Glim stepped in through the opening door, followed close behind by Lomar.  Master Glim wore a broad smile and offered his hand directly to Samuel.  The passing of time had made its mark upon him.  Grey hair adorned his temples and a few more wrinkles crept out from the corners of his eyes.

‘Samuel!’ Master Glim said warmly.  ‘You leave a boy and return a man!  It’s good to see you well again.  I only wish you had not left so abruptly.  Goodfellow told me of your predicament, but I’m sure we could have found some solution for you.’

‘Unfortunately, I didn’t know whom to trust at the time,’ Samuel said, ‘and the city just seemed like the worst place for me to be.’

Master Glim showed concern.  ‘So, it’s true.  Tell me what happened.’

‘None of that is really important now,’ Samuel said.  ‘In fact, I’m quite glad I left.  I would never have returned at all, but for Master Ash.  He tried to kill me, and he murdered the girl I was going to marry, so I have returned to Cintar to see him dead.’

‘Marry?’ Master Glim asked incredulously.  It surprised Samuel that he would leap onto that fact before even questioning the comment that Master Ash was a murderer.  ‘Why would you even think about wedding, Samuel?  You know it would be doomed.  Magicians cannot be affectionate with women and after only a few more years all thoughts of that nature will be entirely alien to you.  You certainly would not be able to bear children and the woman would be disappointed to say the least.’

‘I didn’t ask for it to happen, Master Glim.’ Samuel responded.  ‘I’m not sure that the change is happening to me as it should.  All my feelings are still intact.  I fell in love and I certainly have more than enough hatred and bile and venom left over for Master Ash.  I had found a new life in Tindal and Ash took it away once again.’

‘Master Ash?’ Master Glim replied, still mulling the situation over in his head.  ‘That man seems to have his fingers in everything.’

‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked.

‘Grand Master Anthem told me you believe it was Ash who killed your family.  It is a strange set of coincidences.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I failed to kill Ash before, so I have followed him here.  He brought with him an ancient relic, the Argum Stone.  I dread it has some malevolent purpose to play in his plans.’

‘This is grave news, Samuel,’ Master Glim said, looking thoughtful, ‘but I do not doubt you.  Ash has long been the pet of Lord Jarrod, carrying out all his underhanded instructions.  I saw them bring a large relic to the palace, but no mention was made as to its name.  It took several days to have it raised inside the High Tower using all manner of ropes and levers and causing quite a fuss.  It was a source of some excitement at first, but there has been no further word since then.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘It could be cause for great concern, especially if it proves to be an equal for the Staff of Elders,’ he explained, ‘but it needs further research.  And there is something else.  Ash has found some knowledge of the Ancient Lick.  He employs a strange magic with it that I could not overcome.  At one time, he also empowered a spell with another man’s blood and somehow has learned to store spells into bottles of fluid.’

‘Blood and fluids?’ Lomar questioned, looking over from where he stood by the curtained window.  ‘That is the stuff of myth and hearsay.  If such a foul art was ever known, it is lost.’

‘And found again,’ Samuel corrected.

‘Your news gets worse by the minute, Samuel,’ Master Glim stated, rubbing his chin.  ‘We will need to look into all of this but, of course, you should keep hidden.  If what you have said is true, just about everyone in the city probably wants you dead for one reason or another.  Is there anything else you wish to burden us with while you are doing so well?’

‘There is, but first I need to ask you something.’

‘And what’s that?’ Master Glim asked in return.

‘Before I left Cintar, I learned that everyone had been searching for a magician who was destined to kill the Emperor.  Everyone had assumed that Eric was the one, but with his apparent death it must have put an end to the idea.’

The brush-browed Master looked deep in thought before responding.  ‘When the foretelling of the Emperor’s death became known, it set the Empire ablaze with activity.  Everyone began searching for the one who would fit the description, all for their own reasons—some to save the Emperor, some to kill him, some just for fame or power.  But, as you know, any translation from the Old Tongue can have many and varied meanings and no magician fitting the prophecy was ever found.  When young Eric arrived, however, and he began to move objects with little effort, making them jump from place to place, we were astonished.  Such spells should require great power and effort, but to Eric it almost seemed second nature.  Somehow, Eric had instinctively found the massive leap of complexity required for such a spell, when no one else could even come close.  If he could do that, we thought, who knew what he could accomplish in the future—and we tried to keep his talents hidden.  Foolishly, we thought we had succeeded.  We hoped that once he had grown and matured he would be a boon to the Order like no other.

‘Can you imagine what it would be like, Samuel, for us to have the ability to be anywhere we wished?  Most of our problems could be solved overnight.  But he was just a boy and our meddling almost got him killed.  Lomar has graciously offered to keep an eye on him, but when Eric first returned, we were dreadfully worried he would not last long.  I must admit, that for supposedly learned men, we can be incredibly foolish at times.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel returned.  ‘I just wish you had told me something of this before.’

‘That was impossible, Samuel.  For this power to fall into the wrong hands would have been disastrous.  No one would be safe…anywhere.  When you arrived, we were already busy minding Eric.  You seemed something of a curiosity—no more—and a stubborn and sometimes arrogant one at that.  We were fearful at every moment that the Circle of Eyes might discover Eric and in the end we failed to protect him from himself.  Instead of hiding him and distracting him from his natural abilities, we should have focussed on that power and nurtured it.  He almost killed himself experimenting with his innate skills and now it seems he has lost that ability forever.  At least, I am glad to say, in losing that coveted power he is now safe from the Circle and the likes.’

‘It was someone from the Circle who warned me my life was in danger—a man named Soddan.  That’s why I left the city in the first place.’

‘Soddan?  I don’t know the name, but that means nothing.  You see, Samuel?  The Circle is ever-devious.  While it may have been in your interest to leave the city then, no doubt it also served some purpose of theirs.  They may even have engineered the events leading up to then—it’s not implausible.  It does seem like quite a coincidence that you ended up in the same place as Master Ash at the time he was unearthing this relic.  Yes…I think there is much more here than we can see on the surface.’

Samuel mulled over the thoughts for a few moments and finally conceded.  ‘Very well.  I am just so surprised to hear that Eric is alive.  All this time I have been thinking he was dead.  And what has been happening in the north?  I would have thought the war would be well underway by now, but the city seems the same as ever.’

‘That’s not entirely correct.  The Garten border has been littered with skirmishes almost every day.  The Gartens are at high readiness but the Emperor has not yet committed his full armies.  I believe he is not just intent on invading Garteny, but he wants to crush them—a devastating assault that will decimate their forces and be written up in history as one of the great battles of all time.  Garteny has never before been defeated and the Emperor’s previous attempts cost him greatly.  With all the young magicians Dividian has been readying, that time may nearly be here.  Many regiments have already been dispatched with this new breed of battle-ready magician at their side and I feel the time has certainly almost arrived for the great invasion to begin.’

Samuel took a moment to digest everything before speaking up once more.  ‘Master Glim, I have one final question.  Have you noticed anything unusual about Master Ash?’ Samuel asked.

‘No, not at all,’ the old teacher replied plainly.

‘To me, his presence seems entirely strange,’ Samuel mused.  ‘I cannot put my finger on it, but I’m sure there is some foul play at work.  Every time I see him I get a distinct feeling that he appears to be something he is not.’

Lomar offered a suggestion.  ‘If he is using the dark arts, then perhaps it is affecting his very life energy.  I have heard some mention of this, but of course it was only conjecture.’

‘Perhaps,’ Samuel said.

‘So,’ Master Glim mused, ‘what do you plan from here?’

‘It’s very simple,’ Samuel stated.  ‘I will find Ash and then I will kill him.  As for the Emperor and the war and all the rest of it, I could not care less.  Since I left Tindal, all I can think about is putting my hands around Ash’s neck and throttling the very life out of him.’

Master Glim shook his head.  ‘No, Samuel.  Such revenge is foolish.  You will be tried for murder and hunted down by the entire Order.  You must remember that you also bear the responsibility of the Order, even if you do not want it.  You are a magician and nothing can change that.  There is much more at stake here than just your personal tragedies, however terrible they may be.  The world is speeding towards war.  The Order is full of plots and I am growing old and tired of it all.  We still must do everything we can to prevent this war.  If we fail, then you can still go and throttle Ash as you wish, but if you kill him now it will only make matters more complicated for us.  Countless lives are at stake here, Samuel, so please try to think beyond your own vendetta.  You are a gifted magician and, with us, you can help us to set some of these wrongs right again.’

‘I must agree, Samuel,’ Lomar added.  ‘I know you have your mind set on revenge, but such an act is petty in comparison to what we face.  Can you not put aside your vengeance a while longer for the sake of what we stand to lose?’

Samuel was hesitant.  ‘Ash killed my mother and father, my sister and all my brothers.  Now, he has killed Leila and still, I cannot seem to have my revenge on him.’  He felt bitterness climbing in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it down.  ‘If anyone has a just cause for revenge, it is me.  Can’t I put my family’s memory to rest?’

‘You can, Samuel, but not yet,’ Master Glim told him.  ‘Trust me.  At present, we three, along with the Erics, represent the only hope of averting the coming war.  You can help us, Samuel.  Remember that the soldiers from both sides are not playing games.  In times of war, terrible things are done by all sides.  Their armies will forge a path of destruction wherever they go.  Women, children, the old and the invalid, will not be spared.  Towns, villages and cities alike will be razed and burnt by the dozen.’

‘Very well,’ Samuel finally agreed.  ‘I can see you are right.  I will help you, but I promise you, I will kill Ash the moment I get the chance.  If you don’t want that to happen, I suggest you keep us apart as best you can.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Samuel,’ Lomar said.  ‘I am sure there will be some opportunity for violence ahead.  I have no love for Master Ash and if he ends up getting in the way, I will gladly hold him down while you get to work.  How does that sound?’

At one time, Samuel would have laughed to see the lanky man making such threats, but recent events and the long sea voyage had drained Samuel’s capacity for mirth.  Instead, he nodded glumly.

Master Glim then began to outline his plan.  ‘We cannot act openly, but we must find a way to defy the Emperor’s call for the Order’s assistance in the war.  For years, the Grand Master managed this by training the students in other areas, actively avoiding spells with such potential for warfare, but now Master Dividian has undone all that good work.  There are hundreds more young magicians training even now in camps around the Empire, learning to coordinate with armed troops.  The Emperor is only waiting for confirmation from the Council that all is ready.  That is where we must strike—in the Magicians’ Council.  We must convince those fools to reverse all the foolishness they have wrought—to vote “no confidence” in the Order’s ability to help in the war.’

‘But that has been tried time and time again,’ Lomar noted.  ‘The Council, now more than ever, is aligned with the Emperor’s goals.’

‘And we shall follow their example,’ Master Glim explained.  ‘We are backed into a corner, gentlemen.  We need to get our own members on the Council, and those who don’t see our point of view will need to be removed by any means.  Lord Jarrod manipulated the membership of the Council to suit him and we will do the same.’

‘We can’t just begin killing everyone,’ Lomar stated with some concern.

‘No, no—we won’t.  The Archmage would simply step in and annul the whole Council altogether if it started getting too messy.  We must keep our actions unseen.  We must find out who on the Council is still sympathetic to our cause and find ways to convince the others, or, as I said, have them replaced.  We don’t need everyone seeing eye-to-eye with us—just enough of them to throw some anarchy into their discussions.’

‘So who on the Council would help us?’ Samuel asked.

‘It’s difficult,’ Master Glim began.  ‘Lord Goodwin is really the only one still arguing for reason, but he cannot do much on his own.  I feel some of the other councillors would join him, if not for the fact that Jarrod is there.  High Lord Rimus is obviously the most influential of them all but, while he is no friend of Lord Jarrod, he is a stout Imperial and would never dare oppose the Emperor’s view.  While their causes are allied, like this, we have no chance of succeeding.  We need to talk some sense into High Lord Rimus and break Lord Jarrod’s hold on the others.’

‘Rimus is an intelligent man,’ Lomar noted, ‘and he is not actively supportive of the war itself.  He understands the effects of such things.  We could conceivably bring him to our side if he can be seen to save face with the Emperor.  It’s tricky...but possible.  Lord Jarrod…I just don’t know.’

Master Glim nodded in understanding.

‘Did you say Lord Goodwin?’ Samuel asked, cutting in.  ‘Tulan Goodwin?’

‘Yes,’ Master Glim answered.  ‘Do you know him?’

‘Of course, although I would never have thought he would involve himself in such politics, let alone join the High Council.  He always seemed uninterested in such things.’

‘I do not know him well,’ Master Glim said, ‘but he seems to have garnered many strong friends within the Order.  That is how he gained his place on the Council and how it is that he still remains.’

‘I am sure that Tulan would help us,’ Samuel said.  ‘And what of the Archmage?  What has he been doing through all this?’

‘He says very little,’ Lomar said, scratching his long neck.

‘He meets with the Magicians’ Council rarely and even then only to settle minor disputes,’ Master Glim explained.  ‘He seems to have no interest in the fate of the Order any more.  It is said that at the last meeting he attended; someone commented on something he had suggested and he stormed out like an angry child.  I cannot begin to conceive what is running through his mind.  Seemingly, he has lost it altogether.’

‘I have heard some rumours...’ Lomar began, but trailed off.

‘Oh?  Go on,’ Master Glim implored.

‘It is nothing substantial—possibly only wild accusations from those who oppose him—but there are whispers that the Archmage has been consorting with the desert folk, experimenting with their potions and exotic extracts to regain some of the vigour of his youth.  It goes further.  Some say he has been keeping strange company in his chambers at all hours of the night, but even my sources will dare not say any more.’

‘What kind of company?’ Master Glim asked, but a knock sounded on the door and all eyes moved quickly to it.  ‘Who’s there?’ Master Glim then called to those outside.

‘Erics!’ returned the familiar voice of Eric Pot.

‘Come,’ Master Glim instructed and the door creaked in.

Eric Pot entered, beaming with joy upon the sight of Samuel.  Eric Goodfellow followed him in, adjusting his rounded spectacles and smiling like a birthday boy himself.

‘Samuel!’ Eric declared.  ‘It is wonderful to see you!’

‘Samuel!’ Goodfellow echoed.

Both had matured somewhat, a little taller and broader in general.  Samuel threw his arms around them both in turn and laughed with genuine pleasure.

‘I only wish it was under more fortunate circumstances,’ he told them.

‘How is that?’ Eric asked.

Samuel quickly explained the events in Tindal to the newcomers and the conversation he had been having with Master Glim and Lomar.

‘But I fear we may need to do something drastic about Lord Jarrod,’ Master Glim added at the end.  ‘I am sure he will not easily be dissuaded.  He has been pursuing his own agenda for many years, and now that he has the upper hand, he will fight tooth and claw to keep it that way.  I feel all his eagerness to begin this war is only a convenience to get what he wants—a lever for his own means.  I am guessing he has his sights set on the Elder Staff and has plans to become the next Archmage.’

‘I agree,’ Lomar said.  ‘With the Archmage’s current strange behaviour, Jarrod has already begun sowing the seeds of dissent against him—only very subtly, but I can see that the stage is being set.  I would not be surprised if he was responsible for the Archmage’s current state, himself.  We must find a way to have Lord Jarrod voted out of the Council.’

‘I still think we should just kill him,’ Samuel suggested.  ‘While I’m killing Ash, it won’t be too much of an added inconvenience.’

Goodfellow threw Samuel a doubtful glance.  ‘We can’t just kill everyone who disagrees with us, Samuel.’

‘Well, not straight away, anyway,’ Master Glim added with a hint of guilt.

‘What other support can we count upon?’ Eric asked.

‘Precious little, Master Pot,’ Master Glim stated.  ‘Unless it looks like we have an overwhelming chance of success, I would not expect support from many magicians at all.  Most of our number are now old and frail and they would not like to risk confrontation with any of these hardy new apprentices, let alone face the wrath of the Emperor.  As you could well expect, many Turians within the Order are quite happy to let this war progress.  It is really only those who were formerly close to Grand Master Anthem to whom we could even dare suggest this plan.’

‘What about if we have Lord Jarrod discredited?’ Goodfellow suggested.  ‘As Samuel has said, the relationship between him and Master Ash is well known.  If we could prove the connection between Jarrod and all Ash’s dastardly work in Tindal, they would certainly have some questions to answer.’

Master Glim shook his head.  ‘Samuel cannot even begin to show his face in Cintar.  Lord Jarrod has ensured he will be arrested on sight and all Samuel’s accusations would be worth nothing to them.  I doubt we could scrape up enough evidence to convince the Council of anything at this stage.’

‘What about the Argum Stone and their use of black magic?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Surely that constitutes some kind of crime.’

Again, Master Glim brushed the suggestion aside.  ‘Indeed, it is, the most heinous of crimes at that, but again, it requires proof, of which we don’t have any.  If we could catch Master Ash in the act, that would certainly be damning, but I doubt he would be so foolish as to flaunt black spells before the Council.  I suggest we begin carefully and make some subtle enquiries with those we know well in the Order.  We should also speak to Lord Goodwin to ascertain his position in all this.  He will know much more of Council matters than us and may be able to provide a handhold for us to begin our work.  He may even know more about this relic that they seem to have hidden away.  We can refine our plan from there.  I know it sounds like we are dragging our feet but, strictly speaking, we are committing treason by even speaking of such things.  It will pay for us to tread carefully, rather than rush in like fools and have our heads cut off before we can open our mouths to object.’

They really had little other choice, so all of them agreed with Master Glim’s plan.

‘Well, I had better be going,’ Master Glim said.  ‘I had already arranged to meet Master Celios, so I must hurry before he comes grumbling and looking for me.  Eric, please organise a guestroom for Samuel,’— to which Eric nodded.

‘Unfortunately, I must also leave for a prior engagement,’ Lomar stated.  ‘Samuel, please stay hidden for the time being.  From what you have said, you may not be the most popular magician in Cintar.’

With that, Master Glim and Lomar left the room.

‘Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, ‘it’s honestly so good to see you.’

‘I feel the same,’ Samuel returned.  ‘And I heard you have both graduated.  It feels so strange to think of you as Masters of the Order.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Eric said.  ‘It feels strange for us, too!  I still keep expecting Master Sanctus to run up and pull my ear every time I laugh out loud.’

‘And what about your great discovery?  Any luck recreating your travelling spell?’

‘Not really,’ Eric replied, ‘but we prefer to call it a Journey Spell, if you please,’ he added cheekily.

‘Actually,’ Goodfellow added, ‘we’ve conducted a lot of research on the matter and formulated mounds of theory, but it still remains little more than that.’

‘Yes,’ Eric added guiltily.  We just haven’t been able to actually cast the spell.  I don’t know what it was that I did before, but we just can’t seem to recreate it—probably because it scared the willies out of me.’

‘Was it really that bad?’ Samuel asked.

Eric waved his two hands before him.  ‘You don’t want to know!  It was positively awful.  I felt like I was twisting inside out.  It only took a moment to arrive in Maidensvale, right in front of my parents’ house and, when I did, I couldn’t stop vomiting for hours.  I thought I was delirious.  On the bright side, my parents were glad to see me.’

‘I’d be curious to see all your notes,’ Samuel stated.  ‘Perhaps later, once we have sorted out all this mess.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Goodfellow began, ‘do you really believe Lord Goodwin will side with us?  Having a contact in the Council would be exactly what we need.’

‘Yes, I’m sure he will,’ Samuel replied.  ‘I know him very well.  In fact, perhaps one of you could contact him today and let him know I am here?’

Goodfellow nodded.  ‘Of course.  I can go to the palace now; but do you think it’s wise to mention your name, even to him?’

‘I trust him more than almost anyone,’ Samuel replied without hesitation.

Goodfellow left for the palace, while Eric went to organise another room for Samuel.  After only a short time, he returned and led Samuel to a small residence only a few buildings away, which was almost identical to Master Glim’s, both inside and out.  He also brought some food and a great pile of papers that were just a part of the total sum of their studies upon his Journey Spell.

‘You may as well look over these now,’ he explained to Samuel.  ‘It’s not like we are doing anything useful with them and it looks like we may have a lot of time on our hands.’

They looked over the notes and talked long into the afternoon, until Goodfellow returned and announced that Master Goodwin could meet Samuel the very next day.  They passed the remainder of the day idly, with Samuel catching up on all the other happenings since he had left the city.  While it was only early evening, the two Erics left and Samuel crawled into bed with their notes spread around him.  At some stage, he fell asleep and his dreams were, for once, sweet and refreshing, for his visions were of Leila and her sweet and beckoning smile.  In the realms of his fantasy, she was still alive and well and everything felt at peace.

About mid-morning of the next day, while the others were busy, Samuel became impatient waiting for his meeting and, despite all the firm warnings he had received, he left the confines of his tiny room.  He only had to wait until after lunch to meet Tulan, but his feet had become far too itchy and he felt the need to get out and see some of the old city sights—and he also had a few loose ends he wanted to tie up.  He wandered out of his room and through the ghostly school grounds with his hood pulled up around his head.  It had been raining hard through the night and was still bucketing down as if it would never stop, and so barely a soul was out to brave the weather.  Heading out through the gates, Samuel was not fussed by a little water and he continued into the city proper.  He had walked those city streets many times in the past and he knew the whole north-eastern quarter like the back of his hand.  The city was so huge, however, that few people knew all of its main streets well, let alone the endless alleyways and crooks and crannies that criss-crossed between them.  It was a test of his memory to find the one small doorway he was looking for but, after several wrong turns and a little backtracking through the puddles here and there, he finally found the tiny smoking house where he had last met Soddan.

He pushed through the cloth flap at the entrance and found the place exactly as it was the last time, as if time had not passed at all.  Men were sitting around idly, sucking on their long hosed pipes and filling the room with a pungent blue smoke.  After only a moment, a fuzzy-haired man came up to Samuel.

‘Can I help you, Good Lord?’ the man asked politely, glancing at the pool of water that was forming at Samuel’s feet.  ‘A towel perhaps?’

Samuel pushed back his hood and wiped some of the water from his face.  ‘I’m looking for someone.  His name is Soddan.’

‘A fitting name,’ the man said light-heartedly, but he continued at once on noticing Samuel’s lack of amusement.  ‘Oh, yes.  I know him,’ he replied, ‘but I haven’t seen him for quite some time.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘Very well.  I’ll be going then.’

‘Would you like me to pass him a message?’

‘No, it’s not necessary.  I’m sure I’ll bump into him eventually.’

With that, Samuel pulled his sodden hood back over his head and left the smoking house.  Surprisingly, before he had even reached the end of the street, the rain stopped as if the clouds had abruptly ran dry.  Water continued to pour from the roofs and gutters for some time, forming an impressive array of streams and tiny waterfalls that cascaded down onto the glistening streets.  Many of the city’s drains had obviously blocked up and some streets had become like rivers.  Great ponds lingered in some corners and Samuel had to wade knee-deep in places, with his boots filling up with water and making the going all the more difficult.  People were sweeping the rain out their doorsteps and throwing bucketfuls of water out into the streets as they began to clean up.

Before Samuel had even reached halfway back to the school, the sun had begun shining through a few gaps in the clouds and it was almost looking like becoming a decent day.  More people had begun to fill the streets and Samuel quickened his stride, hoping to get back to safety before the crowds came out in full force.  Several patrols of Royal Guard had begun marching the streets, but they passed by Samuel without even a glance.  It came as quite a surprise, however, when he spied a group of black-cloaked magicians coming up one of the slippery streets towards him.  What made matters worse was that he recognised the short, stocky shape of Lord Vander at their head.

Samuel decided it was safer to turn around altogether and avoid them, but as he made back up the hill from where he had come, he ran into further trouble.  A patrol of guards was spread across the street and they were questioning a clot of Paatin merchants.  There were no side streets to slip down, so Samuel stopped in place, caught between the magicians and the soldiers.  He looked over his shoulder to see if the magicians were still following.  Lord Vander had his head turned and seemed to be arguing with the barrel-chested Lord Hathen at his side.  On their farthest left, Samuel was quite alarmed to spy Lord Jarrod.  The man’s legs carried him as if he were weightless, for he almost seemed to float along in his boots.

He must have paused a fraction too long, because Lord Hathen raised a hand in Samuel’s direction and began muttering to Vander beside him.  Magician’s robes were a convenience at some times, but now they made it near impossible for Samuel to hide amongst the crowd.

‘You, there!’ Hathen began to call up towards him.  ‘Stop a moment.’

Samuel acted as if he had not heard, turning his back to the men and starting away.  He was terribly bad at looking casual at times like this, and he could not help but hurry a little, hoping to be away from them.  They were by no means youngsters, after all, so Samuel just needed a little space and, as soon as he could, he would be off as fast as his feet could carry him.  However, he still had to slip past the Royal Guards.  Their captain was still engaged in chastising some apologetic hawker, but his men were waiting idly by and seemed on the lookout for anything to remove their boredom.

Samuel changed his steps into long strides, taking as much ground as he could while doing his best to appear unhurried.

‘Hold there!’ Hathen shouted again behind him.

‘Stop there!’ Vander shouted as well.  ‘Stop there at once!’

A few of the guards had been attracted by the fuss and the captain had turned from his business to look directly at Samuel.  Samuel looked over his shoulder and could see the councillors now puffing and hurrying after him.  Only Lord Jarrod seemed unaffected by the exertion and stayed easily beside the other two without breaking his stride, pinning Samuel with his glinting gaze.  Their shouts had now attracted the full attention of the Royal Guard and the men now stood attentively as Samuel approached; three agitated old magicians in pursuit.  The captain waited there with his hands on his hips, a mix of puzzlement and amusement set on his face.

‘Captain! Stop that man!’ Vander called out through his wheezing.

Samuel was trapped like a rat between the guards and the councillors.  ‘Yes, Captain,’ Samuel called out also.  ‘Stop that man!’ and he pointed to one of the city folk who just happened to be standing nearby, watching the show.  At being singled out and realising that the Royal Guard were now staring straight at him, the man turned about and darted into his house in a panic, slamming the door quickly behind him.

The captain was not fooled, however, and remained waiting patiently.  As Samuel reached the guards, he realised he had no other recourse but to run.  He burst into a dash and tried to scrape past the men, but they had their arms around him and held him firm as he struggled to wriggle free.  Each man had brutish strength and Samuel found his squirming quite futile.  They scuffled on the ground a moment before hands had him by the collar and the guards brought him to his feet.

The captain stood before Samuel with a look of great fascination.  ‘What do we have here?’ he asked.  ‘Magicians chasing magicians?  How intriguing.’

Samuel realised he had no choice but to use his magic to escape but, as soon as he began to summon, streaks of magic came flashing in around him and he felt his hold on the ether suddenly severed.  He recognised the weaves of Vander and Hathen and together the councillors had succeeded in blocking Samuel from reaching the source.  The three councillors then came pushing through the clump of Royal Guards to stand by Samuel.  With their hefty physiques, Vander and Hathen had no trouble at all shoving the guards aside, leaving Jarrod to glide in after them.

‘See!  I was right!’ Lord Hathen said, striving to catch his breath and looking rather ill.  ‘It’s that young troublemaker Samuel.  Here!  In the city!’

‘By the gods, lad, what are you doing here?’ Vander asked, red-faced and glazed in sweat.  ‘You don’t know how much trouble you are in for, young man.’

‘You should not have returned at all,’ Lord Jarrod stated.  Samuel was somewhat surprised by the sound of his words, for his voice was surprisingly thin and nasally—rather laughable, in fact, and not at all as menacing as he would have assumed.  Samuel had not had any such dreams since he had last left Cintar, but it did confirm to him that the two scheming voices in his head had indeed belonged to Dividian and Jarrod.

‘May I ask what’s happening here, My Lords?’ the captain of the guards asked.

‘Thank you for your assistance, Captain,’ Hathen replied.  ‘We’ve had no end of trouble with this young man in the past.  We thought he had left the city for good, but now he seems to have had the gall to return.  He has some serious questions to answer.’

It was pointless for Samuel to struggle against the men who held him so firmly, and his magic was blocked by the councillors’ spell.  Together, their magic was too strong.  If he had had his wits about him, he would have called a spell shield into place at first sight of the men.  It would have guaranteed a confrontation, but at least he would not have been defenceless.

‘What shall we do with him, then?’ Hathen asked.

‘Perhaps you should just let him go,’ Jarrod said as smoothly as he could.  ‘I’m sure he won’t bother us any further.’

‘Release him?’ Vander asked with disbelief.  ‘You must be mad!  No, we will take him to the Archmage.  He asked to see the boy if he ever had the chance.’

At this, Jarrod only smirked.

‘Would you like some assistance?’ the captain asked, still looking quite fascinated by the situation.

‘Thank you, Captain.  We certainly would.  We don’t want to risk having this good-for-nothing slip away from us.  What’s your name, good Captain?’ Hathen asked.

‘Captain Orrell.  We’re just heading back to the palace, so I’ll be happy to escort you back.’

‘Very good, Captain.  If you would, we need to take this young magician to the palace.  If your men can help us, we would be very appreciative.  We have the young man’s magic in check, and I’m sure he won’t want to risk upsetting you and catching a blade in his back—would you, young man?’

‘That’s right,’ Samuel replied darkly.

‘And we don’t want the city folk catching sight of such a scene,’ Lord Vander added.  ‘It would not be good for the Order.’

The captain nodded to his men and they released Samuel’s numbing arms.

‘Then, if you are returning to the palace, I will go on,’ Lord Jarrod stated.  ‘I have other business to attend to.  You seem to be managing things here.’

‘Very well, Lord Jarrod,’ Vander said.  ‘We will meet again for dinner and speak more of our business then.’

At that, Lord Jarrod strode off and Captain Orrell and his men began escorting Samuel and the two councillors towards the palace.  The thought of being dragged before the Archmage was not nearly as disturbing as being left in the presence of Lord Jarrod.  Everything about the man made Samuel’s skin crawl.  He seemed unnerving, even unnatural.  Samuel could have believed him to be some kind of devil or hideous creature disguised as a man—all except for his ridiculous voice, which served to break the illusion completely.  It was impossible to imagine any such dark creature sounding so comical.  It was no small wonder that Lord Jarrod spoke so little.

Orrell and his men began their task and led Samuel through the streets, parting the growing crowds with their gruff commands.  Samuel considered attempting to run several times, but every time he glanced towards a side street or alley, he found Orrell’s men looking back at him gravely and he put the thought aside.  Without his magic, he was powerless to escape.

It was not long before they found themselves marching in the shadows of the palace walls, following the compound’s great girth until reaching the mighty, hinged gates that led into the grounds proper.

Despite his time in the city, Samuel had never had the opportunity to truly appreciate the palace itself.  It was considered one of the jewels of the world.  It could almost be considered an entity in itself and could easily swallow a country town such as Stable Canthem within it, without even touching the sides.  Towers shot up like spears to heaven, fortified with engineering and age-old magic that defied explanation.  The walls were designed to withstand any assault, even when the city itself had fallen.  The sight was awesome and it did make Cintar truly  magnificent.  With such motivation, it was no small wonder that the Emperor felt so driven to be the ruler of the known world.

Within the gates—themselves titanic constructions—Orrell’s squad marched across the wide grounds and led the way through a number of gates and courtyards until they reached the very base of the Mage Tower.  Looking up, the stonework seemed to stretch skywards almost eternally and Samuel could feel the embers of magic that had been driven into the very stones themselves.

‘We shall take our leave from here, if that suits you,’ Captain Orrell suggested, and Vander and Hathen bade the man and his troops thanks before sending them off.

‘Go on!’ Vander ordered.  ‘We don’t have all day, boy.’

Samuel proceeded through the tower entrance, where he met the base of a wide set of stone stairs.  The tower was quite narrow and completely round in design, so its stairs curled up against the inside walls, stopping occasionally at haphazardly built doors or trapdoors.  Wooden beams and struts stuck out from everywhere and the feeling was quite constrictive.  For all the impressiveness of the tower from the outside, inside it seemed entirely disorganised, like a patchwork of different ideas and repairs that spanned the centuries.

After climbing many stairs and ascending many levels, Samuel began to realise he had not tired even in the slightest.  Hathen and Vander, too, looked fresh and vital, bounding up spryly behind him.  There were certainly spells at work and it immediately answered all Samuel’s questions about the practicalities of such tall constructions.  Somehow, the builders had forged the tower with spells that would aid those who climbed its heights, making such ascent no more difficult than traversing a flat floor.

Samuel narrowed his eyes as he climbed, trying to ascertain the workings of such spells, but the magic was old and deep and seeped into everything, bar the most recent of additions.  All he could guess was that the tower transformed the magic of those within into a subtle Lifting field, assisting them with each step.  As such, only magicians would benefit from climbing the tower, which perhaps explained why this had been designated the Mage Tower.  Common folk would quickly tire of dragging themselves up and down each day.  Samuel immediately began wondering if the other palace towers had any similar such spells in place.  The High Tower dwarfed the Mage Tower in all dimensions and, despite his current predicament, he could not help but hope to quench his sudden curiosity.

Finally, just as Samuel was guessing they must be running out of steps, Vander announced just that.

‘Stop here,’ he instructed, pausing before an ancient door.  It was simple in design and, as with the rest of the tower, seemed to have been patched up and mended on numerous occasions.  ‘We’ll leave you with the Archmage.  Don’t try any of your nonsense with him.  He won’t take any cheek, so watch your tongue lest you wish to lose it.’

‘And don’t even consider using your magic in there,’ Hathen added, raising a finger at Samuel.  ‘You’ve been warned.’

With that, the hefty Hathen and the stocky Vander turned about and started back down the spiral stairs.  They had no sooner disappeared from sight when the spell around Samuel vanished along with them.

Samuel waited a few moments, moving his eyes between the stairs and the door in front of him, wondering if he should attempt to escape.  He could be out and back to the School of Magic, but then, he assumed that the two burly Lords would come to the same conclusion.  They were probably waiting just around the corner or at the base of the tower and, in truth, he had been keen to meet with the enigmatic Archmage since he had first arrived in Cintar as a youth.

There was nothing left for him to do but enter the room.  Samuel raised his hand somewhat hesitantly and knocked upon the door, feeling the firm and smooth timber against his knuckles.  He could feel a magician waiting on the other side, somewhere inside the room.

‘Enter,’ a muffled voice called aloud.

Samuel turned the handle and pushed the door inwards.  Revealed within was a large and rich chamber that filled the whole level of the tower, great and round.  Tapestries hung from the walls and statues and carvings lay on ornate pedestals.  Various thick rugs and carpets of many and varied colours covered the floor.  Fine curtains fluttered and waved beside an outside balcony where the Archmage stood, leaning on the balustrade, drinking from a large goblet while he surveyed the city below.  He still wore his bedclothes, worn and grubby, and he had large, furred slippers upon his feet.  As he turned to face Samuel, he revealed an unshaven face and grey, matted hair, with ruddy stains like wine around his lips.  The Archmage’s aura was quite strong, coursing around him boldly, but it was not nearly as impressive as Samuel imagined that the Archmage of the Order of Magicians would have.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, as Samuel took a step inside the room.

‘Archmage Ordi, I am—’

‘—Samuel.  I know who you are, boy!  Don’t be impertinent!’ the Archmage said impatiently.  ‘I mean what do you want?  Why are you causing all this fuss?’  When Samuel did not immediately reply, he sighed.  ‘Well, shut the door and stop gawking.  Come closer.  I trust your return has some meaning.  I doubt you would come back to us flippantly, without some good cause, so I’m sure there must be something behind it.  Come now.  This is your opportunity to clear the air.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Samuel stammered, closing the chamber door behind him and crossing the soft rugs towards the centre of the room.  ‘I want to ask you a question, if I may?’

‘You may,’ the Archmage remarked, scratching at his grey-stubbled cheek.  ‘But first, you must answer mine.  As Archmage, I am privy to a wealth of information, but my sources sometimes leave me wanting.  We magicians are a curious bunch, aren’t we?  But it is our nature, after all, so I shouldn’t really be surprised.  Tell me, what gives you the gall to return to Cintar?  Didn’t you realise you would be caught and punished, or had the thought not crossed your mind?’

‘I have something to do here in Cintar,’ Samuel explained.

‘Hmm,’ old Ordi mused.  ‘So I have heard.  We can get to that later.  Tell me then, why did you leave in the first place?’

‘I had to leave.  I would have been killed if I’d stayed here.’

‘Killed?  What makes you think that?’

‘Lord Jarrod had sent his men to murder me.’

The Archmage chuckled slightly, looking quite amused.  ‘How did you come to such a fantastic conclusion?  Was it that infernal Grand Master Anthem?’

‘No, it wasn’t him.  He wasn’t even here when I left.’

‘Then who was it?’ the Archmage insisted, now lacking all mirth.  He looked at Samuel intently.

‘I can’t say,’ Samuel replied hesitantly.  ‘I mean, I don’t really know.’

Archmage Ordi paused to smile pleasantly.  He took his time and let Samuel stand uncomfortably in the centre of the room while he gazed about his room.  Finally, he returned his attention to Samuel with a look of fatherly patience.  ‘Let me divulge the sequence of events surrounding your absence, as far as I understand them.  Please, correct me if I am wrong.

‘After a string of minor behavioural matters, you commit the considerable offence of defying Master Dividian.  The Council then summons you in to see what could be the root of your discontent and immediately you flee without facing your punishment.  Several years later, you drag yourself back to Cintar and are caught sneaking around the streets, obviously up to no good as you take flight from authority on sight.  You stand before me with all these nonsensical stories and I cannot believe you are that much of a dullard as to believe such things.  There must be something you are up to?  You must be working with someone?  Tell me, what are you doing here?  Who is whispering in your ear?’

‘That’s not correct at all,’ Samuel protested.

‘Well, it seems to be the case from all I can see.  Everything you are trying to tell me is full of holes.  You tell me that Lord Jarrod ordered your death, for nothing more than some rather obnoxious insubordination.  You won’t follow instructions from a dignified member of the Order, yet when some mysterious stranger then tells you to flee the city, you do so without hesitation.  You beeline directly for the furthest corner of our Empire, and there you just happen to meet Master Ash and, just as he is set to return triumphantly to the capital, you begin interfering with his duties.  Either you are intentionally set on sabotaging the good work of the Order or someone has tricked you into it.  Which is it?  Do you suffer from delusions, my good boy, or are you just eternally stupid?’

‘Ash is a murderer!’ Samuel retorted, but the Archmage raised a firm palm to silence him.

‘Maybe it’s time you grew up a little, my unfortunate lad.  Life is not as simple or as convenient as you may imagine.  Master Ash has proved himself invaluable time and time again when the Order has truly needed him.  I know he can use rather primitive methods, but he always gets the results we need.  Sometimes the Order needs to do difficult things and the right men must be found to do these things.  The Empire and the Order are paramount in all things, Samuel.  You, on the other hand, are inconsequential, yet you choose to believe otherwise and have been causing no end of trouble.  Master Ash told me of your conflict, but when you told him that someone from the Circle had sent you, what was he to think?  I had already told him to protect our interests there in Tindal with all his ability.  Many, many lives depended on his successful return and you dared to endanger that.’

‘Wait!’ Samuel interrupted.  ‘I didn’t tell him it was someone from the Circle.  He sent his men to kill me!’

‘Let me finish,’ the Archmage stated calmly.  ‘When will you realise that you have been fooled, Samuel?  The Circle of Eyes is devious and manipulative.  They are ever full of lies and deceptions and will stop at nothing to achieve their underhanded work.  They convinced you of a conspiracy and made you think that Lord Jarrod is trying to kill you—that Master Ash killed your parents.  Don’t you realise how ridiculous that sounds?  They send you to the farthest reaches of the Empire, where you happen to meet Master Ash and, of course, you try to kill him to settle your unfortunate history—all as the Circle planned.  They have used your ridiculous plans for revenge against you.’

‘It wasn’t like that at all!’ Samuel spat out, desperate to lend some clarity to the discussion.

‘Hold your tongue with me, boy!’ Archmage Ordi hissed.  ‘You forget with whom you are speaking!’  The man then took a breath and waited a moment to settle, before continuing with a calm tone of voice once more.  ‘Samuel, my boy, listen to me.  I understand everything seems logical to you, but believe me for just a few moments.  Please try to remember that I have a lifetime of experience with these things, while you have only just begun to learn about the ways of the world.  The Circle have many ways of beguiling you—believe me.  They can make lies seem like truth, fantasies seem like reality.  They have used you as they use everyone and you played right into their hands, nearly at the cost of your own life.  They are masters of shadow and deception.  That is how they work and they have turned you into a tool of their own manipulation.  They used you, Samuel, and that is the simple truth.  You are not the first magician to fall victim to their insidious plots and I am certain you will not be the last.  I’m sure there are probably others even now that believe the Order and Empire are full of all manner of underhanded schemes.’

‘But what about the Order and the war?  Are you trying to tell me that these are actually good decisions?’

A soft groan came from the large bed that filled a good portion of the room.  Samuel’s attention was momentarily distracted as he noticed two long lumps under the covers.  One rolled over, revealing a swathe of long golden hair.  Samuel looked away and tried his best to ignore the sight.  There were much more important things to discuss.

‘Of course they are,’ the Archmage said dismissively, and sat himself on a small stool by the bed.  He began stroking a short staff that had been leaning against the bed frame.  Picking it up with one hand, he began absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over its shaft.  ‘I know you are an Outlander, Samuel, but by now I would have assumed you would have stopped thinking like one.  The Emperor is not a butcher, nor is he a madman.  Quite the contrary, he is a leader and a visionary.  The lands of Amandia have forever been scourged with wars and conflict; eternally locked in turmoil that has resulted in nothing but death and suffering.  Finally, we are within reach of a lasting and decisive peace for all people.  The Emperor has a grand and wonderful plan that will unify us all and lasting peace will finally be achieved.’

‘By creating a generation of magicians trained to kill and do battle?  It’s against everything the Order stands for.’

‘Quite the opposite,’ the Archmage corrected.  ‘It’s exactly what the Order is supposed to do.  The Order has always been, and always will be, part of the Turian Empire and, as such, its purpose is to serve the Emperor.  I know Grand Master Anthem has been filling everyone’s heads with nonsense to the contrary, but peace and prosperity will never be achieved through his misguided methods.  In his greying years, I’m afraid the man has become quite dim-witted.  I was so sure that he had come to view the Empire as I do, but he proved to be a true Garten at heart.  I’m sure that at this very moment, he is teaching King Otgart’s men every secret we have.’

‘The Grand Master is against violence,’ Samuel stated defiantly.  ‘He would never help them to invade Turia.’

‘Oh, I have no doubt you are right, my boy, for he has become quite the pacifist in his old age.  He will be teaching them with all haste how to defend themselves when our great forces rain down upon their wretched cities.’

‘But that’s terrible!’ Samuel exclaimed.  ‘So many people will be killed.  It’s unthinkable!’

‘Samuel,’ Archmage Ordi said calmly, rising from his stool and walking over to face the young man with the aid of his long, polished staff.  He looked even more frail as he leaned upon the thing, hunched over and haggard.  ‘Don’t you see?  We are all only servants of the Empire.  This is the final wonderful stage of the Emperor’s plan to unite all Amandia as one glorious nation.  The truce after the last war was only a pause—so the Emperor could refresh his troops and reinforce their numbers.  Generations of warfare have left their ranks thin.  Grand Master Anthem was supposed to train the Order to aid in this final phase, but we learned he was only slowing us down all the while.  Instead of giving us the powerful magicians he promised, he deceived the Council with excuses and empty promises, while your heads were filled with nonsense.  Meanwhile, the Gartens have been laughing in our faces.  It seems they were not fooled by the Emperor’s supposed truce and have been building up vast armies of their own.  Now, however, this is all moot and no amount of men on either side will decide this war.  We now have in our possession the tool to wipe the Garten forces aside like bugs.’  As he spoke, he looked straight through Samuel, as if preoccupied with visions of glory.

Samuel’s mouth fell open.  ‘The Argum Stone.’

The Archmage seemed pleased and refocussed his gaze on the youth before him.  ‘So you do have some sense, after all.’

‘Then it’s true.  It does have some great power and you’ve found a way to awaken it.  You’re going to use it against the Gartens.’

‘Yes, Samuel!’ the Archmage told him passionately, ‘but we have not quite mastered its workings as yet.  When we do, we will finally have a tool that will make all warfare obsolete.  No one will stand against it.  Walls and cities will fall asunder.  Armies will be flattened and swept aside.  We will conquer the Gartens easily and no one will dare revolt or plot against the Empire again.  Peace will reign.’

‘But that’s terrible,’ Samuel declared, aghast.  ‘How can you agree with something like this?  The Emperor is just a tyrant!’

Ordi’s patience again looked strained, but he managed to remain composed.  ‘Tell me, Samuel, what can you tell me about this device?  What do you know about it?’

‘Almost nothing that I’m sure you do not already know.  Even if I did, I would not share such things with you.’

The Archmage sighed and took another moment to survey the room.  He stood straight—he would have been quite tall and athletic in his youth—and took his weight from his staff.  ‘Very well.  Then you are of no use to me,’ he said, showing a thin smile, more forced than genuine.  ‘I was hoping you would come to your senses, but I see Anthem’s nonsense and the Circle’s deceptions have left you addle-headed.  As you are, you are far too dangerous to be left to your own devices—far too dangerous.  I have one last question for you, Samuel, and then our meeting will be at an end.  Tell me, why do you think that Lord Jarrod wanted you killed?  What did the mysterious representative of the Circle tell you to bring you under his spell?’

‘They said there was a belief that I would do something...something no other magician was capable of doing.’

‘Yes,’ Archmage Ordi said with interest, almost leaning in towards Samuel to have the answer.  ‘Tell me what that was?’

‘That I would kill the Emperor.’

The Archmage’s smile return.  ‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’

With that, the Archmage raised his staff and it blazed with silver-hewn magic.  Instinctively, Samuel began to form a spell shield, but the power of the staff shredded his weaves to nothing and slammed into him like the weight of a toppling wall of bricks.  Samuel’s breath was pulled from his lungs and his mind was overwhelmed by foreign magic, leaving him devoid of logical thought.  All became black and silent and numb and deep.

Samuel awoke.  He was lying on a single blanket that was spread out upon the floor.  He turned his head and knew immediately that he was a prisoner, for there were bars in the small window above him.  A tiny room surrounded him, with a thick, handleless door set into the wall.  He climbed to his feet and examined it, but there were no edges to grip and there was certainly no obvious way to open it.  He readied to cast a spell and was horrified to feel that he was blocked from reaching the source.  This could only mean one thing.  He was inside the Mage Cell—a tiny prison used to confine magicians.  It had been built and laced with countless, powerful spells by the first Magicians’ Council.  While within its walls, a magician could not summon at all.  Samuel went cold with dread.  Try as he might, his attempts to reach the source were futile.

He turned and looked out the window.  The palace grounds were far below, and beyond lay the throbbing city.  The open spaces of the School of Magic could just be seen to the north-east, standing out amongst the tall walls and narrow streets around it.  There, his friends would be missing him by now.  At least, he hoped so.  He damned himself for venturing out alone into the city and only hoped someone would find a way to save him before he met some awful end.

His head still ached terribly.  He had been foolish not to recognise the Staff of Elders, and its magic had overcome him instantly.  The power within it had been awesome.  It would take more magic than any one magician possessed to even begin to match it; perhaps even many magicians.  It seemed that the Argum Stone was still holding onto its secrets, but once awoken, it meant there would be two formidable vessels of power in the land.  At present, it seemed that the Archmage was the one pulling the strings, but such things could change quickly and there would surely be parties envious of such power waiting in the wings.  Whoever possessed both ancient relics would be a force beyond reckoning.

A simple meal, pushed through the space beneath the door, was brought to Samuel as dusk settled.  He ate some of the thick and tasteless porridge and then threw the tray into the corner with disdain.  The night was long and cold and he awoke from nightmares throughout, shivering and pulling his blanket around himself tighter.  He still wore his robes, with the hood pulled up around his head, but the chill air seemed to penetrate everything and his clothes were still damp from his adventures in the rain.  He tried to spell himself warm, but the ether was utterly unreachable.  Samuel rolled over to face the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and hoped that the dawn would come soon.

It was still dark when a bolt was drawn with a resounding clank and the cell door creaked inwards.

‘Samuel?’ came a questing voice.

‘Who is it?’ Samuel asked, sitting up as the hooded figure waited in the doorway.

‘It is I.  Come, we must quickly be away.’

Samuel stood, untangling himself from his thin blanket and peered closely at his rescuer.  ‘Tulan!’ he exclaimed as the figure became discernible in the dark.

Tulan put his finger to his lips, signalling for quiet and Samuel immediately nodded in understanding.  The moustached magician stepped aside and Samuel followed him into the short dim corridor.  The sweet tang of magic came immediately rushing back as Samuel passed over the threshold.  He spelled away the cold and discomfort that had seeped into his bones over the night and at once felt like a man born anew.

Several guards lay immobile on the floor.  They were awake, but held tight in a cocoon of spells, unable to move, see or hear.

‘I must admit, I was surprised to hear you had returned to Cintar,’ Tulan said in hushed tones as they stepped through a second door and began down the many stairs of the Mage Tower.  ‘But I was more surprised to learn you ventured out so foolishly.  You’re only lucky that the Archmage decided to lock you up.  He must have further plans for you, given that he could have just killed you on the spot.’

‘I owe you my thanks,’ Samuel returned.  ‘When we’re good and safe I will tell you everything.  Now, how will we get out of here?’

‘I can’t risk being seen with you and I only have a scant few moments to spare.  You will have to make through the kitchens and find your way out the palace gates.  I have a friend waiting there, a short fellow with a green cap.  You can’t miss him.  He will lead you somewhere safe, but it’s better you don’t speak with him.  Once safe, don’t show your face outdoors for any reason.  I will send word of your whereabouts to your friend, Master Goodfellow.  Keep hidden.  If you pass any magicians in the street, don’t panic and run away like a madman this time.  You have some time up your sleeve before your escape will be discovered, but you should certainly not dally.’

Samuel made an apologetic smile.  ‘I’ll try to remember that.  No one has escaped from the Mage Cell in a long time, as far as I have heard,’ Samuel said, ‘so I expect it will cause quite a stir.’

‘No one has been put in the Mage Cell for a long time,’ Tulan corrected.  ‘And, yes, the Archmage will stop at nothing once he finds that you have escaped.’  Tulan stopped as they reached the base of the tower.  ‘Now, you go on ahead.  This is where I must leave you.  There is one more thing.  If you are discovered, no matter what happens, don’t mention my involvement.  I have a lot to risk over this—more than you could know.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel said.

‘It’s very important.  Tell them you overcame the cell guard yourself—tell them anything, but don’t tell them about me.  It is only because we are good friends that I dared to help you at all.’

Samuel nodded again.  ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Very well,’ Tulan said, looking over his shoulder nervously.  He went to walk away, but stopped once more.  ‘You should leave the city at once.  Go back to wherever you have been, for your own sake, Samuel.  It is far too dangerous for you here.’  Then he afforded himself the luxury of a smile.  ‘It’s good to see you again.’  With that, he quickly strode down the side passage and away.

Escaping the palace was surprisingly simple.  Once he neared the kitchens, Samuel began meeting more and more palace staff, but no one paid him more attention than a ‘My Lord’ or a quick curtsey as they hurried on with their duties.  Even when he passed through the kitchens themselves, where teams of burly cooks with stained aprons were sweating over pots and chopping boards, he was afforded barely more than a glance.

Once out through the kitchen entrance and into the gardens, Samuel thought he should make his pace seem less hurried, and tried to adopt some kind of elongated stroll.  It seemed to achieve at least some of the desired effect, for he managed to pass a squad of marching guards without incident.  He stepped directly out through the palace gates and stood momentarily on the street, looking about for Tulan’s friend.  He did spy quite a short man standing some distance away, wearing a tight green cap and leaning idly against a wall.  He looked vaguely familiar.  Still, seemed to be the only one fitting Tulan’s description, so Samuel decided he must be the one.  Stopping just short of the man, Samuel cleared his throat.  The fellow glanced up and, remembering Tulan’s advice not to speak with him, and not knowing what else to do, Samuel gave his friendliest smile.

The man showed no hint of recognition, but began away at once.  Samuel hesitated a moment, at first wondering if there were some mistake, but then he realised that Tulan’s friend was only trying to maintain some secrecy.  He started after the man, keeping some pepper in his stride just to keep up.  They weaved through half the city like that, with Samuel often needing to bob his head above the crowds just to keep track of the man’s green cap.  It was no help that the man was really quite short and often vanished for long periods amongst the throngs of people.

Finally, long after Samuel had begun again wondering if this was even the right man or not, the fellow stepped aside into the entrance of a dilapidated-looking building.  Samuel paused a moment in the doorway, then started up the short stairs after him.  The green-capped man was waiting at the top of the first flight of creaking old stairs and, as Samuel neared him, he reached over and opened the door beside him.  Without so much as a word, he squeezed past Samuel, went back down the stairs and disappeared back into the street.

Samuel guessed he was supposed to wait inside, so he poked his head through the doorway.  Inside was a featureless, single room.  To the rear, Samuel could see a small squatting chamber with a low open window, built above the outside gutter.  There was also a table, having only three and a half of its four legs and two aged chairs.  Otherwise, the room was empty.  With some trepidation, Samuel stepped inside and pushed the door back shut behind him.  There were a couple of iron brackets on each side of the doorframe, and a length of wood leaning beside it, which Samuel put into place, barring the door from opening.

He poked around the room for a while, but, aside from the table, chairs and toilet, there was little else to investigate.  He only hoped the others would come and find him sometime soon.  It was not too different from his cell—small and confining—but at least here he could still feel his magic.  From out of the window he could see the palace towers jutting into the sky, just visible through the haze and smoke of the city.  In one of them, his escape had probably already been discovered.

Samuel stayed alone in the small room all day.  He occasionally peered carefully out from the window.  One time, he saw several black-cloaked magicians pushing determinedly through the crowds.  Whether they sought him or not, he could not tell, but it was better not to take any chances—he kept his head well inside from that point on.  Eventually, however, being overcome by hunger, Samuel had to creep outside to fetch himself something to eat and drink.  He kept his eye out for magicians all the while and only felt safe once he had scurried back up the stairs and had his door barred firmly shut once again.

After a long day of uneventful waiting and a long night of trying to sleep on the rough floorboards, Samuel was roused by a soft tapping at the door.  He rolled to his feet as softly as he could and tiptoed to the door.  Again, the tapping sounded and a soft voice called, ‘Hello?  Anyone in there?’

‘Eric?’  Samuel asked back through the door.  His own voice sounded thin and strained from the lack of sleep.

‘Yes, it’s me,’ came the reply and Samuel quickly lifted the bar from the door and opened it.  He was greeted by the grinning face of Eric Goodfellow dressed in commoner’s garb.

‘Eric!  What are you doing here?’ Samuel asked.

‘I’ve come to join you,’ Goodfellow replied, stepping in past Samuel and shutting the door quickly behind.  ‘Lord Goodwin sent word that you had escaped.  You wouldn’t believe how much trouble you’ve caused!  You’d think you had stolen the Emperor’s crown itself from all the kerfuffle outside.  The Archmage has set the whole Order into a frenzy to find you.  They came asking questions yesterday, trying to find you or your accomplice.  Lord Goodwin said the palace itself had been turned upside down.  It was obvious they would not stop harassing everyone until they found whoever helped you escape, so I decided to become him.  Once I am reported missing, they will have their accessory and lessen their focus on everyone else—or so I hope.’

‘But how did you find me?’ Samuel asked.

‘Oh,’ Goodfellow responded.  ‘This friend of Lord Goodwin’s led me here.  A strange chap.  Very quiet.’

‘Ah,’ Samuel said.  He was still unused to hearing Tulan referred to as Lord Goodwin.  The title seemed to sit so strangely on the man whom Samuel knew best for travelling the countryside and belittling the establishment.  ‘But you have resigned yourself to my fate, should we be caught,’ Samuel noted.  ‘Who knows what they will do to us if they find us.’

‘Yes,’ Goodfellow admitted, nodding, ‘but I believe it will make our overall task easier.  The others will be able to act more freely.’

Samuel conceded and they sat at the wobbly table.

‘We may have to do something about this room when we get the chance,’ Goodfellow noted.  ‘This is appalling.’

‘Or get some blankets, at least.  I froze half to death last night.’

‘How did you come by this place?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Tulan’s man led me here.  I have no idea what he is doing with such a place,’ Samuel admitted, ‘but I’m assuming we are free to use it.  I’ll remember to ask him next time, but I’m not sure we’ll even get an answer.’

‘So, what happened when you saw the Archmage?’ Goodfellow asked, brushing his sandy hair from his eyes.  ‘I take it all did not go well, judging from the fact he threw you in the Mage Cell.’

‘He accused me of being a traitor,’ Samuel began.  ‘He said everything was happening for the good of the Empire and that Grand Master Anthem was a traitor, too, for resisting their efforts to go to war.  They’re planning a full invasion of Garteny and the Order is pivotal in providing victory over King Otgart’s forces—at least, it was before Ash returned with the Argum Stone.’

‘And I assume you didn’t tell him you appreciated his idea?’

Samuel laughed.  ‘That’s right.  Before I knew it, he used the Staff of Elders to knock me senseless.  When I woke up, I was in the Mage Cell.’

‘Is it true what they say about the Mage Cell—that you can’t use magic at all?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘It’s worse,’ Samuel confirmed, a shudder tickling his spine.  ‘Not only can you not use magic, you can barely feel it.  It made me feel so lost and hopeless.  I hope I never see that wretched place again.’

‘Do you think we’re safe here?’ Goodfellow asked, glancing towards the window.

‘Well, they won’t be able to find me,’ Samuel said.  ‘Nobody can—but now you’re here we may have to think of something.  In a way, this room is well chosen, as the sheer number of people outside will help conceal any magician’s presence.  You even surprised me just now.  Given time, however, they may be able to find us.  We may have to ask Master Glim or Lomar if they know any good concealment spells.’

Goodfellow nodded and leaned back in his rickety chair.  He looked to all the corners of the room, and at the sorry-looking excuse for a privy that opened up over the rear alleyway.  ‘So…what do we do?’ he finally asked.

‘We need to wait until we can speak with Tulan.  Perhaps he will have some idea of what to do.  The Archmage said the war is inevitable now and that they will use the Argum Stone to ensure victory.’

‘Is it truly that powerful?’

‘So the Archmage seems to believe,’ Samuel replied, ‘but I have no idea what it can actually do.  All I know is that it could negate my spells entirely.  Perhaps they can find some way to harness that power, or perhaps they have some other use for it entirely.’

Goodfellow sneaked out later that day and returned holding a basket with enough food and water to last them a few days, plus a small satchel containing some common clothes for Samuel, which he promptly changed into.  It was another day later, after almost insufferable boredom, when another knock sounded on the door and Samuel felt a familiar presence on the other side.

‘It’s Tulan,’ called a voice from outside, just as Goodfellow was beginning to panic.  ‘Open the door.’

They promptly let him in, surprised to see that even he was dressed in common clothes.

‘We cannot afford to let anyone notice magicians coming and going from here,’ Tulan mentioned on noting their glances.  ‘It’s quite some trouble to find some place to secretly change clothes so I won’t be able to come here very often in the future, if at all.  You’ve made things much more difficult for me, Samuel.  And I see that you have ignored my advice to leave entirely.’

‘Are you aware that the Emperor is preparing to invade Garteny?’  Samuel asked.

‘Of course I am.  Why else do you think I’m here?  My life was once relatively carefree and even occasionally enjoyable.  Now I’m eternally locked up in meetings and discussions and doing things I vowed I’d never do again—all in a vain attempt to stop exactly that.’

‘We had all heard the rumours,’ Goodfellow spoke, ‘but we originally understood the Gartens were set to invade the Empire, not the other way around.’

‘That’s what the Emperor wanted you to think,’ Tulan explained.  ‘The average Turian would have no problem whatsoever with the Emperor going to war, but the territories are another matter.  He learned the hard way that the outlands must be carefully managed if they are not to fall back into disarray.  A sudden return to war could bring disquiet and opportunity for rebellion to the territories, so better to make it seem like a defensive action.  Once the invasion begins in full, he will proclaim that Garteny is a rogue state and must be conquered once and for all.  Then, the Emperor can do as he wishes.’

‘That’s horrid,’ Goodfellow stated.

‘Of course it is,’ Tulan responded, ‘but it’s also very clever.  That’s what politics is all about.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Samuel asked.

‘There’s not much I can do,’ Tulan replied, ‘as it’s difficult.  There are some on the Council who secretly do not favour the Emperor’s plans, but do not dare say so.  The Emperor is all-powerful.  No one can tell him what he can and cannot do.  All we can do is make gentle suggestions.’

‘Could the Magicians’ Council just refuse to grant the Order’s assistance?’

Tulan laughed and shook his head.  ‘Certainly not!  That would be the end of us!  We exist by the pure grace of the Emperor.  One word from him and the Order vanishes.  It’s only while we are useful to him that the Order can exist at all.  That is why I have been progressing with the utmost care.  Given enough time, I am hoping to turn this situation around, but all this sudden commotion is the last thing I need at the moment.’

‘What about the Archmage?  Doesn’t he have any leverage?’ Goodfellow questioned.

‘He’s more intent on the war than anyone.’

‘So I have learned,’ Samuel noted.

‘But it doesn’t matter now,’ Tulan then stated.  ‘Despite Master Dividian’s best efforts, it looks as though he has not been able to ready enough new magicians to support the Emperor’s armies.  The Council has been debating the matter every day for long months, and it finally seems that the Emperor is rescinding his request for the Order’s assistance in battle.  Today he told us we are no longer needed.’

‘Do you mean it?’ Goodfellow asked.  ‘Does that mean it’s all over?’

‘Yes, of course.  So there’s no need to be making so much trouble.  If you give it some time, I’m sure you will see the Order returning to its old self soon enough.’

‘So the Emperor no longer wants magicians to go to battle?’ Samuel asked suspiciously.

‘That’s what I’ve heard,’ Tulan said.

‘And the invasion of Garteny is truly cancelled?’

‘The Emperor’s forces can’t hope to assail the fortified Garten cities.  The Order’s assistance was the pivotal point of his invasion plan.  I can’t see how any war could go ahead at this point.  Turian losses would be extreme.  No magic equals no invasion.’

‘What I’m asking is, are you sure about it?  I mean, are the troops all packing up and going home, or are they still massing along the border?’

Tulan looked confounded.  ‘Well…I don’t know.  It just seemed obvious that the invasion can’t go ahead.  Garten defences are just too strong.  That’s what has been stopping it all these years.  The Emperor will just have to come up with some other plan, or give up for good.’

‘Oh.  Then we may still have a problem.  While I was in Tindal, I met Master Ash,’ Samuel began to explain, ‘and he had unearthed an ancient artefact called the Argum Stone.’

‘Yes, I heard something about it,’ Tulan admitted.  ‘They put it in the High Tower.  I thought it was just some old relic.’

‘That’s right,’ Samuel continued.  ‘I believe it is a source of magic from the time of the Ancients and the Archmage believes the same.  I think you’ll find the Emperor now has the advantage he needs to break the Gartens.  When I spoke to the Archmage, he seemed quite confident that the war was going ahead and I don’t think he cares if the Order lends their assistance or not.’

Tulan’s smile began to falter.  ‘So what are you saying?’

‘I’m saying this relic, the Argum Stone, could potentially be powerful enough that the Emperor doesn’t need the Order’s help any more.  In fact, I think he’s painfully aware of how problematic the Order can be and has decided it may be better to do without us altogether.  With the Argum Stone and the Staff of Elders together, who knows what the Archmage could achieve?’

Tulan’s jaw literally dropped open.  He stood and began pacing up and down the small room, rubbing at his eyes.  ‘Hell’s bells, this is worse news than I could have feared,’ he stated.  He stopped and looked to Samuel and Goodfellow, his eyes already red-rimmed from all the rubbing.  He looked suddenly devastated.  ‘I can’t believe it.  I was foolish to think we had won so easily.  What can I do now?’

‘There’s no need to panic,’ Samuel urged him.  ‘Not yet.  As far as we know, the Argum Stone is still locked up inside the High Tower.  The Archmage has not figured out its workings, so we still may have time.  From what I understand, the Argum Stone will need to be properly readied before it can be used at all.  I suspect this has not happened yet.  At the very least, I suspect that if such a powerful object was used in earnest, we magicians would feel it.’

‘Yes.  Perhaps, you are right.  Samuel, I need to find out more about this Argum Stone.  What else do you know?’

‘That’s all,’ Samuel admitted.  ‘The thing is immune to magical effect, but even that could be because the object is in a dormant state.  Once awakened, it could potentially be another Staff of Elders.  All this is only suspicion.  I would need some time with the thing and we need more information.  We should search the Great Library, or seek advice from the most learned of the Order.’

‘No.  You two can’t risk going to the School of Magic.  It’s being closely watched.’

‘So what, then?’  Goodfellow asked.

‘If they haven’t been able to awaken the Argum Stone by now, I’m sure they are hastily working on it,’ Samuel mused.  ‘Ash seems to have some knowledge of the Ancient Lick, so I would guess he is the one doing most of the work.  Somewhere he has found some information about the Ancients that no one else has come upon or he wouldn’t have found the thing in the first place.  The only way to stop the war now is to stop them from unlocking the dormant power of that relic, or else to steal it away from them altogether.’

‘Lord Jarrod has just left the city this morning,’ Tulan stated.  ‘Some say he has returned to Hammenton.  There was once a small magic school there, but it was closed some time ago and converted into a retreat for research and transcription of the most ancient texts.  Lord Jarrod runs the place.  It’s possible he has returned there to unearth such information as you suggest.’

‘It’s possible,’ Samuel agreed.  ‘If only the Grand Master were here.  I’m sure he would be able to help us.’

‘Anthem?’ Tulan queried.

‘Yes.  I’m sure he would know something.’

‘Very well.  I will try to contact him.’

‘Contact him?’ Samuel asked with disbelief.  ‘In Garteny?’

‘Oh, no.  He’s not in Garteny,’ Tulan responded.  ‘He never would have gone there and I doubt King Otgart would let him return in any account.  He’s not far away at all, on the isle of Dunbar, where he can keep an eye on the city.’

‘He is?  How do you know?’

‘You can’t spend as much time on the road as I have without getting to know some people, Samuel.  Anthem is quite good at remaining hidden, but not perfect.  Eventually, word of his hiding place made its way through my network of contacts to me.’

Samuel laughed.  ‘Wonderful!  Could he get here soon?’

‘Yes, he could be here in a few days—if he wanted to.  It’s very dangerous for him now.  He has made a great enemy of the Archmage.  There is quite a decent price on his head.’

‘The Archmage would do that?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Certainly,’ Tulan replied.  ‘And often has.  The Order has its own secret members who do all the Archmage’s dirty work; hired killers, thieves, assassins—even magicians.’

‘People like Ash,’ Samuel noted sourly.

Tulan nodded.  ‘Exactly, and much worse.’

‘I’m sure he will come,’ Samuel asserted.  ‘The Grand Master would jump at the chance to stop this war.’

‘As you say,’ Tulan responded.  ‘I will try to get word to him, but I do not know him as well as you do.  He will either come or he won’t.  I guess it’s up to him.’

‘But we should search the Great Library in the meantime.  The chances are slim, but we may find something useful there.  Any information on the relic could prove useful.’

‘If we can get word to Eric Pot, he can go there without raising suspicions,’ Goodfellow suggested.

‘Your friend?’ Tulan asked.  ‘Yes, that will have to do.  I will send word to him at once.’

‘With your green-capped friend?’ Goodfellow enquired.

‘That’s right.  He’s quite the useful sort.’

‘You seem to have some secrets of your own, Lord Goodwin,’ Samuel noted.  ‘Perhaps, one day, you will have to explain all your secretive associates and safehouses to us.’

‘Perhaps,’ Tulan replied, ‘but not too soon.  When this is all done.  Now we have much to do.  I will send further word when it is safe to meet again.  Let us hope we have some time before the relic can be used.  We must stop this war at all costs.’  He looked grim at the thought.  ‘Otherwise many good lives will be lost.’

With that, they bade each other goodbye and Tulan slipped out the door.

‘Lord Goodwin seems to be an interesting fellow,’ Goodfellow noted.

‘So I am beginning to learn,’ Samuel replied, ‘but also I trust him.  I trust him like a brother.’

And they waited in their tiny hideaway, with little else to do but talk as the hours passed slowly by.

Samuel soon grew restless.  He dared not practise his spells for fear of being discovered and so he resigned himself to sitting with Goodfellow in the tiny room, and jotting down his thoughts and ideas about the Argum Stone.  Often he thought of the Downs and the wonderfully simple life he had lived there in far Tindal.  If only he was there still, safe and perfectly happy.  Leila’s death had put an end to all that, of course.  That life had died with her, but at least he would see her death avenged.

The next day came and went without any word from Tulan or Eric and Samuel declared that he could wait no longer.  The confinement of the tiny safehouse was becoming torture.

Goodfellow gave him a critical stare.  ‘It would be more sensible to stay here, Samuel.  The others are competent.  Going outside only brings opportunity for disaster.’

Samuel stamped around the room, thumping the rickety, old table with his fist.  ‘I can’t sit here and do nothing!  At any moment, Ash could unlock the power of the Argum Stone and we’re sitting here idle!’

Goodfellow stood slowly and faced his impatient friend.  He brushed the hair from his own eyes before placing his hands firmly on Samuel’s shoulders.  ‘Listen.  What can you do?  What can you possibly do that the others aren’t doing already?  I’m sure Eric or Master Glim will contact us when we are needed.  Listen to reason.  If you are caught again, everything is lost.’

‘If there’s a slim chance, I have to take it,’ Samuel said, ‘or else I’ll go crazy waiting in here.’

‘Very well,’ Goodfellow said, giving in and sitting back down at the rickety table and returning his gaze to his writings.  ‘It’s your choice.  Just be careful and try to be back before the others find out.’

The hooded mage strode across the school grounds, rubbing his hands together briskly in the mist, with puffs of vapour streaming from his mouth with each breath.  The night was freezing cold, and so it was not surprising for this magician to head directly for the Great Library, head down in solemn thought.  It was not considered unusual for a mage, awoken by some sudden nagging puzzlement or notion, to pursue his curiosity at such an hour.  Magicians were considered quite peculiar by common folk.  Many were considered peculiar by each other.  It came from years of questioning existence and the universe, from bending the common laws of nature with the mere will and, as some said, living with only the company of other such-minded men.

The mage lifted a sleeved arm to the great doors, pushed one open and stepped in.  Once again, the school grounds were dark, cold and empty.

Samuel closed the large door behind him, glad to put an end to the cold wind that was blowing outside.  He turned his attention towards the rows of shelves.  No one was visible, but the fact that many lamps were still lit, meant that someone else was probably still here, reading quietly in some dim aisle.  He went directly for the cellar stairs and each old wooden step groaned as it begrudgingly took his weight.  Somewhere above, in the perfect quiet, a page turned and a nose sniffed.  Such sounds had a strange way of carrying in the old library, especially in the dead of night.

It was midnight-black and as cold as a mountain river down in the cellar.  A bluish sphere of light bloomed into life above Samuel’s shoulder and he glared at it, still rubbing his palms together for warmth, until it became a yellow-white hue more suitable for reading.  Many magicians could not seem to maintain a spell and concentrate on their research as well, and so the pillars were periodically lined with shelves for the placing of lanterns.  Samuel was no common magician and such a task was simple for him.  Then again, even the most agile of acrobats sometimes stumble.  Samuel tried momentarily to warm himself with a spell, but the skill, as basic as it was, eluded him—he blamed his nerves.  Instead, Samuel pulled his robes tighter and began down the nearest aisle.

He made for the furthest recesses of the cellar, where shelves of untitled articles stretched up towards the ceiling.  He calculated that here, among these thousands of various notes, crumpled papers and coverless books, he might find something of what he sought—some hint of the Lick of the Ancients or some unfound secrets of the Argum Stone.

Damn this freezing hole! he thought to himself and began looking through the wads of papers.  And damn you, Ash, for ruining my life!

Samuel estimated that it must be nearly dawn and he had still not found one scrap of useful information.  He had scoured many aisles and countless recesses, looking high atop shelves and into narrow crannies and behind massive leather-bound journals, but could find nothing even remotely applicable to their cause.  In the past, he would have found some articles intriguing, but now, he had no time to enjoy them and returned each unwanted piece quickly to its place.

As he rubbed his sore eyes and the sphere of light waned above his head, Samuel decided enough was enough.  It was time to get some sleep.

The sound of the huge doors booming shut echoed like thunder from above, followed by the voices of several men.  He let his mage-light vanish and made through the darkness for the small shard of light that shone down the stairs from above.  He carefully climbed the creaking wood and spied two old men standing there, chatting idly.  Samuel knew their faces, but their names evaded him for the time being.  They had their backs to him as they began wandering between the shelves with lanterns in their hands.

Taking his opportunity to depart, Samuel tiptoed to the great doors, tugged one open, and stepped once again outside.  He rubbed his weary eyes and peered towards the morning sun, creeping up above the rooftops to the far east.  The early morning sounds of the city were washing over the walls, along with the crows of roosters and the barking of dogs.  Several magicians were already strolling across the grounds, coughing and hugging their clothes about themselves and Samuel remembered his own hood, quickly pulling it up over his head.

He started for the school gates, glancing left and right for anyone who may recognise him, but there was no one.  The city streets outside were quickly filling with all kinds—merchants and tradesmen, farmers and children, beggars and thieves...all kinds.  He wove between them all deftly, his mind still set on the matter of the books.  It seemed that Goodfellow had been correct.  His search had been fruitless, but at least he now felt better for trying.  It seemed any books with even the slightest mention of the Ancients had been removed from the Great Library, but it did give Samuel the beginnings of an idea.  The books were not in the Great Library, but they must be somewhere.  The key to awakening the Argum Stone could lie in any one of those books, so for Ash to learn those secrets, he would have to study the books closely; somewhere nearby, somewhere convenient so he could test his discoveries.  The best place for this would be there—in the High Tower with the Argum Stone itself.  Somewhere in that chamber, or very near it, Samuel was sure that Ash would be hoarding all the books that had disappeared from the Great Library.

Samuel smiled and darted between two carts.  His night had been a failure, but at least, with the dawn, he had found a fragment of hope.

Goodfellow was awake when Samuel returned, and he was looking out the window at the morning crowds.

‘Master Glim came,’ he said, throwing a glance back at Samuel.

‘Oh?  And what news?’ Samuel asked with interest.

‘They said they have been scouring the Great Library from top to bottom, but without any success.  Also, he says he has heard nothing from Grand Master Anthem.’

‘Perhaps he will not return, after all.’

‘The Grand Master has to be very careful not to be seen, so I’m sure it’s taking him longer.  So how was your search?  Did you find anything the others could not?’

‘No,’ Samuel said, pulling off his boots.  ‘You were right—but I have a new idea.’

‘Oh?  What’s that?’

‘I’ll tell you later.  I’m too tired to speak.  I need some sleep.’  With that he lay down on the makeshift cot by the wall and pulled the blankets around him.  ‘Wake me for lunch,’ he added.

A few moments later, Goodfellow said something in return, but Samuel was already too far gone into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Samuel awoke to the sounds of heavy footsteps stomping up the narrow stairs outside.  He vaguely heard Goodfellow push back his chair and approach the door.

‘Is he awake yet?’ Master Glim asked, stepping into the room past Eric.

‘Not yet,’ Goodfellow replied in quieter tones.

Samuel groaned and rolled over, opening his eyes for the first time.  The room was dull.  The light coming in the window showed it to be either dawn or dusk—his senses were muddled and he could not tell which.

‘So you live to tell the tale of your foolhardy expedition, I see,’ Master Glim stated quite loudly.

‘I’m awake,’ Samuel moaned as he threw back the hot blankets.  He sucked at his dry lips and sat up, back against the wall.  ‘There’s no need to shout.  Why didn’t you wake me earlier?’ he asked of Goodfellow.

‘I tried,’ the spectacled magician replied.  ‘You grumbled and threw a cup at me.  Then you just rolled over again and went back to sleep.’

‘Oh,’ Samuel said, accepting the matter, before returning his attention to his grey-haired teacher.  ‘What news?’

‘No news,’ Master Glim confessed.  ‘Master Goodfellow here told me about your roaming about all last night.  I don’t have to tell you how foolish that was.  Eric and I are more than capable of looking for a few books on our own.’

Samuel held up his hands in defence.  His head was still groggy and his eyelids heavy as anvils.  ‘I thought perhaps I could find something you could not—besides, I was going crazy being locked in here day after day, night after night.’

‘Well, if you’re caught you’ll be more than crazy—you’ll be imprisoned or dead or worse,’ Master Glim said with genuine concern.  He sighed and shook his head once more.  ‘You seem to have a problem following intelligent suggestions.  So, I don’t suppose you did manage to find anything useful?’

Samuel gained his feet and stretched himself out as he made for one of the chairs by the ramshackle table.  ‘No.’

‘Then I don’t think we will be able to follow our original plan,’ Master Glim announced.  ‘After speaking to Lord Goodwin and Lomar, it does seem as if we are running out of time.  There is no point meddling with the Council any more as the existence of this relic makes them redundant, as far as the war is concerned.  I can’t see that we have any other choice.  We must find a way to destroy this newfound relic: the Argum Stone.’

‘I’m not sure such a thing can be destroyed,’ Samuel said.

‘Its chamber is nearly atop the inside of the High Tower,’ Master Glim said.  ‘We could push it out the window and let it crash down.  Such a fall should break anything.’

‘Do you think the Staff of Elders could be destroyed so easily?’ Samuel asked, leaving Master Glim to nod thoughtfully.  ‘I have another idea.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.  I’m listening.’

‘We make our way into the High Tower and find all the books that Ash has been hoarding and steal them back.  Without the knowledge of how to awaken the Argum Stone, they will never be able to use it.’

‘That will be incredibly dangerous,’ Goodfellow stated.  ‘If we are caught, there will be no doubt we are acting as traitors—we could be executed.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I realise that, but we have come to the time where we must begin taking risks.  If we can steal away whatever notes they are using to research the Argum Stone, it may actually avert the war and countless lives will be saved.  At the very least, their efforts will be delayed and we can go back to original plan via the Council.’

Master Glim mulled over the idea for a few moments.  ‘I see what you are saying, Samuel.  If they have not learned to use the thing by now, then they are surely having some difficulty.  If we can steal their resources away, they may never manage it.’

‘Exactly, but such an important thing will surely be well guarded,’ Samuel said, ‘and there are only the four of us—five, if we include Eric.’

‘We don’t need a lot of people,’ Master Glim said.  ‘Quite the opposite, in fact.  We want to sneak in there and be out again before anyone notices.  If we draw the palace guards’ attention upon ourselves, we are probably done for.  We should ask Lord Goodwin to assist.  If he can organise a distraction for Master Ash to get him out of that chamber, then all the better.  You can kill him another time.  At present, we do not need any complications.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘Yes, I realise that.  I’m sure I can hold my vengeance a little longer, but you will need to contact Lord Goodwin yourself.’

‘I will try to speak with him now, and then I will return.  Haste is of all importance.’  With that, Master Glim stood.  ‘Take care, both of you, and don’t forget—stay here!’

Goodfellow and Samuel said farewell and their teacher disappeared out the door and down into the street.

‘Are you hungry?’ Samuel asked Goodfellow after a few moments.

Goodfellow nodded.  He had begun tidying up the squalid room again, folding Samuel’s blankets into neat squares and forming them into a pile beside his own.

‘Good,’ Samuel said, standing and stretching his arms out wide to get the blood flowing through his limbs.  ‘I’ll make breakfast.’

‘It’s dinner,’ Goodfellow corrected, as Samuel began cutting them some bread with a guilty smile.

Master Glim returned after only a couple of hours had passed, looking over his shoulder as he slipped through the doorway in his plain commoner’s clothes.  The night market was in full swing outside with coloured lamps strung high back and forth across the streets.  The crowd was thick and creating a great hubbub as they argued over bargains and shouted for their dinners.

‘I thought I was being followed,’ he said with a sigh of relief as he sat back at the table.

‘So, what news?’ Samuel asked.

‘Lord Goodwin has uncovered a remarkable amount of information for us.  It is true that the thing is, in its current state, useless.  The Archmage has been arguing with the Emperor over the matter and, luckily for us, both of them have a tendency to shout when they get upset.  The Emperor has given them only a few days more, but the Archmage seems confident it is time enough—which means they are nearly ready.  Lord Jarrod has been in charge of the whole project of finding and recovering the Argum Stone, but Master Ash seems to be doing most of the groundwork.  There is also a small surprise: it seems Master Dividian has also been seen frequenting the relic’s chamber, so it seems he is also involved in all this.’

‘That explains why we can’t find anything useful in the Great Library,’ Samuel stated.  ‘That weasel Dividian has probably been stealing anything relevant for years.  They’ve all been working together.’

‘So I assume,’ Master Glim agreed, ‘but I guess it’s not really stealing if he is doing it for the Archmage.  It’s just that we don’t like it.’

‘So are we going ahead?’ Goodfellow queried.

‘Yes,’ Master Glim confirmed.  ‘Lord Goodwin has organised an emergency session of the Magicians’ Council, beginning within the very hour.  He is demanding that the details of the relic be revealed, on the grounds that it could be a danger to the city if improperly used.  Fortunately, most of the other councillors are so curious to hear about it that they have supported his call.  Hopefully, this should be enough to draw Master Ash away from the chamber.’

‘We’re going tonight?’ Goodfellow asked, looking at Samuel with disbelief.

‘Yes, at once,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘We cannot afford to wait any longer for the Grand Master.  Master Pot and Master Lomar will meet us at the palace.  From there, we will go directly to the High Tower and take whatever books and notes they have and just hope that, without that information, they cannot continue with their work.  If we meet any resistance, we will try to overcome it as best we can.’

‘Can’t we just take the Argum Stone?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘No.  It’s far too big,’ Samuel told him.  ‘They sealed the thing inside the room.  It won’t even fit through the doorway and spells cannot affect it.  We’d need ropes and equipment and a score of men just to lift it.’

‘It all sounds dangerous,’ Goodfellow stated nervously.

Master Glim looked at Goodfellow momentarily.  ‘Actually, it would be best if you stayed here.  When we return, it’s possible we may be followed, so we will leave the books with you and continue on into the markets.  At least, that way, if we are caught, the books are not lost and we can lead any pursuers away.’

Goodfellow seemed hesitant.  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Master Glim confirmed.  ‘Someone must stay and it may as well be you.  Samuel and I are both needed in the palace.’

Goodfellow breathed a sigh of relief.  ‘Very well.  I’ll stay.  I must say I am rather glad.’

Master Glim smiled knowingly before turning to Samuel.  ‘There’s just one more thing.  If we are caught, or cannot escape in time, the books must be destroyed.’

‘Destroy the books?’ Samuel said with disbelief.  ‘They’re irreplaceable!  If they really do contain knowledge of the Ancients, they may be the only remaining copies in existence!’

‘I know, Samuel, but many lives are at stake.  If it comes to that, we have no choice.’

‘That knowledge may never be found again.’

‘We will have to live with that.’

Samuel was about to retort once more, but finally gave in.  ‘Yes.  Yes, you are right.  Given time, I suppose we can uncover everything that has been lost through our own efforts, but we cannot recover the lives of those lost to the war.’

Master Glim nodded.  ‘Correct.  Very well, we must make haste.  Eric, stay near the window and we will call for you when we return.  Samuel, change back into your robes.  They will conceal us within the palace.’

Samuel readied himself and Master Glim picked up his leather satchel before they both proceeded out the door.

‘You don’t think Goodfellow is up to the task?’ Samuel queried his teacher once they were out into the bustling street.

‘No.  I think it’s better if he stays here.  He’s too nervous and he’s of little use like that.  He will only give us away.’

Samuel nodded and they continued on.  Master Glim seemed confident, but the man could not help checking over his shoulder as they wound their way towards the Emperor’s palace.

They met Lomar and Eric outside the palace gates and all entered without attracting even a glance from the guards.  The halls of the palace were, as usual, inhabited by a variety of plumed nobles and gentry, strolling and conversing—some with long, needle-like rapiers swinging at their hips.  Several of the passing gentry sniffed as they passed and Samuel wondered why, until he remembered he had not bathed in some time and probably had the stench of a beggar.

At the base of the High Tower, two black-robed magicians stepped down from the stairs and nearly careened straight into Samuel and his group.  Samuel’s heart leapt, but the two men turned immediately away, too engrossed in their conversation to pay them any mind.  The men were the councillors, Lords Hathen and Irshank.

‘Oh, yes,’ Hathen was saying, his great bushy moustache wobbling with each word.  Samuel could see it bobbing up and down even from behind.  ‘I can’t believe such nerve.  What did you say to that?’

‘Of course, I scolded the insolent fool,’ the corpulent Irshank stated and the two men disappeared down towards the courtyard.

Samuel collected himself and calmed his quickened heart.  The first set of stairs was just before them and the four of them began up together.  Somewhere above them lay the Argum Stone, the secrets on how to use it, texts containing the lost wisdom of the Ancients and possibly even Ash himself.  Everything he wanted was above in that one small chamber.  The Argum Stone and the books would be fascinating, but most of all, Samuel hoped to find Ash.  His death would be a sweet reward.  If nothing else good could come of these times, Samuel only wished to get his hands around Ash’s neck and squeeze it until the bones began to snap, and then perhaps continue squeezing until his hands cramped from the effort.

The first few levels of the tower were littered with workers, officials and guards.  Most were strolling around idly for, at this hour, there was little left to do.  The tower grew narrower then, with the stairs beginning to twist upwards, but the High Tower was still wide enough to house many rooms on each level.

The stairs here were not continuous as in the Mage Tower, so they often had to walk a length of hall or cross opposite the tower to reach the next stairway.  They passed several storerooms and chambers, but the further they climbed, the less people they met and the less used the rooms appeared to be.  There were also no spells set in these stairs to aid in their ascent and so climbing the heights of the tower was tiring work and the occasional halls and balconies were much needed.

‘Take care,’ Master Glim whispered eventually.  ‘We are nearly there.  If there are any guards, follow my lead.  We need to take care of them quickly and quietly.’

They carefully crept up the last length of stairs, but, as they reached the carpeted hall on the next level, there was no one in sight.  A single doorway loomed in front of them, looking little different from the numerous others they had passed on their ascent.

They strode closer and Master Glim eyed the door carefully.

‘There’s no guard,’ Eric whispered.

Master Glim put a finger to his lips to silence any talk.  He bent over and put his eye to the keyhole, then after a moment, he put his hand to the brass handle—but it remained firm.  At that, Master Glim took a step back and started rubbing his chin in deliberation.

Samuel stepped in front of his teacher and took his turn to look through the keyhole.  He could just make out an open window across the room, with scarlet curtains billowing in the breeze.  There were some shelves on either side, but that was as much as he could discern.

He also tried turning the handle, but it was quite obviously locked.

‘What shall we do?’ Lomar asked softly.  ‘We cannot linger out here.’

‘We must open the door,’ Master Glim decided.  ‘It’s locked, but not barred.’

‘It’s a good sign,’ Lomar announced.  ‘There will be no one inside.’

‘I’m sure there will be traps,’ Samuel responded.

‘I realise that,’ Master Glim said sternly.  His nerves had put him in no mood for statements of the obvious.  ‘Stand back.’

Lomar, Eric and Samuel each scurried down the hall a little way while Master Glim examined the door.  Samuel was looking nervously back down the stairs, when Master Glim cast a spell with a flick of his finger and the door made a soft click.  He grasped the handle and carefully turned it.  He opened the door the slightest crack, ready for the slightest hint of a spell, and then pushed it open, letting it swing in on its hinges.

The others hesitated for a moment before tiptoeing up behind the wary, old teacher.  Samuel peered past the man and could see the Argum Stone standing in the middle of the chamber, set upon a sturdy wooden frame to hold it upright.

‘I can’t sense any spells,’ Samuel stated, half to himself.

‘No…’ mused Master Glim.  ‘How strange.’

‘Who wants to go in first?’ Eric asked.  ‘I’ll guard our retreat.’

‘I’ll go,’ Master Glim stated, failing to notice Eric’s light-hearted tone.  He took a deep breath and Samuel could see the magic blooming out of him, surrounding him in layers upon layers of shielding designed to protect him from all magical and physical harm.   ‘Wait here,’ he instructed and passed his satchel back to Eric.  Then, he took a first tentative step onto the wooden boards of the room.

There was a creak as the floor took his weight and the man stopped dead in place.  Samuel’s heart skipped and Lomar gasped aloud.  Master Glim turned his head and opened his eyes wide, urging them to be quiet.  Shaking his head in wonderment, Master Glim raised his foot and went to take another careful step.  The air around him flashed and hissed, like red hot steel dropped in water.  The others all staggered back out of the doorway as a blood-red symbol, a design like Samuel had never seen, formed before Master Glim.  The air filled with a burning heat like the core of an open furnace.  Master Glim defended himself with all his resolve, but the glyph burned slowly in towards him, tearing his spells to threads on contact.  Samuel had to put his hands before his face to shield his eyes from the flashing light and heat.

‘Defend him!’ Lomar hissed and spells sprang out from the man and into the room.

Samuel went to dart forward, but Master Glim somehow sensed his actions.  ‘Stay where you are!’ he cried out as he strained to hold his shield spells in place.

Samuel realised his stupidity and joined his power with the spells of Lomar and Eric, pushing at the blood-red symbol that hung in the air.  They fed all the power they could muster into Master Glim’s spells, but still the symbol hissed and spat and crept in towards the man, sending its red-hot sparks bouncing onto the wooden floor.  As Master Glim took a faltering step back with his knees starting to buckle, the glyph hissed out of existence and the room faded back into silence.

Samuel took a great breath of relief and wiped the sweat from his face with his robe sleeve.  Master Glim dropped to his knees and the others rushed in to aid him.

‘Take care,’ Master Glim tried to tell them, but they were heedless and helped him back to his feet while he wiped the sweat from his eyes.  ‘I’m all right,’ he told them.  ‘I just need a moment to recover my strength.’

‘The spell was somehow undetectable,’ Lomar stated, ‘and of a nature I have never before encountered.’

‘Black magic!’ Eric spat out with disdain, sneaking back to close the door behind them.

‘Yes, I believe so,’ Master Glim agreed.  ‘Master Ash, indeed, has some explaining to do for using such a foul art.  It took all our combined efforts just to defend from that one spell.  Take care, there may be more such devilish traps set for us in here.’

Master Glim took his own weight once again, and Samuel looked to the corners of the room.  The chamber was literally lined with shelves, each full and stuffed to the brim with books and papers.  There was a small table beside the Argum Stone, covered with a pile of papers and a writing set, but there was no visible sign or hint of any further spells.

‘We have no way of detecting this kind of magic,’ Lomar stated.

‘We cannot mind that now,’ Master Glim announced.  ‘Master Ash may have been alerted.  We must make all haste.  Quickly, find anything that looks useful and put it in my bag.’  He took his satchel back from Eric and began stuffing all the notes from the small table into it.  As he did, he had one eye set nervously on the great artefact beside him—as if it could spring to life at any moment.

‘Dividian has been busy,’ Eric called out.  ‘There are hundreds of books here!’

‘Thieving cur!’ Master Glim cursed.

Samuel’s heart was still beating fast and he kept his power at the ready, for he expected another black spell to appear with every step he took and every movement he made.  He began examining the shelf he had chosen, for it seemed someone had recently written some notes on the spine of each piece.  History—plausible, was written on one; The Third Era—erratic, was written on another beside it.  Pulling that one out and carefully turning through the pages, Samuel could see it was written with the Old Tongue.  The cover showed the book to be very old indeed; the pages were crisp and brittle.

‘These are all about philosophy,’ Eric called out.

‘The ones here all look historical,’ Samuel replied, returning his selected book to its place.

‘The shelves here seem to be about spell crafting,’ Lomar called out, ‘but the dialect in some is strange.  It would take some time to properly understand.’

‘Look for a shelf labelled “awakening ancient artefacts”,’ Eric called aloud.

After only another moment Master Glim called out to them.  ‘This is useless.  There are far too many books here.  We would needs days or weeks to even begin to understand them, let alone find what we need.  We will have to destroy them.’

‘Surely we can’t!’ Samuel protested.  ‘These books are priceless!  Irreplaceable!  Just look at them all!’

Master Glim sighed.  ‘We have little choice.  Our entry will be noticed, if it hasn’t already and Lord Jarrod will only treble his security.  We must do something now.’

‘It’s true, Samuel,’ Lomar said.  ‘We will have no other opportunity to act.’

‘Why don’t we just take them with us?’ Eric suggested.

‘Good suggestion, Master Pot,’ Master Glim replied sarcastically, ‘but I didn’t bring my barrow.  It would take us all night to shift all this.’

‘Why don’t we just ask the palace staff to help us?  The palace is full of servants just standing around with nothing to do.  I’d think if we told them to help us carry all these books downstairs, they wouldn’t be able to refuse.’

Master Glim shook his head.  ‘No, it’s much too slow.  We could be discovered at any moment.’

‘I’m sure the Council meeting will not end too soon.  Lord Goodwin knows we need as much time as he can spare, and the councillors always talk for hours on end whenever they get the chance.  It will only take one of us to stay here and the others can wait downstairs.’

‘I will stay,’ Samuel said.  ‘If anyone returns, I will destroy the books.’

‘No,’ Master Glim told him.  ‘If you are discovered, they will kill you, I’m sure.  I will stay.  I know a wall-walking spell.  I can set the books ablaze and then be out the window.’

‘If your spell fails, you have a long way to fall,’ Lomar stated.

Master Glim threw the tall man a dark look.  ‘My spells don’t easily fail,’ he said.  ‘Eric, go and gather as many servants as you can muster.  Samuel, go and ready some transportation.  We will need to be away with these books as quick as can be.  Find a cart, a wagon—anything.’

At once, Eric and Samuel hurried out the door and skipped down the stairs in twos and threes.  It was not until they had nearly reached the bottom level that they found a servant striding purposefully along the hall.

‘You there!’ Eric called and the man stopped in his tracks, turning to face them with a startled expression.  ‘We need some books carried down from the tower.  Bring as many to help us as you can.’

The man was obviously not ready for such a command.  ‘But, My Lord, Duke Nuard has already asked that I—’

Eric waved off his objections.  ‘Don’t give me that nonsense.  This is urgent.  Go and muster as many others as you can—twenty or thirty will do.  I don’t care how many you must wake up.  Quickly!  Be about it or heads will roll—and yours will be first!’

‘Yes, My Lord!’ the servant said, as he leapt with fright and darted off.

‘I’ve always wanted to say that,’ Eric said with a smug grin.  ‘Heads will roll!’ he said again with a snicker.

‘Very well,’ Samuel said.  ‘I’ll go organise a wagon and meet you outside.’

Eric nodded.  ‘Yes.  I shall wait here and lead the servants back to the room.  Then, I’ll come meet you.’

With that, Samuel hurried down the hall and found his way into the courtyard.  He looked about, but no servants were visible.  Some voices began to approach and so Samuel, still wondering where to find some servants, waited to see who was coming.  Four Royal Guards came sauntering into the courtyard.  They looked off duty, but upon spying Samuel in his magician’s robes, they fell into an orderly step at once.

Samuel raised his hand and waved them to approach.  ‘You there!’ he called.  ‘Come here.’

The guards did as he said without a pause.  ‘What is it, My Lord?’ one of the men enquired.

‘I need a wagon of some kind,’ Samuel told him.  ‘Can you go fetch one for me?’

The guard looked sceptical.  ‘I’m not too sure about wagons, My Lord,’ he said.  ‘Perhaps the palace servants can help you better.’

‘I don’t have time to go hunting around for them,’ Samuel told him bluntly.  ‘The palace has stables, doesn’t it?’

‘It does, My Lord,’ the man replied.

‘Good.  Then, if you could be of some assistance, it would be most appreciated.’

The guard looked to his fellows with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.  ‘Grimwald, hurry to the stables and organise something for the Good Lord.’

‘Right,’ Grimwald replied and set off at once with his sword clanking at his side.

‘It won’t be a few moments, My Lord,’ the guard told Samuel.

Samuel nodded and waited there in the courtyard with the three remaining men.  The air was quiet and uncomfortable.

‘Don’t you have any other business to attend to?’ Samuel finally asked the men.

‘Oh no, My Lord,’ their spokesman replied.  ‘We’ll just wait here until your wagon arrives to be sure everything is how you like it.’

Samuel sighed.  ‘Very well, then.’  After a moment of nervous silence, he thought he should try some polite conversation.  ‘So…is life in the army everything you expected?’

The man raised a quizzical eyebrow and his two mates became all smirks.  ‘Ah, it’s fine, My Lord.  A wonderful career choice.  Very rewarding.’

‘Keeps a man busy!’ said another beside him.

‘Well,’ Samuel said.  ‘That’s grand, then.’

‘Aye,’ the spokesman replied in turn.

Samuel decided that small talk was not his speciality, so he turned to pacing around the courtyard instead.  The three guards soon relaxed once he was away from them and began talking and laughing amongst themselves.  Just when Samuel thought he would have to wait forever, the sound of horseshoes on stone came clip-clopping along and Grimwald and an elderly stable hand came driving a carriage into the courtyard.  It was quite an expensive-looking buggy and not the open cart that Samuel had expected at all.

‘Here they are at last!’ the guards’ spokesman declared.

‘I apologise, My Lord,’ Grimwald said, climbing down.  ‘It was difficult to make arrangements at such short notice.  This was the best we could manage.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel replied.

The crotchety-looking stablehand applied the braking lever and also climbed down.  ‘I’ll be off then back to my bed,’ he said to no one in particular and made directly back in the direction from which he had just come, moving as if his britches were half full of stones.

‘Samuel, have you...’ Eric called as he came leaping into the courtyard.  On sight of the guards, he stopped.  His hands were loaded with books up to his chin.  ‘Oh, you seem to have company.’

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied.  ‘I also have transportation.’

‘So I can see,’ Eric replied, coming over, and he carefully placed his armload of books into the cab as Samuel held the door open for him.

A small stream of servants came wandering out after him, each carrying various amounts of papers and books.

‘Over here!’ Eric called to them.  ‘Put them in here—carefully.  But hurry up about it!’

The servants did as they were told, dropping the books haphazardly into the open cab without enthusiasm.

‘Take care there!’ Eric scolded them.  ‘They’re not stones!’

The servants grumbled and went to milling about together once they were done.

‘All right,’ Eric began to tell Samuel, ‘I’ll take this lot back up to get some more.  There should be more along any moment.’

‘Very well,’ Samuel said and Eric darted back towards the tower.

‘Come along, you lot!’ he called his crowd of servants.  ‘There’s plenty more where those came from.’

After they had all vanished back into the tower entrance, the guards’ spokesman sauntered up to the wagon to take a look.

‘Where are you off to, then, My Lord—if you don’t mind my askin’?’

‘We’re having a special magicians’ meeting,’ Samuel told the man.  ‘It’s very late notice and we have a lot of books to carry with us.’

The guard nodded and peered into the back of the wagon with some curiousness.

‘Would you like a hand, then?’ the man asked.

‘What’s that?’ Samuel asked him, unsure of his meaning.

‘Would you like us to help you?  We don’t really have anything else to do.  If you’re really in a fix, we’d be happy to help out a member of the Order.’

‘Oh,’ Samuel replied.  ‘That would be wonderful—if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘It’s no problem, really,’ the guard stated and he began rounding up his mates at once.  ‘Where do we go then?’

‘Almost to the top of the tower,’ Samuel told him.  ‘You can’t miss it.’

With that, the four Royal Guards went into the tower after Eric and his servants.  Samuel just hoped Master Glim would not panic on sight of them and vaporise the lot.

More servants began to appear in pairs, so Samuel kept busy instructing them about what to do.

‘Put them in!  Hurry along!’ Samuel commanded and the servants kept piling in books.  All the while, he kept a nervous eye out for any magicians or guards approaching.  He knew they would eventually be discovered.  It was just a matter of when.

Samuel saw the same servants come down several times and the cab was now filled up to the seats, with the servants piling the books up on the soft leather seating inside.

The sound of hurried footsteps drew Samuel’s attention and Eric came bounding down into the small courtyard.

‘Let’s go!’ he shouted under his breath, waving both hands frantically.  ‘It’s time to go!’

Samuel understood immediately and he grabbed the books from the arms of the last servingwoman and threw them in upon the others, shutting the cab door firmly.

Eric was up into the driver’s seat and was already releasing the braking handle.  The two horses looked back at him, sensing it was time to leave.  Samuel climbed up beside Eric as he began flicking the reins with vigour.

‘Let’s go!’ he called to the horses and the carriage lurched away at once, with the animals’ hooves clacking on the courtyard stones.  ‘They’re onto us!’  Eric then told Samuel.  ‘We had best be away quickly before the guards arrive.  Lomar and Master Glim are trying to keep them busy, but I don’t know how long they can last.’

‘Do you think they’ll be all right?’ Samuel asked with concern.

Eric just smiled.  ‘I’m sure they will be.  Those two can handle themselves.’

‘How many books did you get?  Surely, this is not all of them.’

‘Not nearly,’ Eric replied, but it’s the best we could do.’

Out of the courtyard, Eric shook the reins harder and clicked his tongue, steering the wagon out onto the grass where he could send it even faster.  From high above, behind them, the soft boom and crackle of magic sounded.  They sped towards the palace gates, where Eric slowed the wagon to a crawl once again.  The two magicians nodded and smiled to the gate guards as they passed out.  The men eyed them cautiously, but made no effort to stop them.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Eric declared once they were out into the streets.  ‘We walked straight in and just picked up their books!’

‘They’ll be mighty angry, I’ll wager,’ Samuel stated.

‘I’m sure of that!’

It was now late in the night and the streets outside the palace were almost deserted.  Samuel kept looking behind them, but there was no sign of any pursuit.  They sped along the streets as fast as they dared, making sure to avoid the taverns and market streets, where people often gathered until all hours.

They eventually made it to the safehouse and pulled to a halt with the carriage merely a few footsteps from the doorway.  The crowd was still thick and did not look like dispersing any time soon, but they had no problem shouting a space around themselves.  Samuel and Eric both leapt down from the driver’s seat and Samuel opened the carriage door.  Books tumbled out onto the ground, falling open and spilling loose pages.  They both gathered up as many books as they could and then topped their piles with even more books from inside the luxurious cabin until they could barely see over the stacks in their arms.  As they rushed inside, Goodfellow appeared on the stairway and came to their assistance.

‘You actually did it?’ he asked with disbelief.

‘Shut up and help us carry them in,’ Samuel called out.  ‘The guards will probably be after us any moment.’

Goodfellow leapt into action, hurrying to the carriage and gathering up a pile of his own.  Several times they each hurried up and down the narrow stairway, bumping into each other with arms full of heavy books.  As Samuel was carrying his seventh armful, Goodfellow came flying down the stairs, nearly sending them both sprawling back down.

‘They’re coming!’ he exclaimed with alarm.  ‘I can hear shouting from the market square.’

‘Hell and damnation!’ Samuel swore and threw his books as far up the steps as he could.  ‘They’re here!’ he hissed to Eric, who had just come up behind him.

Samuel made the street in one leap and was frantically tossing books as fast and as far as he could up onto the stairs, some tearing from their bindings and losing their pages.  Eric was then beside him, helping to shovel out the books.  Normally, they would have shuddered at the thought of such an act, but they were desperate to save as many volumes as they could.

‘Go!’ Eric called desperately.

‘The books!’ Samuel hissed back to him, reaching for another handful.

‘Damn the books!’ Eric returned, throwing the cab door shut in Samuel’s face.  ‘If they find us here they’ll all be lost.  We have to save what we can.  I’ll lead them away.’

‘No!’ Samuel told his friend, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.  ‘I’ll take care of them.  You take care of the books.’

Eric opened his mouth to object, but Samuel was already vaulting back up into the driver’s seat.

He shook the reins hard and cried out, ‘Ya!’  The horses lurched forward.  Their hooves slipped about on the paved street until they gained enough traction to begin away.  ‘Get out of the way!’ he cried.

The crowd jeered and swore as Samuel pushed through them, but thankfully they fell back into place behind him as he passed, creating just as much of an inconvenience for any pursuers.  As soon as he was free of the markets, he roared out loud and set the horses galloping along the treacherous street.  He could sense riders not far behind.  The smell of magic was growing.

After only a few streets, Samuel could hear soldiers behind, shouting and calling for him to stop.  Samuel lashed at the reins and his horses bolted forward.  A small crowd was ahead and people screamed and swore and dived aside as the carriage thundered forth.  A couple were too slow and Samuel felt their bodies go beneath the wheels with a sickening crunch.  Samuel cursed himself, but would not let the carriage slow.

He came to a sharp corner and the horses’ hooves slipped on the stones and the carriage skidded as it made the turn.  A vacant stand was smashed to pieces against the wall as the carriage swung into it.  Looking over one shoulder as he made the turn, Samuel could see the armed riders in pursuit, only half a street behind.

People were still gathered in droves here and they screamed and hurled abuse as he parted them with the careering carriage.  This time, it only made his pursuers’ task easier and they galloped through the thinned and screaming crowd behind.

Samuel turned another bend and entered a much wider street.  It led downhill towards the south-eastern quarter and his horses had begun picking up their pace when an armoured horse galloped past him on the right.  Its rider, wearing the plated armour of the palace, bore a savage look of determination.  He reached out towards Samuel’s horses and made for the harness of the outermost animal.  Samuel responded by pulling at the reins and moving the carriage away to the left, momentarily beyond the man’s reach.  Something flashed in the corner of Samuel’s vision and a sword came swinging down beside him.  It bit into his arm, hacking into the flesh just below his elbow and striking right through to the bone.  Samuel screamed and threw himself away and across the driver’s seat.  The guard raised his sword again and leant over to strike, this time hacking wildly into the padded seat, spilling fluff into the air.  His eyes and mouth were wide with fury.

Samuel instinctively threw a spell in retaliation.  His mind buzzed with the pain of his ruined arm and he half-surprised himself when the spell actually formed true.  The horseman’s mount panicked, its mind filled with blood and wolves, and it leapt aside in terror, slamming into a wall.  Both horse and rider tumbled over and disappeared as the carriage continued on, with the vehicle jumping as something solid went under the rear wheel.

Samuel realised that the carriage was slowing and he returned his attention to the first horseman.  The man had gained hold of the harness and was bringing the vehicle to a halt.  Samuel cast the same spell again and the man’s horse stopped on the spot.  The spell had been malformed—something he could not tell what had gone awry—but the effect was just as useful.  The man vanished behind as his horse stopped dead still and the harness was torn from his grasp.

Samuel snatched up the reins with one hand and shook his animals back into life.  They began galloping anew, but their breathing was now hoarse and laboured, with foam spitting from their lips.  He spelled the creatures’ minds to calm them, but they were near exhaustion.  He needed time to gather his thoughts, time to cast some spells, but his pursuers kept after him and time was in short supply.

More riders had caught up behind and they were yelling for him to halt.  Samuel realised that they would soon overcome him, but his frantic mind could not tell him what else to do.  ‘Gods and devils,’ he muttered, glancing at his blood-soaked, ruined arm.  Something white was visible jutting from his flesh and Samuel looked away.

A third rider had caught up and now galloped alongside.  The man leapt from his mount and onto the seat beside Samuel.  It was the Royal Guard who had waited with Samuel in the courtyard, the spokesman, and his face was filled with anger.

‘I’ll teach—’ he began, but Samuel swung his boot up into the man’s jaw and teeth flew to the winds.

The guard clutched at his face with one hand, but recovered quickly, his wide eyes glaring through his bloodied fingers.  His other hand drew his sword cleanly from its sheath and he raised it high, but Samuel’s foot struck again, knocking the guard head over heels from the carriage and onto the cobbled street.  A momentary yelp of pain sounded as he struck the stones behind.

The horses faltered and Samuel knew he could expect little more from them.  There were still other riders behind and he knew they were only biding their time, waiting for his horses to tire.

Gritting his teeth, Samuel realised he would have to abandon the carriage.  If he tried to go on, they would overcome him and all would be lost.  He sealed his arm in a clot of spells to cover the pain and wrapped it in as much magic as he could to hold in his blood.  It felt like a log of rubber dangling from his shoulder.  Again, he damned himself for his foolishness.

Gathering his wits, Samuel realised he had a few moments to spare.  Seizing the opportunity, he leapt from the carriage and onto the cobbled street, rolling to his feet as the carriage flew on.  Spinning on his heels, he saw that three cloaked riders were closing upon him.  They were magicians and spells were blooming to life around them.

Samuel darted down the first street he could, supporting his useless arm with the other, and he felt a spell of some nature striking his defences.  His spell shield was weakened somewhat, but held.  It would only take a few such strikes before it failed completely and he would be defenceless.  Running was not usually a sensible choice when facing magicians, but now it was the only option left to him.  With his arm in its current state and blood seeping out everywhere, Samuel had no idea how he could possibly defeat them.

The riders followed him down the dark street with their black robes billowing behind them and, desperately, Samuel kicked in the first door he came to.

The house was dark inside and, as he ran in, a number a people leapt up from their beds on the floor, yelling in surprise and fear.  Samuel sensed an exit from the room and darted between wailing children.  He met a set of stairs, lit in hues of grey, and he took them in leaping bounds.  Behind, the mages followed on foot amongst the cries of the children.

Samuel burst out onto the roof of the building.  Stars shone faintly between the rows of washing that was strung out atop the roof.  Something struck him unexpectedly, like a blow from a hammer, between the shoulder blades and he staggered, turning as best he could.  At the base of the stairs, a magician was glaring up at him.  He looked perhaps a few years older than Samuel and he seemed familiar.  Perhaps he had been one of the Adept who had graduated when Samuel first arrived at the school.  Whoever he was, his spells were certainly powerful enough to overcome Samuel in his present state.  The man threw his arms out and Samuel dived aside, feeling a second knot of magic blister past.

Samuel made for the building’s edge and took a great leap.  The next rooftop was further than it appeared and he had to quickly enhance his leap with a spell of Moving, gaining an extra few measures of distance.  He landed lightly and then turned to the sound of footsteps as the magician followed his example, leaping from the building’s edge with the aid of a spell.  Samuel raised his unharmed hand—letting his other arm drop to his side like nothing more than a tube of meat—and cast a spell, cancelling the man’s Lifting spell as it formed.  The magician’s face went white with terror as he disappeared down between the buildings.  His yell stopped abruptly as he hit the street below.

The other two magicians appeared at the roof’s edge, pointing to Samuel and they came together across the gap.  As Samuel ran, he was pelted with spells that pulled and tested his defences.  He staggered as a wave of force struck him in the back.  It was difficult to concentrate; the pain of his ruined arm continually surfaced and made his head swim.

Thankfully, the next building was nearer and lower, and Samuel threw himself across the alley below.  His ankle floundered as he landed and twisted, sending him sprawling onto his face.  He crawled back to his feet as one magician sailed clear over him with a magical leap and landed lightly on his far side.  The other mage took a smaller jump, in order to land on the alley side of Samuel and block his retreat, but Samuel had anticipated this.  He leapt up with all his resolve and met the man at the roof’s edge, butting into him with his shoulder just as the fellow landed.  The last of Samuel’s strength went into the blow and it threw him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs, but the desired effect was achieved.  The magician screamed as he toppled backwards and careened down into the dark alley.

The stars were beautiful tonight.  They reminded Samuel of all the times he had lain in the fields and glades with Leila, looking up and watching the tiny bright dots above, like motes of dust on a millpond.  Occasionally, a shooting star would burn across the sky and they would both laugh and hug each other closer, making wishes.  He wished he was still there, lying in that field or by the stream with Leila in his arms.  Her body had been so soft and warm and wonderful and her smile was beyond any description that he could attempt with words.  All he could feel now was the cold of night and the hard rooftop underneath him.

The stars blurred before his watering eyes and a dark shape loomed over him.  It bore a smile of satisfaction and Samuel had to clear his confused mind to remember where he was.

‘What trouble you have been, traitor,’ the man said with a northern accent.  He could have been from the same town as Eric.  ‘How happy the Archmage will be when he sees your severed head.’

Samuel swallowed.  The pain was numbing him now.  His lips felt like someone else’s—fat and swollen.  He looked into the northerner’s face.  The man’s aura swirled and churned around him, almost like a tiny sky full of stars itself.  They shimmered and spun; then, like a wave retreating from the beach to rejoin the sea, the magician’s aura waned and shuddered as he gathered his strength to deliver a final blow.  To most magicians, such a thing was impossible to see, but Samuel could watch the very power vanish from the man’s defences as he summoned it into his palms.  In that instant, the magician had unwittingly sealed his own defeat.

‘I’m sorry,’ Samuel whispered and he raised his trembling hand just enough.  It almost looked as if he was reaching for help.  So much death.

An instant of realisation replaced the northerner’s confident grin as a ball of burning bright light flashed up into his face.  He howled with pain and stumbled back, clutching at his smoking, hissing face.  His screaming continued as he tripped over the roof’s edge and into the street below, where it abruptly stopped with a shrill gasp.

The sounds of people roused from their houses came from all around and women began to scream.  Samuel could only lie and stare at the blurry stars as the blowing of whistles and cries for the city guards echoed down the streets.  The magician would have thought nothing of Samuel’s spell at any other moment, but so timed, it had found him defenceless.  Thoughts came into Samuel’s head— knowledge…knowledge…  He could not tell if they were someone else’s or his own.  Nothing is more powerful than knowledge.

‘Come, Samuel,’ a voice then said beside him and Samuel rolled his head over to see who was there.  Even that was a trembling effort.

‘Lomar,’ Samuel could only whisper, his voice thin.

The tall magician was busily doing something beside him and he could hear the tearing and tying of cloth.  Some time seemed to have passed, but Samuel could not tell if it was moments or hours.  His body hurt all over and his head still rang from striking the roof.  There was no feeling in his arm at all, but he could tell that Lomar was doing something to him, tying something around his side.  Lomar sat Samuel up and put his own cloak around him, throwing Samuel’s bloodied robes aside.  Samuel was then lifted to his feet and together they limped to the roof’s far side, away from the commotion.  Somehow, Samuel managed to get his legs in some form of working order, but they felt like two drunkards beneath him, brawling against each other.  Reaching a distant edge, Lomar then lowered Samuel onto a lower store roof and Samuel winced as his swollen foot took his weight.  The other arm still dripped blood, leaving a trail of dark blots.

Lomar dropped beside him nimbly; then Samuel was again lowered onto the top of a large barrel, where he managed to control his fall onto the alleyway.  Again, Lomar appeared beside him and helped him up, and they made their way along the street, arms around each other.

‘I killed them,’ Samuel said, feeling strange and distant.  Lomar had done something to him to numb the pain.

‘Don’t worry Samuel.  You had no choice,’ Lomar replied.  ‘I’m sorry I took so long to find you.  Master Glim and I had some escaping of our own to do.  He managed to slip away unseen, but I’m afraid I had quite a lot of trouble convincing the palace guards to leave me be.  I had to be rather forceful in the end.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ Samuel said, attempting to smile, but the pain cut through him like a knife, making him wince.  Lomar nodded.  ‘We saved as many books as we could,’ Samuel then added.

‘I know,’ Lomar said back.

‘But many were lost.’

‘It doesn’t matter.  To get what we did was a small miracle.’

‘There are no miracles,’ Samuel said softly to himself, feeling faint and distant.

Surprisingly, Lomar had heard him and whispered back, ‘Oh, I think there are, my friend.’  Then he smiled, a barely discernible smile that just touched the edges of his lips and it made Samuel wonder what it was that his friend was thinking.

They continued on through the narrow back alleys towards the safehouse, thankful not to come across anyone.  Shouts echoed from the streets and houses far away, but the two men were only shadows slipping through the darkness.

CHAPTER TEN

Anthem’s Revenge

IT SEEMED THEIR adventure had been something of a success, for the streets of Cintar had been filled with soldiers and magicians alike since their escape from the palace.  Every effort was being made to recover the stolen books and find the rogue magicians, with soldiers banging on doors and searching buildings indiscriminately.  Fortunately, there were not enough magicians in the city to accompany every squad and the escapees simply hid their door from view whenever soldiers came trudging up their stairs.

‘It looks as though our efforts have caused rather a stir,’ Lomar noted.  ‘The Emperor has mobilised the entire city garrison and the Archmage has everyone with two good legs out in the streets.  It can only mean we managed to take something they need.’

‘Or else they just want us to think that,’ Goodfellow suggested.  ‘That way we won’t get up to any more mischief.’

‘Ah…it’s possible,’ Lomar confessed, ‘but I wouldn’t give them so much credit.  Turians are not known for subtlety, after all.  This show of force really suggests desperation.’

‘Do you think Master Glim will be able to contact us?’ Eric asked of the tall magician.

Lomar shook his head.  ‘I think it’s too dangerous for the time being.  I’m quite sure he escaped without being seen, so he’ll be waiting in the School of Magic, but they’ll be watching it now more closely than ever.  It may take him some time to find a way to reach us.’

A young boy in the room upstairs—Eezel was his name—was their only source of food for the time being.  He happily brought them whatever they requested from the market in exchange for a few coins.  He seemed ignorant as to who they were and, just to be sure, Samuel gleaned his thoughts occasionally to check for any malevolent intentions.  Eezel, however, had his mind focussed only on making some money to buy himself a new football.  If not for him, the four magicians would have run out of food and drink long before.

Samuel’s wounds healed quickly with the aid of spells, but still, if he moved too quickly or in the wrong way, the pain was terrible and his flesh felt like it had been torn anew.  He lay in his bed, struggling to read, turning pages and scribbling down notes with his good arm as well he could.  When he felt stronger, he began to sit up and, after that, he kept his arm strung at his chest with a scrap of cloth.

For many days, Samuel, Lomar and the Erics scoured through the volumes of text that they had stolen, searching for any mention of the Argum Stone or the black magic that Ash had been employing.

They had only managed to steal a fraction of what had been hoarded in the Argum Stone’s chamber, and almost half of that had been left in the carriage.  Eric had scolded Samuel when he heard that the books in the carriage had not been destroyed, but Goodfellow was supportive of his friend’s actions.  Lomar took the middle ground, admitting that, for the sake of stopping the war, the books should have been destroyed, but that Samuel probably had little opportunity to do so as he defended against his pursuers.  Samuel finally admitted his fault and stated that they would have to do the best they could with what little material they had managed to save.

Each page they read seemed to present only further questions and precious few answers.  Goodfellow had fixed papers along one wall and they began to jot anything they thought was important upon it.  They found many references to the Ancient Lick and they jotted them all down on the wall in an attempt to find a common frame of reference.  At first, they had only a handful of figures, but as they progressed, they found more and more relationship between the symbols, slowly developing some meaning between them all.

They sorted all the books into piles of apparently useful books and those that appeared nonsensical or useless.  Many contained garbled poems and indecipherable gibberish and some were unrelated to anything relevant at all.  Some were written in languages that none of them were capable of understanding.

Every book ever written with even a mention of the Ancients must have been piled in that chamber, even if they were filled with absolute nonsense.  Some contained no more than a single word or reference.  Some were so old and damaged that the text was completely illegible.  Still, they forged on, sorting through the many pages.

Samuel scoured every leaf and page for reference to the Argum Stone or black magic and the only Ancient phrase he knew, ‘amun-morbayah’—the words Ash had used that had made the relic burn instantly hot.  He found a sketch of what may have been the Argum Stone, amongst a page of turbid writings, but he could make no sense of them.  He put the pages on the appropriate pile for future study.  Of the strange phrase, he could only guess that it was some key word for the relic, but its exact meaning was a mystery.  The only clue was that the words seemed similar to the Old Tongue phrase ah’munna moora bai ahmeen, which meant ‘point through the centre’ or perhaps ‘touch around the middle’.  The meaning was vague, to say the least.  Samuel chewed over his thoughts, scratched at the scar on his arm and kept on reading.

They learned that the Ancients often used their ability to travel instantly by the means of Journey Spells, such as Eric’s.  Samuel read how one powerful man, called Marrag Lin, the Seer of Korda, defied his peers and used this ability to open a gate to another world altogether.  He was immediately overcome by the evil presence that dwelt there and at once became its slave.  After that, he performed many dark and evil deeds and offered his colleagues to his new masters as sacrifices.  The man learned how to use the captured essence of his victims as a source of power and he caused much suffering before he was overcome.  His soul had become so darkened by the black magic, that he was drawn into the very world he had opened.  He defied the laws of death and himself became a devil along with his three closest disciples.  The use of such magic was forever forbidden and all record of its use supposedly destroyed.

‘The Devils of Korda?’ Goodfellow asked after Samuel had explained what he had found.

‘I thought it a tale until now,’ Samuel said.

‘Most tales have their roots in truth,’ Lomar explained.  ‘We have learned that Ash is treading where he should not and we should be even more careful when facing him.  I would not be surprised if this tale were true and devils did once walk the land but, even if it were not, it is still not a wise idea to meddle with things unknown.  Ignorance can be most dangerous.  Ash should be very careful.’

‘Do you think the Archmage or the other councillors would resort to such black magic?’ Eric asked.

Lomar shook his head.  ‘I hope not.  Only a fool would deal with such powers.  Even the Archmage would not stoop to such things.  At least, I hope not.  If the bearer of such power were to be overcome by evil, he would be very difficult to defeat.’

‘It took all our strength to save Master Glim from the trap in the Argum Stone’s chamber,’ Samuel explained.  ‘And we had no idea it was even there.  Such magic seems to be entirely different from our own and much more powerful.’

‘I’m sure we can find some way to match it.  It is only powerful because we have no knowledge of it,’ Lomar said with determination, and they continued reading until their eyes ached in their heads.

In the following days, they came across various rituals and rites related to such dark power.  The authors described unholy incantations and animal and human sacrifice and the use of bodily organs.  Few of the authors wrote with clarity, as if gripped by the throes of madness and their works often ended abruptly.  It seemed there were many groups around the land that used simple black magic to further their own causes.  Covens, the author called them, and they would meet and practise their art in secret.  Even common folk could use such power, for it depended on no skills of their own, and their jealousy towards magicians often brought the two groups into conflict.  Even the most well-meaning practitioner of the dark arts soon became tainted, resorting to more and more vile acts until that individual was overcome altogether.  Along with this were documented the many great purges of such witches by the lawmakers of the times.  Those charged with finding and punishing any folk using any dark arts were traditionally called witch hunters.

After a slow week they had discovered much, but their search was still only beginning.  They still had no idea of how to combat black magic with their own.  In all probability, Lomar stated, that was why Ash employed it.  It was totally alien to the Order and made him as powerful as several magicians with its use.  Their only salvation was that black magic required a source of power different to their own magic.  First, a ritual must be performed, invoking the power of the dark spirits.  Then, once some power had been granted, it must be stored for future use in jars or vials with vital fluids that sustained it, exactly as Ash had done.  Once these stores of power had been exhausted, then the summoning ritual must be performed again.  This was both a blessing and a curse for those who wished to use black magic, for you could cast as many spells as you had vials, almost instantly and with little invocation but, once they were used, there was no way to quickly use any magic again.  Only the greater witches could channel power directly from the dark realm, and generally only for very limited durations.

As they studied and learned, the four friends had no idea of what was happening outside their room, apart from what little news Eezel could pass them, but they dared not venture out while the hunt for them continued.  Every moment was spent in preparation.  Even a single, tiny clue could prove to be a powerful tool against Ash.  However, as each day passed, they grew more desperate, for they had found nothing about the Argum Stone, how to awaken it or what powers it held stored within.  This meant that Ash probably still had the information, assuming it actually existed at all.  They had no choice, however, but to continue on—hour by hour, day by day.

‘A magician is coming!’ Samuel announced, feeling a sudden power beginning up the stairs.

The four of them stood and waited anxiously.  They dared not summon their magic lest it gave them away altogether.  After an ominous moment, there was a soft tap on the door.  They each looked to the others, unsure whether to speak or remain silent.  The knocking sounded again, much louder and more impatiently and then a familiar voice shouted in at them.

‘Open the door, you mangy street-whores before I blast it open!’ came the voice of Grand Master Anthem.

Eric lifted the bar and quickly opened the door.  Grand Master Anthem stepped into the room without a pause and surveyed them all with discontent.

‘What a sorry welcome!’ he croaked irritably.  ‘Oh, my poor stomach.  I thought that cursed boat was going to roll at over any moment.’

‘Grand Master!’ Lomar said.  ‘You’ve arrived at last.  We’re so happy to see you!’

‘Let me sit down,’ Anthem said, pushing past them.  ‘That ocean voyage has beaten me like a bully at an old dog.’

Samuel raised an eyebrow at the comment, for the old man was obviously in an unpleasant mood.  His time in exile had certainly roughened him around the edges.

Anthem removed his blue travelling cloak, revealing a thin shirt and short pants.  His pale, bony arms and legs poked out from his clothes, dispelling any guise of reverence he may have once possessed.

‘Looks like a beggars’ den,’ Anthem said, looking around at their room.  ‘It’ll do…I guess.’  He then collapsed into a chair at the small table.  ‘So what have you four been doing here all this time?  I hear you have been causing all sorts of trouble and mischief, so I thought I had better come and lend you a hand before you mess everything up altogether.  Can’t anyone do anything right without me?’

‘We have stolen back many books from the High Tower,’ Lomar said, gesturing to the books lying all over the room.  ‘Dividian has been taking them from the Great Library and passing them to Lord Jarrod.’

‘Evidently,’ Anthem noted, picking up a small notebook from the table and flipping through its pages.

‘Ash has been researching and practising black magic,’ Samuel added.

‘Black magic?’ Anthem asked with disbelief.  ‘Why, by the nine gods, would he deal with such a foul art?  The man should know better.  It will be his ruin to meddle with such things.’

‘Perhaps, that is exactly why Master Ash is the one using black magic,’ Goodfellow suggested.  ‘Perhaps the Archmage or Lord Jarrod have goaded him into it.’

‘Possible,’ Anthem replied, nodding and raising one grey eyebrow in thought.  ‘Master Ash would be only too keen to experiment with some power that could put him above other magicians, but it makes no real sense.  The Archmage already has as many magicians as he requires at his command, and he has the Staff of Elders.  Why would he want more power than that?’

‘For the Argum Stone,’ Samuel informed.

‘What’s that?’ Anthem asked.

Samuel was genuinely surprised that the old man had not heard of the relic.  He was sure his old principal would have known everything.  ‘It’s an artefact from the Age of the Ancients.  It has been put inside the High Tower while they study it.  We believe it is dormant now and that Ash is working to awaken it.  They don’t seem to have discovered the final secrets on how to do so.  We were hoping the secrets may be here in one of these books, but so far we’ve had little luck.’

‘And what do you think they’ll do with the thing if they do manage to awaken it?  What can it do?’ Anthem asked with interest.

‘I’m not exactly sure anyone knows what it can do,’ Samuel informed the old man, ‘but the Archmage is certain it will help them to overthrow Garteny.  In fact, he seems to think it will assure a sweeping victory.’

‘Can it be that powerful?’ the old man asked with a hint of disbelief.

‘He seemed to think so,’ Samuel replied.

‘Then what should we do?’ Goodfellow asked.

Anthem rubbed his whiskered chin with his bony, freckled hand.  ‘The Gartens are already prepared for the war, but I fear it will be long and bloody.  If the Emperor sends such an artefact into the fray, it will be nothing short of disastrous.  Either way, if there is anything we can do to stop it, we should try.’

‘Is it true you are a Garten, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked.

The old man nodded solemnly.  ‘I am, but I have not been back for a long, long time.  It is not a place where I would be welcomed.’

‘How is it that Garten withstood the Emperor’s forces when every other nation of Amandia fell?’ Goodfellow asked.  ‘No one seems to know the whole story of how the Great War ended.  Was it because of something you did?’  At that, the old man pinned Goodfellow with blazing eyes.  ‘I only ask because everyone has heard the tales and stories.  It would be good to know first-hand what happened.’

‘That’s true enough—very few people know the whole truth of the Great War,’ the old man said.  ‘I am one of them, so let me tell you what happened.  As the nations of Amandia fell beneath the crushing might of the Empire, the Gartens, far away in the frigid north, became naturally wary.  The Emperor’s diplomats had been pleading ignorance and spouting lies to King Otgart for years, but they were quickly removed from their heads after envoys from Pine Vale and Tudonnam came to see the King, begging for assistance and telling him of all the Empire had been plotting.  The King sent his armies into battle without delay.  When Garten and Turian forces first met on the battlefield, it looked as if the Gartens would last no longer than our neighbours, for the Emperor had five powerful magicians at his service who could tear through men like wet paper.’

‘The Lions?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘That’s right,’ Anthem confirmed with a nod.  ‘They could not be defeated, and the battle looked set to be lost before it had hardly begun.  It was then that the King sent my brother and me out to meet them.’

‘I didn’t know you had a brother,’ Samuel interrupted, full of surprise.

The old man gave Samuel a piercing look before continuing.  ‘We faced them on Raven Fields—’

‘—and you beat them?’ Samuel said impatiently.

‘No, young fool.  And stop interrupting me!  If you want to hear the rest of this story hold your infernal tongue.  My brother was greatest of the Garten magicians by far and I was but a distant second behind him.  Together, we waged our spells against theirs and we fought long and hard.  They were surprised at first that two men, especially barbaric Gartens, could stand against them for so long.  I was quite strong at the time and my brother more so, and we held them back for as long as we could.  As we tired, the Lions began to gain the upper hand.  It was then, as fate would have it, that one of the Lions made a terrible mistake.  He took a glancing blow from a savage spell sent by my brother and was befuddled momentarily, but long enough for him to inadvertently cast a spell against one of his own fellows—Levin Tudor was his name.  The man was horribly wounded and would have died at once, had my brother not come to the man’s aid.  At first, the others continued to attack my brother, pummelling him with spells that should have struck him dead, but his resolve was so great that he could not be felled.  Finally, they realised what he was doing and stood dumbfounded by their own foolishness.  There, amongst the blood and the bones and the corpses of the fallen on Raven Fields, the salvation of Garteny was founded in the pact we made.

‘So great was the relief of the Lions when they realised their friend had been saved, and so astounded were they by the compassion of my brother, that it was as if some dark veil was lifted from their eyes.  They realised they had been fighting and conquering and ignorantly obeying the Emperor for so long that they had forgotten to use the greatest gift that any magician has—reason.  Despite the fact that all five were the stoutest of Turian patriots, they finally gained the ability to actually think that, yes, perhaps the Emperor could be mistaken.

‘We forged a plan and an alliance right there, that the Empire’s rampant warring should cease and we would free all the nations that it had captured and plundered over the centuries—a plan that is being enacted right up to this very moment, but I shall tell you more of that later.

‘My brother and I joined the Lions, but we knew that even all seven together could not defeat the Archmage and his almighty Staff of Elders.  We fabricated the guise that we had been mistreated in Garteny and that our lives were misery there and, when we started blasting our own defences to pieces, the Empire accepted us with open arms.  The defeat of Garteny looked assured at that point, but then we began to execute our plan.  Together with the Lions, we began to sap at the strength of the Emperor’s great army, sabotaging their efforts and crippling their assaults.  We each began to feign exhaustion and the Turians thought that all their luck had disappeared at once.

‘The Emperor’s men lost their momentum and their progress into the north began to slow.  The last few precious months passed and winter set in quickly, forcing both sides to dig in and wait it out.  The men of the south were not ready for such hardships and their resolve drained away with the blood in their cheeks.  At last, the Emperor’s generals realised they could not go on and returned to Cintar, where they were promptly executed.  The Gartens laboured hard all through the winter, fortifying their cities and bolstering their forces with conscripts from all over the great frozen north.  By the time spring had next arrived, they had well readied their defences.

‘In the meantime, we Lions had begun searching for allies amongst the outer states, surreptitiously sowing general unrest throughout the Empire.  Rioting and rebellions sprang up all over and the Emperor’s forces were kept busy quelling them that year and the next.  It was then that the treaty was signed, for the Emperor feared his borders had been expanded too quickly.  His new territories were still unstable and he needed time to consolidate his rulership.  He was confident that he could bide his time and take Garteny at his later convenience, but each passing year only readied the north-men more for his assault.  By the time the Emperor was once again ready to forge north, he found a very different picture.  The Gartens had fortified their cities and bolstered their armies beyond what the Emperor could have believed.  Every Turian spy and diplomat and assassin in the capital had been painstakingly rooted out and killed.  The Emperor would need more than just sheer manpower to conquer these vast new walls and defences.  Even we Lions would not be enough.

‘This is where he turned to the Order.  I had been living and studying in Cintar for nearly eight years when it became known that the Emperor wanted our magical assistance in breaking the Garten defences.  The only solution was to build a bigger and stronger force of magicians to aid the Imperial armies.  Not every magician could be as powerful as the Lions, but they didn’t need to be, just as long they were great enough in number.  We were charged with converting the School from little more than a halfway house for idle, old magicians into a genuine academy of magic.  We began scouring the lands for talented young pupils.  We promised the Emperor that, eventually, we would be able to find greater spells and produce more magicians, until we could achieve the goal set to us.  Of course, we did not act entirely as we had suggested.  We secretly forged an Order of Magicians that, rather than being another cog in the machine of war, was beneficial to all the peoples of Amandia.  We did become powerful, but we purposefully avoided teaching those spells that could be used to maim and kill and instead focussed on healing and spells of a practical nature.  Instead of touting the usual Imperial claptrap, we steered our pupils towards rational, philosophical consideration.  We dared not teach anyone to defy the Empire, but we hoped to bring the students to a point where they would reach that conclusion for themselves—and, to a certain degree, we were successful in that.  We continued to delay the Emperor year after year, hoping that some day he would finally give up his plans to continue with the war and allow himself to slip away peacefully.  It’s been so long, we had actually started to believe we had won.’

‘But what made the Emperor so intent on suddenly invading Garteny again?’ Goodfellow asked.  ‘It must be at least forty years since the battle of Raven Fields.’

‘At least,’ Anthem agreed.  ‘I can’t say for sure what has made him suddenly so set on marching north once more.  Perhaps it was Lord Jarrod promising him certain victory, or perhaps it was Master Celios foretelling he would finally have a son, or perhaps he thought it was just good timing.  Who can know?  But let me get back to my tale.

‘During my initial years in Turia, I had come to know Master Vim, who luckily enough was appointed as principal of this new School of Magic.  He was a stout patriot, but also a very intelligent man and a pacifist at heart.  We certainly saw eye to eye in many things.  When old Master Vim finally passed away, I inherited his position, chiefly because I had become easily the most accomplished magician in the Empire, and also because of a single terrible thing that I did, which has kept me in favour with the Emperor all these years.  I have spent every day of my life since that time endeavouring to keep magicians out of the Emperor’s armies, but now the accursed Lord Jarrod has gone and undone all our good work.’

‘I always thought the Empire won the last battle of the war,’ Eric stated.  ‘From what you describe, the Empire ended up retreating?’

‘Do you think Garteny would still exist if Turia had won?  It was a bitter defeat for the Empire and the truth of the matter cannot be told in these parts lest you risk losing your head.  Many of the historical works that line the Emperor’s university are tainted with more than their fair share of such fiction.’

‘And what happened to your brother? Samuel asked.  ‘Did he return to Cintar with you?’

The old man shook his head.  ‘No.  No, he did not.’

‘Where is he?’ Eric asked.

‘This is the tragedy of which I spoke.  When my brother and I first joined with the five Lions, we needed to ensure our defection was believable.  This meant we had to fight side by side with the Turians and we had to make it look like we really had a sound disliking for our Garten kin.  We started by destroying a few fortifications and spooking the odd warhorse, but we quickly realised that this would not be enough.  In order to save millions, we would have to be theatrical in killing a few hundred.  But Salu refused to kill, no matter how many times I told him it would save more lives in the future.  He refused my plan outright.

‘He was always the first into action when it came to saving any living thing, be it a man, a beast or a butterfly, but he could see no logic in our plan to save countless lives in the war, for Salu was a simpleton.  He was a genius at certain things, such as the carving and crafting and casting spells, but every morning when we awoke I had to help him tie his shoelaces.  He could never remember how, no matter how many times I tried to teach him.

‘Incensed by the Emperor’s bloodthirsty commands, my brother was driven into a sudden fit of rage.  He went at the Emperor like a beast, tearing away the Emperor’s protections like a child tears through the layers of a gift-wrapped toy.  He threw the Archmage and the Staff of Elders aside like playthings and went charging at the Emperor like a mad bull.  The Emperor felt terror for perhaps the first time in his life and then I did the thing that has kept him in my debt all these years—the thing for which I have been damned ever since.  I attacked my own brother before he could kill the Emperor; not because I didn’t want the man dead, because I verily did want that, but because I did not want Salu to live with the guilt of such an act, as I knew he would.  I drove him back with my own power until his fury had passed and he fell sobbing to the floor.  I slapped him in the face and scorned him for behaving like an animal.  That slap hit him like no blast of power ever could—the look on his face was of absolute shock and dismay.  He stood up and fled from the scene and that was the last I ever saw him.

‘Men were sent out to bring him back, of course.  More men were sent out after that and more, but none were ever seen again.  Eventually, they just stopped sending men.  I have never seen my brother since then and I have never been back to Garteny.  I don’t know what came over me at the time and countless souls would curse my name if they knew the truth, but I am the man who saved the Emperor’s life and I have been trying to undo that mistake ever since.  This tale also explains why the Emperor has imprisoned himself in Cintar since that time, rarely leaving the palace walls without entire armies around him.  He is terrified that one day Salu will return to finish the job.’

‘So what do we do now, Grand Master?’ Eric asked.

Anthem looked up from his melancholy thoughts.  ‘It’s time to undo the wrongs of the past and make up for past mistakes.’  The two Erics looked to each other, confused.  ‘We act,’ Anthem continued.  ‘Our efforts to stop the Emperor’s lust for conquest have failed.  Our strategies to unite the land peacefully through the Order have been exhausted.  It’s time we acted swiftly and concisely.  We must do what no one else has ever been able to do.  We must do what we originally intended to do, what I failed do and what has been foretold we will do—we must finally kill the Emperor of Turia.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Eric stated in total disbelief.

‘I’m deadly serious.  It is time for an end to his power-driven madness.  It’s time to end his wars and let people be free of his shadow, once and for all.’

‘Grand Master,’ Lomar began, ‘such an idea is not new.  Many people have tried to kill the Emperor, many times in fact, and none has even been nearly successful, except for your brother as you described—and he has not been seen since that day.  The Archmage keeps the Emperor surrounded by the most powerful spells and he has elite guards by his side day and night.  Even the Circle of Eyes has failed to kill him.  I must say, it seems impossible!’

‘It’s not impossible, by any means,’ the wiry old Grand Master corrected.  ‘While it’s true that such a task does present its difficulties, what do you think I have spent the greater part of my life considering?  In truth, the Order has wasted countless years secretly searching for my brother, all without avail; but we now have an alternative means of getting to the Emperor.  Still, we must strike decisively and without error, for if we fail it will be the end of all our hopes and almost certainly our lives.’

‘So you have a plan?’ Samuel asked.

‘Not exactly,’ the old man admitted, ‘but we must put one together quickly.  I’m sorry to say that the introduction of this new relic—something no one could have foretold— has thrown all my existing plans to the wind.  It they manage to awaken this Argum Stone and it proves even nearly as powerful as the Staff of Elders, the war will begin anew and more lives will be forfeited.  The Emperor can stay safely in Cintar under the protection of the Staff of Elders, while the Argum Stone goes north to obliterate the Gartens.  Who knows?  Perhaps the Emperor would even like to see the battlefront himself this time?  With two Ancient relics of power in his hands, who can say what the Emperor can and cannot achieve?  Before this happens, we must kill him.  It has never been done before, but we now have something that I believe will make all the difference.’

‘What’s that?’ Samuel asked with great curiosity.

The old magician’s face creased with wrinkles as he grinned back towards Samuel.  ‘Well, my boy—it’s you.  ’

‘Me!’ Samuel said, startled and the Erics and Lomar seemed to share his surprise.

‘That’s right.  You can do the one thing that no other person can.  You can kill the Emperor.’

‘I have no idea how that could be so,’ Samuel declared.  ‘How can I possibly kill the Emperor?  I’m not nearly as powerful as some other magicians, even after everything I’ve learned.’

‘It’s not a matter of power, Samuel,’ the old man revealed.  ‘It’s a matter of its application.  You can approach the Emperor without anyone knowing you are even there, for not even the keenest of magicians can detect you while your magic is unsummoned.  Even I was quick to dismiss this facet of your nature, when not even the greatest of magicians could achieve the same through spells.  Once you are near enough to the Emperor, you can unravel his protection spell by spell and he can be killed like any man.  You are the magician that cannot be found.’

‘The magician that cannot be seen,’ Samuel corrected.

‘That’s another interpretation,’ old Anthem admitted, ‘or it could also be the magician that cannot be felt, or cannot be heard or even the magician that returns by some people’s reckoning.’

‘Samuel has just returned,’ Eric said, jumping on the realisation.

‘But so have you, Eric,’ Goodfellow added.

‘Or so could your brother, Grand Master,’ Samuel concluded.  ‘He could return and he could possibly kill the Emperor.’

‘That’s just my point,’ the old Grand Master agreed.  ‘Such vague statements can be interpreted in almost any number of ways and are darned next to useless.  You see, you have now returned to us, Samuel, just as the prophecy foretold, but so has almost everyone in some way or another.  I can bend such words any way I see fit to suit the circumstance.  Master Celios’ damn prediction has been the cause of more trouble than it’s worth.  Whatever its true meaning, if indeed it has any, I believe we must ignore the finer details and just help the damned thing come to fruition.  We kill the Emperor with the help of Samuel’s second unique ability that will help him with the task.’  And the old man looked to Samuel expectantly.

Samuel’s mouth fell open and it took him a moment to gather his wits.  ‘How did you know?’ he asked, veritably gobsmacked.

‘I may be old, Samuel, but I’m not an old fool.  I have been watching you since the day you first arrived here.  At first, I was not sure, and we were so busy minding after young Master Pot here—thinking he was the answer to our prayers—that we couldn’t see what was before our noses.  Your eyes follow your spells like a falcon follows its prey.  By the nine gods, I only have to cast a quick bit of magic and you blink like you’ve been blinded!  I always suspected it of Salu, but he would never tell me for sure, but I know you have the same special gift that he possessed, Samuel.  You can see magic.  It’s the only explanation for the neatness and quickness of your spells, Samuel.  You seem to be an enigma of many sorts.’

‘What does he mean, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked, full of confusion.

Samuel took a deep breath.  ‘What he says is true.  Since I can remember, I can actually see magic.  I can see it like most people can see their own two hands.’

‘That’s incredible!’ Goodfellow exclaimed.  ‘Why didn’t you ever tell us?’

Samuel shrugged.  ‘It’s not something I like to talk about.  I’ve had enough trouble in my life without having something else to mark me apart from everyone else.’

‘Well, it does make you unique,’ Anthem explained, ‘and now that the focus is away from Eric, it makes you dangerous.  I don’t know if the Archmage knows the true extent of your abilities, but he knows enough to make him wary.  He knows the prophecy as well as anyone and even suspicion is enough to get a man killed in this city.  You’re lucky you haven’t been killed already, with all the damn foolish mistakes you’ve been making.’

‘Even if he manages to kill the Emperor, what then?’ Lomar asked.

‘The Emperor is the Empire.  Once he is dead, we will free the nations he has conquered over his wretched lifetime.  At last, Amandia can live in peace and freedom as it did before the Empire came into power.  The family lines of the old kings still exist.  Such descendants can retake their places and the Emperor has no such son to follow him.  A senate once used to rule in Turia and I would like to see such an assembly established once more.  Even if Empress Lillith does have a boy, there are many things we can do to stop him from inheriting as much power as his father.’

‘Is there actually some kind of plan, or am I just expected to run up to the Emperor and stab him in the head?’ Samuel asked.

‘Don’t be smart, boy,’ Anthem told him.  ‘We need all the help we can get.  I have summoned the Lions and they will arrive soon.  After they were sent to kill me, they could not return to Cintar empty-handed and they, too, have been in hiding.  Together, we will overcome the Emperor’s bodyguards and then Samuel can go to work.  I will need to teach you what spells are guarding him, and how each one can be undone.  I have spent years scrutinising and memorising every trick in Ordi’s book.  Your timing will need to be precise, for the Emperor’s protection is also riddled with traps and misdirection.  At the same time, we will need to keep the Archmage busy, for you cannot defend against the Staff of Elders and deal with the Emperor at the same time.’

‘So we wait for the Lions to return?’ Lomar asked.

‘That’s right, but they should only be a day or two behind me at the most.  Now, why don’t you tell me everything that has been happening since I left this miserable city?’

Samuel absentmindedly rubbed the deep scar on his left arm and listened carefully as Lomar told the old Grand Master of all they had done up until that time.  He was not at all sure about the old man’s plan to kill the Emperor, but these days, he was not really sure about too much of anything.

That night, while the Erics had sneaked out into the markets to fetch them some hot dinner and Lomar had gone out to meet with Master Glim, Samuel talked idly with Grand Master Anthem as they both browsed over their piles of stolen books.  The patrols searching for them had somewhat thinned.  Still, Anthem warned them all to be wary of agents of the Empire.

‘Pah!’ the old magician spat, reading over some pages.  ‘Half these books are nonsense!  This one is clearly written by a lunatic!’

‘It seems many of them were,’ Samuel agreed.

With that, Anthem tossed the book over his shoulder onto the carefully placed pile of unwanted books.  Then, the old man sat opposite Samuel and gave him a level look that made Samuel sit up and pay attention.

‘So tell me,’ Anthem began.  ‘I feel you have changed much since you left Cintar.  I remember you as a happy and enthusiastic young man and yet you return with a thunderstorm over your head.  What happened to you in Tindal to make you so dark and troubled?’

Samuel swallowed nervously as he prepared to tell his tale.  ‘I learned many hard lessons.  I fell in love…I lost my love.  I felt a magic inside me that seemed able to tear the stars from the sky and throw worlds to their ruin—when it felt the compulsion to actually come when I called it.  I learned many great new spells, but I also learned to fear my own power.  I killed men with such an untempered rage that I felt some unholy beast had taken hold of my mind.  All these things I learned and I would give them up in a moment for the return of my beautiful Leila for, since she has gone, I have become a hollow and empty shell and my life has no meaning beyond avenging her death.’

Anthem nodded solemnly.  ‘You are still young, yet you have already learned some of the harder lessons of life.  These things of which you speak are the costs of becoming a man.  Do not think you are alone in your misery, Samuel.  Life is truly hard and we have all experienced loss and suffering.  I would not be here at all if not for the death of everyone I loved at the hands of the Empire.  My entire family—my mother and father, my sisters and brothers, all my uncles and aunts and cousins; my entire town, in fact—was slaughtered by the Emperor’s forces.  Only my brother and I were spared, simply because we were in Qaldar at the time learning to be magicians.  Everyone you meet has a tale of tragedy to tell, for these are hard times, Samuel.

‘Remember that you alone have a rare talent that can bring about a time of restoration to the world.  Keep hold of your fears and your anger, for they are a passion which you can use to drive you, but don’t let them overwhelm you.  Don’t obsess over the darkness in your life—remember the love you felt on those warm sunny days on the grass, lying in the sun with your woman in your arms.’  Samuel looked to the old man with surprise.  ‘Yes, I too have felt love, long before I was a magician.  I have not always been such a tired old man, and she, too, was taken away by the Empire, defiled and murdered like so many others.  Yes, use your passions.  Use them before they fade.’  The old man then looked up to the corner of the room with reddened eyes.

Samuel was thoughtful in the quiet, for the old man’s words rang true in his mind.  He had been obsessed by his own desire for revenge, while Anthem had spent nearly all his life seeking his.  The Empire was probably filled with such stories.  After long moments, the old man’s words broke the silence one more.

‘Sometimes, as you say, our magic can feel so powerful that it begins to control us.  When we lose control, we are not our own masters, but slaves to our primitive instincts.  Only intelligence and intellect are pure and free from the stains of emotion.  You must practise and learn to control yourself when you most want to let go.  There is a time for such intense feelings as love and hate, as much as we magicians are capable of feeling them, but it is not when you are spelling.  You should be free of these feelings and be a channel for the energies of the ether to accomplish the task at hand.  When overcome by your emotions, magic can flow through you at a greater strength than you can control, dangerously so.  Your spells can be incredibly powerful at times like this, but you cannot control them as you may think and it may damage you irrevocably.  Do not overtax yourself, for the price of doing so must eventually be paid—as you well know.  If you exert your body too much, you will simply die, for magic is by far stronger than any mortal flesh.’

Samuel nodded his head.  ‘I understand.’

‘Really?  Perhaps you do, but mastering oneself is one of the greatest challenges we can face.  This is the true goal of any magician and one very few of us will actually reach.’

‘Do you think I will feel better once I kill Ash?’ Samuel asked.

‘I cannot say.  I have always blamed the Emperor himself for my woes and when he is dead, I am sure I will feel a great weight lifted from my chest; but I do not think all the scars of such emotional burden can ever be entirely removed.’

‘And what of Ash?  Do you think he is just another pawn of Lord Jarrod’s or is the Emperor or the Archmage ultimately in control?’

‘I cannot say.  I am sure all of them have their own agendas, but who is to say which of them will end up on top?  But if Ash’s aura is, indeed, tainted, as you say, then the dark arts may have already begun to foul him.  If he has already been taken too far then he must be killed, lest he becomes a conduit for dangerous things.’

‘Do not fear, Grand Master,’ Samuel stated.  ‘I will soon kill him whether he is tainted or not.’

The old man nodded.  ‘It will be better when you have put your vengeance behind you.  It sends shivers up my spine to hear you talk like that.’

‘It keeps me going,’ Samuel replied as way of explanation.  ‘I have a question for you, Grand Master,’ he then announced.  ‘I saw you challenge the other Grand Masters one time in the Great Hall.  You cast a spell that drained their strength into your own.  How do you work such a spell?’

‘So you know about it?  Ha, ha!  Of course you do!  I forget you can see magic as I can see this table…or this chair,’ and he tapped on each to illustrate his point.

‘I’ve tried to emulate the spell many times, but I cannot.’

Anthem laughed aloud as the Erics were coming in through the door with a steaming hamper full of sweet-smelling food between them.  ‘Ah my boy,’ Anthem said, still filled with mirth, ‘you cannot be master of everything!  Allow me to have my one little secret, please!  Perhaps I can teach you another time.  Now, I’m starving to death.  Let us feast.’

Samuel nodded solemnly as the old man snatched up the food that Goodfellow had set down and began to wolf it down like a ravenous hound.

Old Anthem sneaked in and out several times the next day, and he finally announced that the five other Lions had arrived.  A meeting had been arranged for the next morning.  All their trusted contacts within the Order would gather, and their plan to assassinate the Emperor would be made.

They awoke early and went to one of the many inns down near the docks, in a private room on the second floor.  It was quite a tidy inn, not nearly as stinking and rancid as most of the establishments for this part of the city, stuck at  the end of a winding alleyway without any sign or notice as to its name, called only after its owner—Stocky Tom’s.  It was a place where merchants would meet, sailors got drunk, and harlots lingered in the smoke haze; a place where, for the right fee, your secrets could remain secret and so it was just right for the kind of meeting they were planning.  At this early time of day, it was also completely empty, which was exactly what they needed for such a meeting.

Grand Master Anthem, Samuel, Lomar and Eric waited at the long beer-stained table, while Goodfellow stood out across the street, keeping watch.  Goodfellow had remained in his commoner’s clothes, but the others had changed back into their black garb to give them some credibility for the meeting.  Master Glim was the only one not to attend, as his presence was still required at the School for Magic and he had found no excuse to slip away unnoticed.

One by one, the men came in, various mages who had each received word from Anthem, all long time friends of his and known empathisers to his cause.  All wore their long robes and each black hem was personalised with a little coloured braiding.

Tulan Goodwin came in and seated himself last, nodding to Samuel and the others, making thirteen men crowded around the table.  Samuel and Eric were easily the youngest, with nearly all the men showing a good deal of grey in their hair.

They waited a fair length of time and the five Lions had still not appeared.  Anthem kept glancing towards the door, but the room was getting restless.

‘Where are the Lions?’ Samuel whispered beside Anthem.

‘I’m not sure, lad,’ Anthem replied, ‘but I don’t like the feel of it.  I was counting on their presence to add weight to our argument.  We may have to play this by ear.  Anyway, we need to start this meeting now or these old codgers will start falling asleep.  I’m sure the Lions have their reasons for being delayed.’

Samuel nodded in response and sat back against the back his chair.

‘Welcome, friends,’ Anthem began and the men all became quiet and turned their attention to him.  ‘It is a pleasure to see you all again.  Know firstly that your lives are in danger just by being here.  Such a fact represents just one of the terrible injustices the Empire has imposed upon us and, indeed, all the peoples of Amandia.  At last, the time has come, after many, many years, when we can move to action.’

There was murmuring among the men, and they all looked at each other.

‘All his life,’ Anthem continued, ‘the Emperor has been set on drawing every square of Amandia into his Empire and he has nearly succeeded several times.  We have spent our lives living beneath the Emperor’s tyrannical gaze, and now we have the opportunity to finally end his accursed reign.’

‘You had better explain yourself quickly, Janus,’ one old magician spoke out.  ‘I’ve better things to do than listen to more fairytales of freedom and equality.  And you have some nerve summoning us here at a time like this!  Palace agents are all though the city.  It was no trivial task for us all to get here unnoticed.  When we do get back, there’ll be some answering to do.’

‘All in good time, Master Quimbus,’ Anthem responded.  ‘Suffice to know that this time, things are different.  We now have an assured means of circumventing the Emperor’s magical defences.’

At that, there was a good deal of murmuring amongst the old men.

‘We’ve been searching most of our lives for a way to get past those spells, and you are telling us that you have now finally stumbled upon one?’ one withered old magician asked.

‘That’s right, Beanald,’ Anthem responded.  ‘We now have a method of doing just that and believe me when I say it is remarkably reliable.  I am confident of its abilities.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ a third Master called out.  ‘Let’s go kill the bugger now!’

Anthem held up his hands to calm the man’s enthusiasm.  ‘Eager as always, Master Vomer, but we need a slightly more sophisticated plan than that.  We still need to take care of the Archmage and the Emperor’s bodyguards.  We should also be careful to avoid the Royal Guards.’

‘And his armies, too, Grand Master?’ Master Quimbus asked sarcastically.

‘No, not his armies,’ Anthem replied slowly.  ‘I understand that the task still has its challenges, but that is why we are magicians, so that we can use our intellects to overcome our problems.  We need to find a way to take care of these obstacles and it should not be too difficult if we put our heads to it.’

Just then, there was a noise from outside—people shouting and calling out.  Everyone stiffened and looked about nervously, but after another moment, the ruckus quietened down again and the men relaxed back into their seats.  Samuel took the opportunity to whisper to Anthem.

‘What of the Argum Stone?’

‘Not here, lad,’ Anthem whispered back.  ‘We don’t want to complicate matters any further.  Let us continue,’ he then called aloud to the gathering.  ‘To take care of the Archmage, a simple diversion should be enough—just something to keep him away from the Emperor while we begin our work.  The Emperor’s bodyguards will need to be dispatched quickly and quietly.  If the palace is alerted, the Royal Guards will be upon us like ants at a picnic, and I don’t need to tell you how bad that would be.  The best place would be somewhere small and quiet, with four square walls around us to prevent his escape.’

‘We could call a meeting,’ one man suggested.

‘Or a demonstration,’ another called out, ‘to show him some of those spells he has always been pestering us about.’

Anthem nodded to them.  ‘Good, good.  This is what we want—some decent ideas to throw around.  We just have one more tiny obstacle.  I must personally find my way to the Emperor to use the new dispelling magic; however, as I’m a wanted man, I cannot allow myself to be seen.  I also need young Samuel here to assist me, but he, too, is wanted on sight.’

‘Argh!’ Master Vomer called out, throwing his hands up in frustration.  ‘You bring before us an infallible plan that is fouled from the start!  How are we to manage all these things you speak of?’

‘I do have a plan,’ Anthem replied patiently, ‘but it requires all of you to assist me.  I don’t mean to start sounding rude, but all you old fools have spent your lives complaining about the Emperor and how much you’d like to see the end of him, and when I bring you one good chance to be rid of him, all you do is moan!  Listen to what I have prepared.  I am suggesting that we call a meeting in the Great Hall, to show the Emperor what we have learned to help with his war.  Some of his bodyguards will be there, but most of his soldiers will be forced to wait outside.  Samuel and I will be secreted away, under the floorboards or some such where they will not be able to find us.  The main problem, of course, is that the Council will insist on attending any such meeting and there are other details we will need to predict and account for, such as how we will explain whatever happens to the guards in the room.  We don’t want to be cut to pieces immediately following our great success.’

The old men were all quiet and looked to each apologetically.

‘Yes, yes, you are right,’ another old Master admitted.  ‘It does sound like the makings of a reasonable plan.  What about if we meet again next week and see what we can think up by then?’

‘That is also a problem, Master Sandringham,’ Anthem stated.  ‘You see, we do not have so long.  For reasons I don’t want to get into just now, time is of the very essence.  We may only have a few days at most to act before our chance is gone forever.’

The men again began murmuring their frustrations to each other.

‘Very well, Grand Master,’ the wiry Master Vomer spoke up.  ‘We all like a challenge.  I’m sure that between us we can find a way to perfect your idea.  I don’t know about the rest of you, but I really had nothing else planned for today, except growing another day older towards my grave.  Let’s put our heads together and think of something!’

It was then that the door burst inwards and a sea of soldiers came pushing in, shouting and brandishing swords and spears.  The room was small, and the magicians had spear-tips pressed up against them as the soldiers pushed into the room.  Behind the men came a handful of black-cloaked magicians.  The room was full of shouting and confusion as everyone jostled to move away from the raised and pointed weapons.

‘Hold where you are!’ cried a tall man as he pushed through the soldiers and into the room.  It was High Lord Rimus.  He held his arms up, so that his black sleeves, sewn with silver circles, hung around his elbows.  ‘At first sign of a spell you will all be run through.’

Anthem raised his hand to make his presence known.  ‘What is the meaning of this, Rimus?’

‘I should ask you the same.  There is obviously some kind of plot taking place here and you are all colluding with some of the Empire’s most dangerous foes.  You will all come peacefully to the palace and await the Emperor’s questioning, under guard.  Refuse and I will instruct these men to kill you all.  You are all to be tried for treason against the Empire.’

The old magicians looked at each other with dread on their faces.  Samuel thought that the room of experienced magicians could easily defeat a few other magicians and guards, but not one of them began to ready any power.  They seemed too afraid to dare anything.

Anthem must have come to the same conclusion as he, too, looked around the room at his worried fellows.  ‘We will come,’ he accepted with a sigh.

‘Take them away,’ Rimus instructed and the soldiers began to prod with their spear points.  As the old magicians were herded out the narrow doorway and down the stairs, Samuel began to tense—angered and readying to throw out his magic.  A hand on his shoulder made him look around.  It was Tulan and he spoke softly at Samuel’s side.

‘Go with them, Samuel,’ he said quietly.  ‘Your plan was doomed from the start.  They knew all along.  Please forgive me.’

‘You bastard!’ Eric said, obviously having overheard and he launched himself forward, punching Tulan full on the chin.  They all nearly fell down the stairs and would have if not for the sheer number of people crammed onto them.

The soldiers became agitated and raised their spears as best they could, but Tulan held up his palm to calm them, while the other hand rubbed at his reddened jaw.

‘Don’t worry,’ Tulan said, quietly to Samuel.  ‘This is the best way.  I will take care of everything.  Just go with them.’

The soldiers ushered them all through the tavern and out into the street.  Samuel could not believe that Tulan had betrayed them, whatever his reasons.  They had worked so hard to get this far and now it was over.  More soldiers and magicians were waiting outside, so their chances of escaping were reduced even further.  There was no sign of Goodfellow, so it seemed that he, at least, had escaped.

People along the docks were all gathering around to look at the strange sight of the magicians’ arrest.  Quite a crowd was forming and the streets were becoming clogged as everyone strained to look over each other’s shoulders.  A few soldiers were attempting to move the crowd on, but it was not until they finally lost their tempers and levelled their spears that the crowd finally began to part.  The soldiers then gestured to the magicians to continue on and they began marching towards the palace, shouting for the crowds to clear all the way.  Samuel looked around for Tulan, but the man was no longer with them.

‘What shall we do, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked, pushing in next to Anthem.

The old man shook his head.  ‘We may be brought before the Emperor sooner than we wished.  Stay ready.  We still may be able to go ahead with our plan if the chance presents itself, even if it is not on our original terms.’

‘Where is Goodfellow?’ Eric asked, squeezing in beside them.

Samuel looked around.  ‘I did not see him.  I was hoping he saw the soldiers coming and managed to escape.’

‘And Master Glim is still free,’ Lomar mentioned, also suddenly beside them.  ‘They are our hope.’

‘Unless Tulan has double-crossed them also,’ Eric said dryly.

‘I would like to think not,’ Samuel said.  ‘He doesn’t need to.

‘But that was quite a surprise,’ Lomar added.  ‘I can’t fathom why he would help us and then capture us when he could have done so at any time before.’

‘That is why I feel we may have a second chance,’ Grand Master Anthem responded.

When they arrived at the palace, the enormous gates were closed fast.  A crowd had followed them all the way, gawking and gossiping at the spectacle of magicians under arrest.  Samuel was almost relieved when the gates opened just enough to allow them entry and then boomed firmly shut behind them, sealing out the awful cacophony of the crowd.

A large number of soldiers were standing in formation before the palace—several thousand at least.  Surrounded on either side by the soldiers, about a hundred magicians also stood waiting—looking altogether disorganised compared to the stiff lines of attentive soldiers.

‘Eh?’ Samuel heard the old Grand Master mutter beside him.  ‘What’s all this then?’

High Lord Rimus led them between the two starkly contrasting groups to the palace steps, where the other councillors, including Tulan, were waiting.

Samuel dismissed any thought of trying to escape.  He had never seen so many armed men in one place.

‘Is this the army?’ Samuel asked of Lomar on his other side.

Lomar shook his head.  ‘This is part of the Royal Guard—hand-picked to protect the palace.  They are but a part of the Emperor’s forces here in Cintar, which are but a fraction of his entire army.’

Just then, more soldiers came out of the palace and started down the long palace stairs, followed by a small cluster of black-cloaked magicians.  The distinctive shapes of Dividian and the Archmage were visible amongst them.  Behind them, with golden-armoured bodyguards at their sides, strode a man and a woman, both splendidly dressed.  The man was surrounded in such a cage of spells that Samuel had never before witnessed.  There were layers-upon-layers of magic around the man, each so thick that Samuel had to dull his sight completely just to catch a glimpse of the man’s features.

‘Who are they?’ Samuel asked the brown-skinned magician in a soft voice.

‘It’s the Emperor and his latest wife—Empress Lillith,’ Lomar responded.

‘How many wives does he have?’ Eric asked.

‘About thirty, I think,’ the wiry magician replied, ‘and forty-seven daughters.’

Samuel was flabbergasted.  ‘But the man looks barely in his forties!’

‘He is ninety-seven years old,’ Lomar revealed.  ‘The power of the Staff of Elders is beyond anything we magicians can begin to imagine.  It cannot, however, grant him the son he has always wanted.  According to Master Celios, only Empress Lillith can do that, so the other wives have all been relegated to a distant second place behind her.’

The five Lions were there, waiting at the front of the Adept along with a few other old magicians.

‘Anthem’s old friends seem to have also been informed of our treachery,’ Samuel whispered.

‘So it seems,’ was Lomar’s reply.  ‘Thankfully for us, they are still free and still seem to be on good terms with the Emperor.  I am assuming, of course, that they are not involved in turning us in.’

After a few moments of talking with the councillors, the Emperor stepped to the front of the assembly and began to address them all.

‘Well,’ the Emperor spoke as he began his address.  His voice was as youthful as his looks and sounded deep and confident.  ‘It looks like everyone is here, so we can finally begin.  Today is a wonderful day.’  And he looked at the gathering of soldiers and magicians and smiled sincerely.  ‘How it warms me to have such a bountiful empire.  My Royal Guard—dedicated to protecting me and my city.’  He looked to the Archmage and the gathering of councillors.  ‘My faithful magicians—forever aiding my people with their spells and wonderful magical feats.’  He then pointed to Samuel and the gathering of old men with a frown.  ‘And these traitorous vermin.’  The old men whispered nervously to each other at this as the Emperor began to stroll back and forth before them.  ‘I see we have finally found the venerable Grand Master Anthem, at last revealing his true colours.  I would never have thought you would resort to organising such an ill-fated effort to rebel against me.  I was hoping you would do slightly better than this sorry effort.  How you have fallen in your old age.  When you were younger, you could kill men like you were plucking the heads off daisies.  You killed five men for every one my Lions could defeat.  Nobody could kill his own countrymen like the great Janus Anthem.  How sad you look now, huddled amongst your quivering brothers-in-treachery.  How the mighty have fallen.’

He then began pacing along the stairs.  ‘The Order of Magicians has been such a mixed blessing to me over the years.  On the one hand, you have been such a boon, granting my people health and improving my Empire in so many ways, but on the other, you have become ever so tiresome with your constant accursed nagging and bickering and pulling of my ear.  This latest escapade of yours has helped me to make up my mind that the Order has deviated too far from its original purpose.  Even my beloved Lions have proved to be traitors.’  At that, the five Grand Masters standing at the front of the gathering turned to face their Emperor with surprise on their faces.  ‘Only a select few will be chosen to remain.  The Order has been something of a failed attempt, but I will start again with a new generation of fresh-thinking and enthusiastic young men.  For all of you gathered here, you shall immediately be executed.’  At that, the crowd of gathered magicians began to murmur and jostle nervously.  ‘General,’ the Emperor instructed as he turned and began back up the stairs, ‘you may begin.’

General Ruardin nodded and a captain standing beside him drew his sword and raised it high.  At that, all the Royal Guards slid their weapons from their sheaths as one and turned inwards to face the cluster of magicians pinned between their ranks.  The Archmage and the councillors were the only magicians present that were to be spared and they made sure to keep their distance from the others, safely on the stairs.  Tulan stood beside the Archmage with his arms folded.  His expression was unreadable.  The aged magician beside him leaned upon the Staff of Elders, with a thin smile of expectation on his lips.

‘Ah,’ Eric stammered nervously.  ‘I hope this is where we do have some kind of plan.’

Magic began to be summoned all around as the horrified magicians began marshalling their defences, but another spell, surging forth from the Staff of Elders, rippled through the air, wasting their efforts completely.  Even the five Lions, with soldiers bearing down on them with long spears, could do nothing to summon their power, and looked to each other with worried expressions.  Samuel, too, could feel the Staff of Elders smothering his efforts to draw from the ether.  Its power was absolute against them, especially as it had been brought to task before any of them could prepare against it.

‘You may continue, General,’ Archmage Ordi croaked, and the general again nodded to his captain.

As the captain swung his sword down ceremoniously, the Royal Guard began pushing inwards, stabbing and slashing at the magicians nearest to their blades.  Panicked magicians began pushing in towards each other, falling and crushing against each other to escape the encroaching danger.  The Lions had been herded down the few remaining steps with the others, and were regarding the spears before them anxiously.  Magicians screamed and fell in scores as the soldiers worked at hacking them down.

‘For Garteny!’ someone called out above the din and Samuel turned his head just in time to see Tulan dragging a dagger across the Archmage’s neck.  Tulan’s blade was wrought with silver-hewn spells that turned the Archmage’s own defences to scraps of screeching, wasted magic.  Scarlet fluid spat from the old man’s ruined throat, in stark contrast to the brilliant silver and blue hues of the spells writhing wildly around him.  General Ruardin stepped forward.  His blade came out in a flash and would have had Tulan’s head cut clean off, but Tulan snapped a spell in place—somehow prepared against the Archmage’s nullifying field— and the general’s sword flew up uncontrollably, almost out of his hands.  Blood continued to gush from the Archmage’s slit throat.  The old man coughed and clutched at the wound with wild disbelief in his eyes as he toppled forward onto his face upon the stairs.  The Staff of Elders abruptly ceased its spell and the oppressive force that had kept the magicians from their magic vanished.

‘For the Order!’ came another cry, and magic began flying out of the old magicians in every direction at once.  Soldiers, who moments before had been slashing and hacking with wild abandon, began to fly aside like rag dolls.  Seeing this and realising that all was now not going to plan, the Emperor began hurrying up the stairs with his wife and bodyguards in tow.

‘Take care of this, General!’ he commanded over his shoulder, dragging the alarmed figure of Empress Lillith by the hand.  ‘Finish it quickly!’

The councillors had scattered away from the fallen body of Archmage Ordi and they were all scurrying up the stairs after the Emperor.  In their hurry to save their own skins, not one of them had thought to pick up the Staff of Elders from where it lay, beside the body of the Archmage, covered in blood upon the palace steps.

‘Kill them!  Kill the cursed magicians!’ came a cry from the Royal Guard.  A group of bowmen darted up along the stairs and readied themselves to launch their missiles into the crowd of black-cloaks.

‘Run!’ Eric cried out.

Some of the old men had sense enough to defend themselves with spells, but others had either no time or no such spells, and were hit by deadly missiles or hacked down by nearby swords.  A group of nearby soldiers flew into the air with cries of fear as Grand Master Anthem waved them away with a gesture and spell.

‘Go now! Break through!’ Anthem called out.

Samuel and his group fled out through the opening the old Grand Master had made and a tide of old magicians followed behind them, like black sand spilling from a cracked vase.

‘What is Tulan doing?’ Eric shouted beside Samuel.  ‘First he damns us; then he helps us!’

‘It’s his plan!’ Samuel called back, ‘He’s given us a chance!  The Archmage is dead and the Emperor is on the run.’

The two of them stepped away from the pack of magicians with a cluster of soldiers hacking at their tails.  Samuel could see General Ruardin and his men cutting at the five Lions, but the wily magicians could not be felled so easily and were matching them, spell for stroke.  If they could just be given a chance to gather themselves, the five old Grand Masters could begin blasting away at the soldiers in earnest.

‘We must get to the Emperor before more troops arrive!’ Grand Master Anthem hissed to Samuel.  ‘Now is our chance to kill him!’

‘How?’ Samuel asked, spying the Emperor and his group already nearing the top of the palace stairs.

Despite the assistance of their spells, the magicians were sorely outnumbered and were falling under sword strokes, being peppered by arrows or skewered by spears by the dozen.  Armoured and cloaked legs hurried all around as the conflict fell into bedlam in every direction.  Spells blistered through the air and bodies from both factions lay everywhere.

A horn sounded from the great palace gates, which began to swing open, letting even more soldiers into the palace grounds.  A magician appeared beside them, dropping deftly from the top of the great wall and throwing a spell onto the opening gates.  The great structures began to close again as if by their own accord, while the guards all struggled in vain against them.  The gates boomed back together and held firm, leaving just a handful of men inside the grounds, pulling fruitlessly to open the gates once again.  Samuel could not recognise the magician from this distance, but he could recognise the spell—it was Master Glim.  The man began sprinting about as if he were twenty years younger, throwing spells left and right as he darted between spear and sword alike.

Samuel quickly looked about to see if his friends were safe.  Eric was a short distance away.  Two swords hung in the air beside him and defended him from a duo of armoured guards, spinning and cutting through the air as if possessed.  He looked worried, but not nearly as worried as the two soldiers, for they regarded the magical swords with terror, barely able to defend themselves.

Grand Master Anthem was deftly avoiding a flurry of spear thrusts; then, turning over his shoulder, he dropped the soldiers around him one by one with his knotty spells.  As soon as one fell, however, another filled his place and more soldiers were rushing in from all around.  Anthem was a master of magic, but he was old and even he had his limits.  Just when Samuel thought the old man was about to be overcome, a surge of magic burst out from him and the ground thundered violently.  The men all around the old Grand Master dropped to their backs and lay still as if dead.  Anthem stood at the centre of the scene, surveying the litter of bodies around him.

A number of guards had observed this and with one riotous battle cry, they charged in around Anthem, their weapons raised.  The old man disappeared amongst them with grim defiance set on his face.

‘Go, Samuel!’ he bellowed from beneath the men.  ‘Get to the Emperor!  Do what you must!’

Samuel momentarily feared the worst for the old man, but the Grand Master’s furious curses could be heard above the shouts and cries and tumult of weapons that issued around him, so Samuel knew the old magician was not done for quite yet.

A shrill woman’s cry drew his attention and Samuel looked to the palace stairs once more.  The Emperor was now hurrying back down towards them.  His bodyguards were gone and a score of plain-clothed men were bounding down after him with swords held high.  The Emperor stopped and turned about, drawing his sword and decapitating the nearest man in one spinning movement.  The others slashed at him, but the Emperor was bound in such spells that their blades found his flesh as hard as iron.

Darting through the melee, Samuel made his way to the foot of the stairs.  He heard a great crack and a quick glance over his shoulder showed the palace gates open once more, and a horde of armed men was pouring through, all shouting as one as they charged in to join the fray.  General Ruardin and his closest men had bounded up the stairs to help their Emperor, leaving the five Lions free to begin throwing their spells out towards the incoming soldiers.  They each threw spells like a child throws stones at an ants’ nest, with each clot of magic exploding amongst the soldiers and dropping them by the dozen.  From somewhere else, a Great Spell bloomed and a mountain of earth drew itself upwards from the palace grounds, forming into a giant monstrosity of rock and soil that began swatting at soldiers with its great fists.  It was a mighty spell, but Samuel had not a moment spare to even begin considering it.

He leapt up stairs by threes and reached a small pile of black-cloaked and armoured bodies.  He dropped to his knees and began pulling them aside until he found what he sought.  Slick and warm with blood, the Staff of Elders seemed to be humming, almost as if waiting for him.  He grasped its haft and stood tall, looking up towards the magic-encased Emperor with determination.

The relic in his hand felt ready.  It had been waiting and now, someone worthy had found it.  Such power ever begged for release—to be rid of the confines of its imprisonment and be vented into the world.  Such power could be hard to resist for any magician, but Samuel had no intention of even trying.

He opened himself to the ether, but something unexpected caused his mind to reel.  The power in the Staff leapt into him, surging up his arm and into his chest, filling his body and burning its way into his core.  He could not have foreseen such a feeling and, once summoned, he had no way to stop the power from filling him.  The sky above swam drunkenly and the great marble walls of the palace twisted and turned in place.  The death cries and battle cries behind him sounded like long, slow moans.  His heart made a crashing sound as it boomed within his chest, sending a surge of blood along his arteries and veins.  Looking at his fingers, he could see the tiny capillaries bulging inside them.  Smoke came hissing from the wood beneath his skin.  Samuel looked up at the Emperor intensely, feeling the power of the Staff of Elders erupting inside him.

General Ruardin was bounding up the last stair to defend his Emperor.  Beads of sweat were dripping from his brow and into his eyes and the man’s last footfall seemed almost frozen in time, as he hollered and squeezed his sword tightly in his hand, holding it forth to defend his charge.

The Emperor was calm and defiant as he faced his attackers, splitting the air crossways with his weapon, slicing open a man’s belly and letting his innards come spilling out at their feet.  Another man was stepping in beside him; a man Samuel knew.  His face was set with desperation, for his fellows all lay in their own blood around him.  His eyes were wide as he desperately took his one chance to kill the man he loathed.  His thoughts were set on this one moment of opportunity.  He had his sword raised high and he was bringing it down upon the Emperor with all his vigour, like a beggar leaping onto a sudden stray scrap of bread.  He had no green cap on his head today, and he was dressed as a palace servant, but Samuel knew the man’s face well.

Confidently, the Emperor began to ready his sword to pierce his assailant’s stomach, bringing its razor point around and up from the previous strike.  His intention was not to defend himself, for he was invincible in his layers of spells, but to gut the man before him.  He was not concerned with any sword stroke he could receive.  He had lured these assassins back out onto the steps, away from the Empress and his unborn heir, and now he would kill them neatly and efficiently.  The Emperor’s lips turned up to form a smile as the two men’s blades pressed towards each-other.  The other man saw the Emperor’s blade pressing towards his belly, but continued nonetheless.  He put all his effort into bringing his sword down with all his might, so that the muscles from his fingers to his shoulder strained and bulged.  Both blades met flesh and began to press against taut skin.

Samuel, empowered by the Staff of Elders, could see each layered spell around the Emperor—interwoven, tied, reinforced and braced against each other to be completely impenetrable to both blade and magic.  The spells would spare the Emperor from being crushed, poisoned or drowned, from being beaten, burnt or suffocated.  They gave him strength and agility beyond the realms of normality.  They would even protect him from time itself.  The Archmage had thought of every possible threat and had used the Staff of Elders to cast protective spells around the Emperor that could not be penetrated or dispelled by normal methods.  The only disadvantage of this was that the spells must be recast every single day to remain potent.

Samuel could see where each spell stopped and the next spell started.  He could see all the traps and the misdirections that the Archmage had planted.  He had the most powerful source of magic in the world in his hands and he did not need any further excuse to act.  He only had to act quickly, for he had only been holding the Staff for the space of a heartbeat, but he could already feel his flesh beginning to smoulder and char.

He stripped away the Emperor’s defences as one, as easily as he could tear a tablecloth away from a table and leave it fluttering to the floor.  Then, Samuel released his hold on his magic, and time sprang back to normal speed.  The world seemed to leap back into life around him.

A spray of blood flew up into the air like a scarlet geyser as the Emperor and his assailant fell together down the stairs.  The Staff of Elders dropped at Samuel’s feet as he shook his head and gathered his wits.  He loped up the stairs towards the fallen pair on the palace steps, for he was not sure of what had occurred.

General Ruardin, encased in his golden armour, was kneeling over the Emperor.  As Samuel neared, he could see the Emperor’s eyes were bulging from their sockets and his head was nearly cleft right from his neck.  Tulan’s man lay dying beside him, with the Emperor’s blade buried up to its hilt in his belly, jutting out his back.

‘By the nine gods!’ Samuel declared aloud.  ‘What have I done?’

General Ruardin said, looking at his fallen leader with a gaunt expression, ‘Don’t worry, Magician.  You’re too late.  The Emperor is dead.’

Samuel looked to Tulan’s friend.  The last few embers of life were draining from him as he lay outstretched on the stone stairs, but as his eyes rolled towards the dead Emperor, he managed to form the briefest of smiles.

General Ruardin lingered over his fallen Emperor as if he had been turned to stone and Samuel had to shout at the man to get his attention.

‘He’s dead!’ Samuel said.  ‘Stop the battle!  Your men are killing everyone.’

The general stood on weary legs.  He pulled off his golden helm and let it drop clattering down the stairs.  He looked to Samuel with tired eyes, for the Emperor he had spent his life serving and protecting was now dead.  It looked almost as if he, too, had been stripped of his life.

Just then, the Empress came rushing down beside them, dropping onto the body of her husband and wailing loudly.

Samuel looked to below, where the palace grounds were now thick with armoured soldiers and the magicians were just a few small black clusters amongst them.

Samuel dropped to his knees beside her.  ‘Your Highness!  Please, stop your men!  The Emperor is dead, but more lives need not be lost!’

‘They are not my men, Magician,’ she responded through her sobbing.  ‘They are my husband’s.’

‘But you can stop them—you are the Empress!’

‘Women have no power here, Magician,’ General Ruardin noted sourly.  ‘With the Emperor slain, the Empire shall fall into disarray, for there are no sons to succeed him.  The Empire is lost.’

The Empress looked up at the burly man with rage in her tear-filled eyes.  ‘You shall have your heir, General!  A son will be born to the throne of the Empire.  He grows in my belly now.  Celios the Seer has foretold it—or did you not hear?’

General Ruardin nodded, his face showing little surprise.  ‘Very well, Empress, the Empire shall be yours until your son comes of age.  I only hope it truly comes to be, for the Empire’s sake.’

The Empress looked back to her husband and closed his lifeless eyes with the palm of her hand.  ‘Very well, Magician,’ she said without looking up.  ‘You can have your way.  My husband is dead.  I have no desire for more such death or misery.  Save your precious magicians if you wish.  Give the command.’

Samuel felt rejoiced and turned to General Ruardin.  The man needed no further instruction as he pulled off one glove and took a small whistle from his belt.  He blew two short times and then finished with a long third note.  He repeated the series several times and as he did, his men below slowly stopped their actions and looked up towards him.

‘Stand down,’ he called out across the grounds, and his mighty voice carried to all edges of the field.

His captains began to repeat the orders, shouting at the other men to sheath their swords.  They hesitantly did so, for the magicians had killed many of their fellows, and their victory had been imminent.  Other whistles began to sound and the Royal Guard slowly began to back away and reassemble into their ranks.

‘Retrieve the wounded!’ the captains ordered.  ‘Quickly!  Don’t dally about it.’

‘Thank you, Highness!  I owe you my gratitude!’ Samuel said and hurried back down the stairs without waiting for a response.  He found his friends gathered together on the grass, caked in blood and nursing their injuries.  Various old magicians were limping about, looking for their fellows with tear-filled eyes, but they tallied barely a fraction of their initial number.

‘Thank the gods, you did it, boy!’ Grand Master Anthem told him.

‘No, it wasn’t me,’ Samuel replied.  ‘Tulan’s men finished the Emperor.’

‘Well the job’s done and that’s all that matters,’ Master Glim said, shaking his head at the bodies all around.  ‘What a sorry sight,’ he muttered to himself.

‘It seems we played into Lord Goodwin’s plan,’ Lomar said.  ‘It seems he was planning to kill the Emperor all along and we were used as the bait.’

‘So it seems,’ Anthem agreed.

‘His dagger was covered in magic,’ Samuel noted.

‘I’d say it must have been,’ Anthem said.  ‘He must have been designing those spells for a long time and waiting for just the opportunity to use them.  He knew the Emperor was unassailable and so he went for the Archmage instead.’

‘And with the Archmage dead, the Emperor was vulnerable,’ Goodfellow added, ‘and Lord Goodwin’s men came in to finish the job.’

‘What happened to him?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Where is Lord Goodwin?’

They all shook their heads.

‘Vanished,’ Master Glim stated.  ‘I don’t doubt he is fleeing from the city right now.  His plan was a success, but I don’t think the Empress will look kindly upon his efforts.’

‘But he did us a grand favour,’ Anthem said.  ‘Because of him, our work has been done for us—in a way.  The blame will fall on him, which is more than we could have wished for.’

‘Perhaps that’s what he wanted,’ Lomar said.

‘Perhaps,’ Anthem agreed.  ‘Perhaps not.’

‘What of the Staff of Elders?’ Master Glim said, suddenly looking up towards the stairs.

‘It looks like High Lord Rimus has it,’ Eric said, peering up towards the stairs, for the Councillors had all come out of hiding now the battle was over and were gathered around the Emperor’s body.  Rimus had the magical staff in his hands, wrapped in a length of torn cloth.

‘Then let’s go talk with him before he does anything stupid,’ Anthem said.  ‘You lot stay here and help with the healing.  There are already enough corpses and we need to help some of the injured before it’s too late.  It will also help to undo some of the ill-feeling these soldiers now harbour towards us.  Samuel,’ he said with a nod, ‘come with me.’

At that, Samuel and the old Grand Master began up the stairs while the others went to work helping magicians and soldier alike.  The Empress had been taken away and a red,satin cover had been laid over the Emperor’s body.  Servants and court officials had already begun to pour out of the palace to gasp at the scene and sound their lament.

‘Rimus!’ Anthem called as he approached.  ‘Keep your hands of that staff!’

High Lord Rimus scowled back.  ‘Well, it seems all your scheming has finally been effective, Grand Master.  The Empire will quickly fall into a state of chaos once news of this gets out.  You’ve really outdone yourself this time.  I’ll see your head is removed before the sun can set on this day!’

‘It was nothing to do with me!’ Anthem said back.  ‘We all saw it was Lord Goodwin who killed the Archmage and I think we’ll find the men who killed the Emperor, if not Gartens themselves, were in Garten employ.  If that proves true, this may be part of a greater move against the Empire and we should check our borders carefully.  A new Archmage must be quickly elected.  Until then, the Staff of Elders must be placed under the protection of a Manyspell.  No one person can be allowed to touch it.  It is too powerful to be used without the utmost care.’

Rimus eyed Anthem carefully.  ‘Very well, Grand Master.  Unfortunately, it seems I must agree with you on all points.  The notion of your treason can be looked into later.  Come then, we can see to the Staff at once.’

Anthem nodded, before turning to Samuel.  ‘Samuel, you won’t be needed after all.  You had better go help the others then.  I will keep an eye on the Staff until it is safely stowed away.’

Samuel nodded in turn, but spoke up before he left.  ‘High Lord Rimus!’ he asked as the men were turning away.  ‘What of Master Ash?  Have you seen him?’

‘It is curious you should ask.’

‘Why is that?’ Anthem asked the tall High Lord.

‘It seems other foul play was at work today.  Lord Jarrod has been found in his room with a dagger in his eye and Master Ash is nowhere to be seen.  Either he’s met a similar fate or else he’s responsible.  Either way, he has some questions to answer.’

Samuel cursed under his breath.  He had been robbed of his chance to kill Ash once again.

‘What of the Argum Stone?’ he asked.

Rimus raised an eyebrow.  ‘There has been no further progress with that infernal thing.  I’m beginning to think it was some kind of hoax on Lord Jarrod’s part, but I guess we’ll never know now, will we?’

At that, the Councillors marched up towards the palace with Grand Master Anthem following at their heels.  High Lord Rimus carried the Staff of Elders, wrapped in its cloth, and Samuel’s gaze followed the thing as it went.  Its power had been astounding and he found himself already hoping he would have a chance to get his hands on it again soon.

Samuel then turned to survey the sorry scene below him.  People were scurrying in every direction, tending to the injured where they lay or hurrying others away on stretchers.  Piles of the dead were already being made—one bright in the colours of the Royal Guard; the other a mound of black.

Almost every experienced magician in the city had been slaughtered.  It was a tragic blow for the Order and it would take years to replace such valued men.  Samuel shook his head and started back down the stairs to help as much as he could.  It would be a long day yet.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Darkness under Hammenton

SAMUEL AWOKE WITH an awful headache.  It seemed he had been doing this quite often lately, but this time, it was entirely his own fault.  He remembered coming back to the school with Lomar, Master Glim and Eric the day before to find Goodfellow.  After briefly discussing the events at the palace, the five of them had gone into the city for a night of celebration at The Pride, a favourite establishment of Eric’s.  They had drunk much fine ale that night, which was quite unlike magicians, but the death of the Emperor deserved the greatest of celebrations.  The ale was chilled magically by the owner, a retired member of the Order who still practised the odd spell or two, and this made the drink much more palatable, for Samuel had never developed a taste for the stuff.  He vaguely remembered the conversation from early in the evening and could dimly recall some singing, some terrible jokes and tripping over his own legs as he tried to get to the privy and back.  After that, he could not remember very much at all.

He climbed out of the chair in which he had awoken, his limbs feeling awkward and heavy, and stepped out the door.  He relieved his bladder onto the ground the moment he had his trousers loosened—without even a thought of making for the privy.  Much relieved, he stepped back inside.  Eric was asleep in his bed, his mouth wide open.  He looked almost dead.

Samuel tried to cast a spell to clear his head a little, but the ability evaded him.  His head had an incessant ringing inside and it made thinking decidedly difficult.  Thinking this early in the day, he decided, was definitely a bad idea.  Instead, he stumbled from Eric’s room and out into the grounds, drawn by a compulsion to put something solid in his gut.  Making for the Masters’ kitchen, his body carried him forward like a mindless creature.

He could not tell what time it was, but the sun was a fair way in the sky.  An apprentice trotted past and called ‘good day’, but Samuel’s head was too thick to reply.  The cooks made him a meal and it helped to settle the uneasiness in his stomach somewhat.  So this was the price for such merriment?  He vowed to himself that he would never repeat the act again.  Even several glasses of fruit juice could not remove the dryness from his throat and it might be days before he could gather the clarity of mind to call his spells.  Hunger sated, he stumbled back to Eric’s room and collapsed unconscious back into the chair for the remainder of the day.

It had been a week since the death of the Emperor and Samuel found himself striding through the lamplit city streets between the two Erics.  Master Glim had sent urgent word for them to come to the palace for a meeting, so the three of them had hurried off at once with all haste.

‘Watch this!’ Eric told his friends as they made through one of the many smaller markets.  A line of camels was being led along the street by a tanned easterner.  People, mostly wealthy visitors’ and merchants’ children, paid to sit on the backs of these animals and be led around the city.  The experience was said to be interesting, but akin to voluntary torture.  ‘Abut!’ Eric called out and the entire string of camels sat down at once, causing their inexperienced riders to hold on for dear life with horror on their faces.

The three young men laughed and ducked from view before the swearing teamster could spy them.

‘What did you say?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘I heard one of them say it one time.  It must mean “sit”,’ Eric replied.  ‘I’ve still got an ear out for the word that means “run”, and then we’ll have some real entertainment.’

They all laughed again and continued merrily towards the palace.

On arrival, they were led to a large meeting room in the palace, which was centralised by a long, dark-timbered table.  Sitting around it were Lomar and Master Glim, Grand Master Anthem with the comparatively-youthful Grand Master Gallivan seated beside him, and a number of the councillors including High Lord Rimus and Lords Vander, Hathen and Irshank.  The three new arrivals each sat in a vacant chair as directed.

‘Welcome, Samuel, Master Pot, Master Goodfellow,’ Grand Master Anthem began.  ‘High Lord Rimus has asked me to brief you on what we have been discussing.  Much has been happening since the unfortunate demise of our Emperor and the tragic events of the palace grounds.  I will bring you up to date on what has occurred over recent days and then we have something to ask of you.  First of all, I will inform you that Master Lomar and Master Glim have been appointed temporary positions on the Magicians’ Council and they can also help to fill you in on any other details once we are done.  Lord Coombs was an unfortunate casualty of the recent altercation and Lord Jarrod’s murder also creates a vacancy that must be filled.’  Samuel and his friends nodded at the statement and Grand Master Anthem continued.  ‘You all know of the events that occurred here last week.  We now know that our beloved Archmage and Emperor were killed by Garten infiltrators—’ His voice did not carry any great tone of sincerity, but of course it would not be wise for anyone to publicly rejoice over the deaths.  Even during their drunken celebration in The Pride, they were very careful in everything they said.  It turned out the owner had forced all the other patrons outside and barred the door once the magicians’ tongues had started flapping a tad too freely.  ‘—and the Order lost many wise and good friends.  These losses, however, will only serve to make us stronger.  We have been in close discussion with the Empress, the Emperor’s civil and military advisors and key Turian nobles.  Emissaries have been sent to Qaldar to demand an explanation for the actions of the Garten spies, but we can only wait on the reply.

‘The Empress has created a close group of ministers, as she is inexperienced in affairs of the state, and she will continue to rule under such guidance until her unborn son is born and comes of age.  Should her child prove not to be a son as she expects, then the Empire will fall into the hands of the ministers and they will decide how to best manage it.  Personally, I hope this does not come to pass as I have found her to be quite an intelligent woman and I believe she will manage the Empire well.  While some may not agree with me, I believe it is fortunate that she, too, is not a native Turian.  Even though her son will be Emperor, her territorial background seems to have given her quite a broad outlook of the situation.  We are confident that, given time, the Empire can continue to prosper, while returning some degree of independence to those states that wish to receive it.

‘Her first official proclamation has been to permanently delay the invasion of Garteny and word has already been sent to any forces on their borders to stand down.  They will remain in position for a short time, but will make their defensive posture known, and will not attack unless first provoked.  At the same time, an enormous effort is being put into protecting the Empress from any harm.  Until such time as we do receive an explanation from King Otgart, we must assume we are potentially in a state of war.

‘So, with the Empress’ Council being formed and the Order saved from destruction, we have a few important matters left to attend to.  The first is Lord Tulan Goodwin.  It is now evident that he was a Garten spy and has been working for the Gartens for many years, gathering information on the Order and the Empire and sending it back to King Otgart.  General Ruardin’s enquiries have already revealed that he had quite a network of agents here in Cintar, such as the assassins that felled the Emperor, most of whom seem to have suddenly vanished along with him.

‘The other item at hand involves Lord Jarrod, Master Ash and Master Dividian.  Despite my known personal disliking of Lord Jarrod, it seems that someone liked him even less and saw fit to put a knife into him about the same time we were fighting in the palace grounds.  Thankfully, we all have quite infallible alibis.  Master Ash is now the main suspect and Master Dividian is wanted as an accomplice.  Both of them went missing about the same time we were arrested.  Our initial investigations into the Argum Stone chamber reveal countless stolen tomes of knowledge, as well as evidence of the use of black magic.  These crimes alone demand their arrest, but we also suspect they have an alliance with the Circle of Eyes, perhaps in a plot to overthrow the Emperor themselves.  Whatever their reasons, Master Ash and Master Dividian have been spotted riding north from the city and we want to organise a party to go and bring them back for questioning, or execute them, should the need arise.  We thought you three—’ and the old man, from under his wispy grey brows, looked directly towards Samuel, ‘—would be perfect for the task.’

Samuel nodded and slowly rubbed his thumbs together in deep thought.  ‘Where are they heading?’ he asked.

‘We believe they are heading for the old magic school at Hammenton.  It seems no one really knows what has been happening there since Jarrod took over the place, so we want to send someone to investigate and see what exactly is going on, and also carry out the arrest of Master Ash and Master Dividian.’

High Lord Rimus took his turn to speak.  ‘You three young men have proven your places among those of high standing in the Order, and we would like to offer you the opportunity to investigate Hammenton and bring these rogue magicians to justice.’

Samuel looked to the Erics with genuine surprise, for it seemed as if the Council had forgiven him and put their differences behind them.

On noticing Samuel’s hesitance, Anthem spoke up.  ‘We have already explained to the Empress and the councillors how Lord Jarrod and his co-conspirators had painted some of us to be traitors to draw attention away from them.  We have also explained how all our efforts to expose their devious schemes were misinterpreted as a plot against the Empire.  As such, they are quite apologetic at our treatment.  All charges laid against us have been dropped.’

‘Oh...that’s good,’ Samuel said, a little unsure.  It seemed that Grand Master Anthem had been busy twisting the facts to their benefit, but Samuel was not about to complain.  He looked to High Lord Rimus, who returned a somewhat disturbing smile in acknowledgement.

‘That’s right,’ Eric added, elbowing Goodfellow in the ribs.  ‘We are heroes, after all.’

‘Calm down now, Eric,’ Master Glim urged the young man.  ‘There’s no need to get carried away.’

‘So, who would like to go to Hammenton and root out these fiends?’ High Lord Rimus asked.

‘Well, I can’t speak for the others, but I would certainly like to go,’ Samuel said with eagerness.  ‘My meeting with Ash is long overdue.’

‘And what a surprise he will be in for, Master Samuel,’ Rimus responded, ‘when he discovers the best of the Order have come seeking justice.  I only hope that you will deliver his punishment swiftly.  I would think that he will confess to you once cornered.  If he resists, that would be a certain admission of guilt.  The Council certainly recommends that you use any amount of force necessary.’

Goodfellow was more cautious.  ‘Who else will be accompanying us?’ he asked.  ‘It sounds like it could be dangerous.’

‘Master Glim and I will go,’ Lomar stated, ‘along with a number of other magicians with appropriate skills, so there will be ten of us altogether.  We will also take a small escort of Royal Guard from the palace and meet a further company of local soldiers at our destination.  We are not sure of the exact numbers that Master Ash may have at his disposal, so we are not taking any chances.  The place could be full of paid killers.  The Royal Guard will take care of any such underlings and leave the matter of Master Ash to us.’

Anthem then spoke up.  ‘Also, when you return, we have the matter of the Argum Stone to deal with.  We have not even had time to begin to deal with it or the hoard of books kept beside it.  As you already have some experience with the subject, we would like you to continue your research into the ancient relic and see what can be learned—if anything.’

Samuel looked to his friends who quickly nodded assent.  ‘We’ll go,’ he responded on their behalf.

‘Fine,’ Lomar said.  ‘We shall leave at daybreak tomorrow as we feel it is quite important to deal with the matter urgently.  Meet Master Glim and me in the school stables.  Oh yes, before you go, there is one more thing to announce.  The successor to Archmage Ordi has now been chosen.  High Lord Rimus has been appointed to the role.’  At that, Rimus looked quite pleased with himself.  ‘The decision will be publicly announced tomorrow.’

‘The people of Cintar are proving quite restless,’ said Rimus, ‘which is not surprising given the recent happenings.  We need to restore some order to their lives as soon as we can.’

Master Glim then spoke up.  ‘We’ll have plenty of time to travel to Hammenton and be back again before the ceremony begins, so we don’t need to worry about missing any of the excitement.  The Empress is also planning a celebration to mark the end of the Emperor’s mourning period.  It’s very uncustomary, I know, but I think it’s rather a good idea to put the past behind us and begin anew.’

‘Then if that matter is finalised, we have many others to discuss,’ Rimus said.  He looked to Samuel and the Erics expectantly.  ‘If you will excuse us, gentlemen.’

With that, Samuel realised it was time for them to leave.  As he and the Erics vacated the room, a heated discussion began behind them, with Anthem’s voice already sounding out above the others before they had barely closed the door.  General Ruardin strode past them as they made down the hall, heading towards the meeting chamber.  He nodded to them in greeting, with his great sword swinging at his hip and looking as stern as ever.

‘Well,’ Goodfellow began.  ‘It looks as though everything has turned out fine.  The war is finished, the Argum Stone is out of dangerous hands and the conquered nations of Amandia may even be getting their freedom back.’

‘Who would have thought?’ Eric said.  ‘All we have left is to clean up the mess of Master Ash and Master Dividian and be back in time for the celebration.’

‘But that’s all I’ve been waiting for all along,’ Samuel stated, almost as if thinking aloud.  ‘Finally, it looks as though there is nothing left to stop me from killing Ash.  Then, perhaps, I can finally get some rest.’

The two Erics nodded in silence, for Samuel’s voice carried a grim tone.

Shortly after daybreak, they met at the stables, where Master Glim and Lomar were already waiting, checking over some horses with the apprentices on duty.

‘Packed your bags?’ Master Glim asked.

‘Of course,’ Samuel said, holding up his tight pack and the Erics patted theirs as well.  ‘How long will it take to get there?’

‘Five days, by horseback,’ Lomar replied.  ‘It’s quite far.  We’ll be staying in Order lodges along the way when we can, while our Royal Guard escort will be camping on the roadside.

Samuel nodded.  ‘Then I have all I need.’

‘We’ve readied some horses for you,’ Master Glim said.

Samuel knew one of the animals on sight.  ‘Jess!’  He stroked the beast fondly and he could tell that she, too, remembered him.  ‘This is a surprise.  I haven’t seen this nag since I returned to Cintar.’

‘She was out in the pastures, Master Samuel,’ the apprentice said.  Samuel did not recognise the apprentice from a bag of salt, but the boy evidently knew him.  ‘I fetched her up especially for you.’

‘Well, thank you for that,’ Samuel replied and swung himself up onto the saddle and patted Jess once more on the neck.  It only now registered that people had begun calling him Master.  Officially, he had never made it past Adept, but with even the likes of High Lord Rimus seeming to recognise his new status, it seemed that Samuel was, indeed, now truly a Master of the Order.  Rimus, strict and stubborn a Turian as he was, would never utter such a title mistakenly.

Clearing his head of the thoughts, Samuel returned his attention to the faithful animal beneath him.  ‘How have you been, old girl?’ he asked and Jess scraped one hoof along the floor by way of reply.

The others mounted their horses and they began riding slowly out of the school without further pause, threading through the busy streets until they passed through the enormous North Gate and were clear of the bustling city.

A squad of Royal Guards sat waiting on the other side of the Bardlebrook, all dressed in light leather armour trimmed in blue and gold, suitable for riding long distances.  Two magicians were also waiting there with the men.  They were Master Keller and Master Tailor, and once their introductions had been made, they began northwards along the busy highway.

‘What of the others?’ Goodfellow asked.  ‘Weren’t there to be ten of us?’

‘They’ll meet us with the local company just short of Hammenton,’ Master Glim responded.

Goodfellow nodded and they rode on past the green fields and lines of wagons that were all bound for Cintar.

The Royal Guard rode ahead in twos.  The magicians, not nearly so accustomed to riding as the soldiers, found it difficult keeping up and, at the end of the second day, they arrived into camp an hour after the soldiers had already put up their tents.  Every so often, a rider or two would come back and check on them, before galloping off again to catch up with the main group.  The soldiers preferred to keep to themselves, which was not surprising considering what had happened just recently.

The two magicians, Keller and Tailor seemed like friendly fellows.  They were similar in age to Master Glim, middle-aged, and prone to swearing at each other in friendly banter.  They had been working at a nearby quarry—aiding in the retrieval of metals required for the war effort—when Master Glim had sent for them.  Fortunately, they had missed the battle at the palace.  Both were Masters of Moving and Lifting and were apparently the most gifted in these spells amongst the Order.  Samuel hoped he would have the chance to see their skills in use.

They spent the first night in a simple inn in the town of Burbershore and rejoined the Royal Guard at dawn as the men were packing up their camp.  The captain of the men was named Orrell, and he was young for a captain, quite new to the rank, Lomar had explained.  Despite his inexperience, he managed his men—even younger than he—like extensions of his own fingers.  He was quick and precise in his instructions and his men had an innate respect for him that left them striving to meet his exact orders.  Samuel knew he had met the captain before, but he could not, for the life of him, remember where.  Finally, after racking his brain, he remembered.  Orrell was the captain that had caught Samuel in the city, when Lord Hathen and Vander had taken him to see the Archmage.  Life was full of strange coincidences, but Captain Orrell did not seem to remember Samuel, or he showed no sign of it if he did.

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim began as they were resting at a point where the road crossed a shallow, rocky stream.  ‘What will you do once you have your revenge on Master Ash?’

‘What do you mean?’ Samuel returned, emptying stones from his boots.

‘I mean, what will you do?  You seem to be so focused on killing the man; I don’t know what you will do with yourself once your goal has been met.’

‘I guess I will rest,’ Samuel finally replied.

Master Glim raised a quizzical eyebrow.  ‘And then?’

‘I don’t know,’ Samuel admitted.

‘I agree,’ Lomar called out from atop a rock.  He was some distance away, but had obviously been listening.  There was a splash as one of Orrell’s men slipped over and fell into the ankle-deep waters.  The man cursed as he tugged off a boot and began to pour the water out and Captain Orrell looked towards him with dissatisfaction.  ‘You should not set yourself so entirely on such a grim task.  What will you do with yourself once you are done—or should you fail?

‘I won’t fail,’ Samuel stated adamantly.  ‘Fate has set our courses to collide and every piece of my being still cries out for his death.  I won’t fail.’

Lomar shrugged and continued looking up towards the hills.

‘Do you think Rimus will make a good Archmage?’ Samuel asked and Lomar dropped lightly from his perch and came beside them where they were squatting atop the many smooth stones.

‘Despite his flaws, High Lord Rimus is a decent choice,’ Lomar stated.  ‘I won’t say he is a saint, however, for he suffers from many of the same failings as most Turians—no offence to you, Master Glim.’

‘None taken,’ the aging teacher replied.  ‘I am only too well aware of the nature of my country folk.’

‘It’s just a pity that Grand Master Anthem could not take the role,’ Samuel said.  ‘I mean, he is the strongest magician after all and I’m sure he would do a better job than Rimus.’

‘Actually,’ Master Glim revealed, ‘there was much discussion along those very lines, but I’m afraid now is just not a good time to put a Garten in such a position.  The Grand Master is quite respected, but with the Empress being an Outlander herself, we all agreed that a Turian should fill the shoes of Archmage.  If not, the people of Cintar may begin to think a coup has secretly taken place.  Rimus is highly revered by the city folk and his inauguration will serve to calm their fears.’

‘I suppose you are right,’ Samuel admitted.

Lomar clapped his hands together loudly—one of the unusual mannerisms he was known to do—and stood up, noting the approach of the two Erics from along the stream.  They had heard there was a waterfall a short distance away and had gone to investigate.  As usual, Eric was laughing wildly while Goodfellow looked calm and quiet beside him.

‘You should see all the caves up there!’ Eric called.  ‘It’s amazing!’

‘Samuel, do you think you will take up Anthem’s offer to study the Argum Stone?’ Master Glim asked, ignoring the excited hoots from Eric.

Samuel thought a moment.  ‘Perhaps one day, but after this—after I have seen Ash’s corpse laid at my feet—I think I will feel like a long rest.  I’ve had enough of such things.  I would rather be out of the city for a time—especially given that High Lord Rimus will be Archmage.  I really don’t think he likes me very much.’

Master Glim laughed.  ‘Don’t worry, Samuel.  While Grand Master Anthem is still at hand, you have nothing to fear.  He will keep you under his wing.  I’m sure you won’t let something trivial as Turian arrogance get the better of you.  It would be a shame to see all your potential go to waste.  I had my doubts, but I think the decision to appoint Rimus will turn out for the best.  He’s been nothing but helpful these last few days—all the Council have.’

‘Well it’s good to hear that the Magicians’ Council is finally agreeing on something.  I keep forgetting—you are on the Council now.  Should I be calling you My Lord from this point on?

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Samuel, but my place is with the students.  I will give up my position on the Council as soon as someone else can be found, so there’s no need to change what you call me.  I have no time for those pompous asses.  No offence, My Lord Lomar,’ he added, making an exaggerated and grandiose flourish with his hand, all in good jest.

Samuel looked to Lomar with pleasant surprise.

‘Yes, Samuel,’ Lomar admitted.  ‘I think I will be keeping my place on the Council.’

‘I’m happy for you, Lomar,’ Samuel declared.  ‘But don’t you think you will find the confines of the city stifling?  And what about all those dreary meetings?  How will you put up with all that?’

‘Things may be turning out for the best, but someone still needs to keep an eye on the Council.  Also, my poor old body cannot be on the road forever.  I have to admit I’m not as young as I used to be.  My hair is giving me the hint.’  He pointed to the flecks of grey just starting to make themselves known at the edges of his thick, black hair.

‘Mount up!’ came a distant call from one of Orrell’s men, interrupting them.

Samuel groaned and rubbed his sore behind.  ‘I hope I get used to all this riding again.’

They had been camping outside of Hammenton for a whole day and still there was no sign of the other company or the second group of magicians.  The townsfolk knew nothing of them and the scouts returned with the same news.  Captain Orrell gathered the magicians around him as his men settled in for the night.

‘I don’t know where Garret’s company is,’ he said, ‘but they’re not here and they haven’t been here any time recently.’  Lomar and Master Glim nodded.  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that they’ve become lost.  They should have come through the woods to the north, but there’s no sign of them.  We can either wait longer and hope they arrive soon, or go on alone.’

‘What of the keep?’ Master Glim asked.

‘It’s only a short distance from here, built atop one of the stony hills.  It could provide the occupants with some protection, but my men are experts at overcoming such fortifications.  My men are few, but they are well-trained.  Even without Garret’s company, we should be able to overcome any reasonable amount of resistance.  However, my scouts say that they could be expecting us.  The gates are already drawn firmly closed, which strikes me as unusual.  You usually only shut the gates in times of disorder—to keep people out.’

Master Glim nodded.  ‘Do you know how many are inside?’

‘High Lord Rimus said to expect only a handful of magicians and perhaps a dozen or so mercenaries.  Nothing leads me to believe any different—yet.’

‘What if there are more?’ Lomar asked.

‘We can handle them,’ Orrell stated factually.  ‘My squad are better trained than any mercenaries and are experts at dealing with magicians—distract them, or come at them from two sides, then cut their throats or fill them with arrows.  Most mages can only deal with one thing at a time and are easily bewildered in battle—no offence to you good lords, of course.’

Master Glim nodded, somewhat unhappily, but he gave the captain a steadfast reply.  ‘None taken.’

‘I’m not really one for battles,’ Goodfellow said nervously.  ‘I didn’t think this would be so troublesome.  I even thought it could be fun, but nothing really seems to be going to plan.’

‘Killing is never fun, Magician,’ Orrell said sternly in reply.  ‘Thinking like that will get you killed.’  And Goodfellow looked embarrassed with himself.  ‘Anyway,’ Orrell continued, ‘if it does turn out that the place is brimming with men, we simply won’t proceed.  I’m not going to get us into anything over our heads.  My scouts will let us know as soon as they find anything.’

‘This is all turning into a mess!’ Master Glim exclaimed unhappily, but Captain Orrell was unfazed.

‘Events in the field rarely choose to follow our plans,’ he explained.  ‘What matters is that we are in control of the situation, so there is no need to get agitated just yet.  We will only continue on when we so choose.’

Master Glim nodded, taking the advice under his belt.

‘Sir!’ a man said, pushing his way out of the dark shrubs to Orrell’s side.

‘What is it, Valiant?’ Orrell asked.

‘There’s something going on.’

‘What is it?’

‘Fighting within the keep, Captain.’

‘Oh?’ Orrell said with interest.  ‘Garret’s men?’

‘We cannot tell, Captain.  There’s obviously a commotion going on inside.  We cannot see what’s happening, but it seems to be a bloodbath, Sir.’

‘How can you tell?’ Master Glim asked the man.

‘There’s a lot of screaming,’ Valiant replied.  ‘More than I’d expect from a straightforward melee.  Sent a chill down my spine.  Sounds like they are tearing each other to pieces.’

Orrell pondered the report.  ‘Let’s take a closer look.’

It was only a short way through the dark woods.  They crossed a gully and a small rise before the keep became visible on the next hill, shaded grey in the moonlight.  Four sheer walls surrounded what could only be called a tiny town.  Two scouts were waiting at the edge of the trees as they approached.  Captain Orrell’s Royal Guards sat silently behind.

‘Report,’ Orrell told his scouts.

‘Nothing for a time, Captain,’ one began.  ‘Then the same as before—more screams and shouts.  Someone even butchered the horses by the sound of it.  The main gate opened a while ago, but no one came out.  It’s been silent since then.  We haven’t moved any closer to take a look.  To be honest, Captain, none of us wanted to get any closer until the magicians came to take a look.’

‘I feel magic,’ Master Glim stated and Samuel could see that he was right.  Many spells had been cast recently, of almost every nature.  The lingering glow of magic was still glimmering just above the walls.

‘I think we should wait until daylight,’ Orrell reflected.  ‘Whatever just happened here seems to be over.  Our mission may have been done for us by the sound of things.  Just in case, I’d rather not walk into a trap.  We’ll take a look after sunup.’

They all agreed and made their way back to the camp.  Scouts remained at the site to relay any news, but Samuel slept soundly until he was roused by the sun in his eyes and the smells of cooking.

‘Get up, sleepy head,’ Eric called, poking his head into Samuel’s tent.  ‘Breakfast is ready.’

Samuel yawned.  ‘Any news?  Are we going to the keep?’

Eric bobbed his shoulders.  ‘Someone went in at first light and said the place is empty.’

‘They went without us?’

‘It was one of Orrell’s scouts.  I think that after a few hours of waiting, they forgot their fears and boredom got the better of them.  At least now we know it’s not a trap.’

Samuel struggled out of the tent and stood beside Eric.  His back had lumps in it from sleeping on the hard ground.  ‘Nothing there?  Where did they all go?’

‘No one knows,’ Eric said.  ‘They didn’t leave, but they’re not there.  Captain Orrell wants us to take a look after breakfast.’

Samuel’s stomach grumbled and he strode over to one of the campfires.  The other magicians were already eating their fill of stewed rabbit, which the soldiers had caught and prepared for them.  They also had grilled some sort of pheasant and were picking at the bones when Captain Orrell came striding back into camp.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked of the group and they nodded and stood, quickly wiping their chins.  ‘Good, let’s go.’

The keep stood quietly on the hill.  A few ribbons of smoke rose slowly from within its depths, but otherwise it was deathly still.

‘Any movement?’ Orrell asked of his scouts.

‘No, Captain.  No one has left, no one has approached.  No signs of anything at all.’

Orrell nodded and then stepped boldly from the cover of the woods and started up the rise.  Samuel looked to Master Glim and they both started after the man.  Orrell’s men then filed out from the trees and followed them, hands readied on their weapons.  When they had climbed the barren slope around the keep and faced its yawning gates, Orrell signalled to his men.

‘Stay here,’ he told the magicians while the soldiers hurried past them through the solid entry way.

The mages, Keller and Tailor came up beside them, looking nervous.  Samuel felt a shiver himself.  The whole situation was eerie.

A handful of Orrell’s men lingered a short distance away, surveying the empty hillsides with uneasy eyes.

‘What do you feel?’ Lomar asked of the group.

‘Nothing,’ Master Glim replied and the others shook their heads in agreement.

Samuel could still see a slight trace of the spells from the previous night, but there was no new magic in the air.

‘Come in,’ Orrell’s voice called from inside.

Master Glim led the way, pulling his cloak tighter around him.  Despite the clear sky and sunshine, there was a chill in the air.

Inside, they found a large courtyard, around a central stone well and surrounded by blockish buildings all constructed of roughly-hewn stone.  Orrell was waiting beside the well, talking with some of his men.  The others were searching elsewhere within the keep.  It was a tightly enclosed space, but could probably house thirty or forty men at a pinch.  There was room for only the most necessary of facilities: a kitchen, dormitories, a small washhouse and the like.  It was probably first built as a lookout station, meant for keeping watch over the valleys around.

One side of the courtyard appeared to be where the animals were kept, with a small roof and a rail for securing horses against the wall.  Saddlery and feed lay beside, but there were no animals to be seen.

‘See what you can find here,’ Orrell told them.  ‘My men are searching the buildings, so wait for them to give the all-clear before you start wandering around.  There’s some blood over there.’  He pointed to the stable area.  ‘Perhaps you can tell me something so I know what the hell has happened here.’

The magicians went over as a group, milling about with their dark robes hung about them.  It was a dull and cloudy day—deathly quiet.  Samuel felt a trickle of sweat run down his brow.

Lomar squatted by the dark stain that marked the hay.

‘Is it a man’s?’ Master Glim asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Lomar shrugged, touching the stuff and smelling his fingers.  ‘It’s not from a mage.  It could be horse blood.’

‘What could have happened to them?’ Keller asked, looking at the others, but no one replied.

Goodfellow was looking thoughtful, as usual, peering up at the keep walls.  Narrow platforms were positioned shortly below the top, so that defenders could stand and protect themselves with bow and arrow.  Wooden ladders led up to them.  One was broken, lying at the base of the wall in haphazard pieces.

Something caught Lomar’s eye and he stood and inspected the horse-rail.  ‘Look at this.’

He touched a strip of leather that had been pulled tight around the rail.  It was a rein, snapped, as if the animal had panicked and broken its tethering.  They all looked to each other in puzzlement.

‘This does not seem to be a normal occurrence,’ Tailor said.  ‘This whole place, I mean.  Something frightful has happened here.’  Yesterday, Samuel would never have thought the man could have looked so fearful.

‘Anything?’ Captain Orrell called over.

‘No magic,’ Lomar called back.  ‘But something strange.’

‘I’ve seen it,’ Orrell returned.  ‘There are plenty of strange things here.  There’s a few horse teeth on the ground over there, as well—freshly knocked from the gums.’

They went back over to Orrell and stood in a group with him and a few of his men.

‘Do you have any ideas?’ Master Glim asked him.

Orrell shook his head.  ‘It’s still a mystery.  I can only surmise that somehow, someone came in here and slaughtered everyone and everything and then dragged all their corpses away without us seeing—or else someone went to great expense to make it look that way.  There’s nothing living left in this keep—no men, no horses, no pigs, no chickens—nothing.  There are blood stains here and there, but not enough for the men who were supposed to be waiting here.  I just don’t know who could have done this and slipped out without us seeing.’  Captain Orrell then turned to Samuel.  ‘It looks like someone’s taken care of your revenge for you, Magician.’

‘I hope not,’ Samuel returned darkly.  ‘I was looking forward to it.’

Samuel was somewhat surprised that the captain knew of his vendetta.  Did the Royal Guard have information on everything they did?

‘What about the well?’ Goodfellow suggested.  ‘Could someone have used it as a route, travelling along to another opening?’

Orrell nodded.  ‘It’s possible.  Someone is already fetching me some lanterns and then I’ll send a man down to take a look.  It’s conceivable that assassins came up through the well—assuming it leads somewhere—and for some reason I cannot fathom, dragged all the animals and bodies out the same way.’  He eyed the size of the well.  ‘With considerable difficulty.’

‘Secret passages, perhaps?’ Eric suggested.

‘I’m looking into it.  Can any of you use your magic to look for passages or tunnels or the like?’

Tailor nodded.  ‘We can do it.’

‘I’ll start over there,’ Keller added and they began their spells at once.

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim began.  ‘Can you and Goodfellow scan the back of the keep?  We’ll search inside the buildings.’

Samuel nodded.  He was about to leave when a soldier came running over.  It was the man called Valiant.  He began whispering to Orrell.

Finally, Orrell turned to the magicians.  ‘They’ve found someone—a magician.’

They hurried past various groups of Orrell’s men, each dragging out stoves and smashing at cupboards, looking for passages.  They were taken to a building at the very rear of the keep and into a room that appeared to have been a study at one time.  Desks, chairs and papers were strewn across the floor as if a struggle had recently taken place.

‘This is how they found it,’ Orrell mentioned.

Three of his men were waiting at the base of some stairs and Orrell led the way up.  Samuel pushed in last, into a cramped area that held stores and wooden boxes.  A ladder led up yet again and Orrell was already climbing it, past another couple of his men.  Voices could be heard echoing in the roof space above.

Samuel entered into the small attic.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, as the only light shone through cracks in the shutters.

‘Wait downstairs,’ Orrell told one of his men, who pushed past them all and went back down the ladder.

Sitting on the ground was a chubby man, wearing magician’s robes, but he was clearly not a magician.  Samuel could tell this at once for his aura was thin and dismal—as with common folk.

‘This is Master Sebastian,’ Orrell informed them.  ‘He seems to be the only survivor.’

‘He is no Master,’ Samuel said at once and Master Glim gave him an urgent hush, look.  The man, Sebastian, was looking at each of them with wild eyes.

‘He was a Master, Samuel,’ Lomar told.  ‘He has lost his power.’

‘How is that possible?’ Eric asked in disbelief.

‘Quite easily,’ Lomar explained in hushed tones.  ‘He has gone mad.’

The man, Sebastian, began to blubber into his hands, shaking his head and with tears streaming down his face.

‘Calm now, Master Sebastian,’ Master Glim told the man, squatting beside him.

Sebastian began to speak through his chattering teeth, but his words were incomprehensible.

‘He was sensible for a short time,’ Captain Orrell disclosed.  ‘But now it seems he has broken down again.’

‘Did he say what happened?’ Samuel asked, hunched over in the tiny space.

Orrell shook his head.  ‘Apparently not.’

Sebastian suddenly leapt to his feet, making everyone gasp and step back with surprise.  He launched himself off the ground and struck his head on a roof beam, then fell back onto the floor and began squealing, clutching his injured head.  Master Glim and Lomar looked to each other with concern.

Sebastian looked up at them with watery eyes.  ‘You are the ones that Ash sent,’ he stated.

‘No, we’re not,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘Tell us, what happened here?’

‘Oh, yes you are,’ Sebastian went on, scratching frantically at his chin with all his fingers.  He then pointed sharply to each of them in turn, almost accusingly.  ‘He told us you were coming.  I’m sure you are the ones.’

Master Glim looked to Lomar.  ‘The Council sent us,’ he explained and Sebastian burst into giggles.  ‘Do you find that amusing?’

‘Yes!’ Sebastian declared through squinting eyes and laughter.

Master Glim was losing his patience and so Lomar took over the interrogation.

‘Where is Master Ash?’ he asked in a patient tone, but Sebastian only giggled all the more.  ‘What are you doing up here, Master Sebastian?’ he asked.

‘Hiding,’ the mad man told them with sudden seriousness.  Snot was running freely from his nose, like a two-year-old child who had not yet learnt to clean it himself.  ‘Everyone else is dead now, but I’m still alive.  I won’t go outside.  You can’t make me.’

‘Who killed them, Sebastian?  Where did they come from?’

‘Here.’

‘Then where did they go?’ Lomar asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Sebastian explained.  ‘I hid while the others were all killed.  If only Balten were here.  He could have saved them all.’

The name sounded familiar to Samuel and he caught sight of Lomar also raising an interested brow.

‘They’re all dead?’ Captain Orrell asked.  ‘Who attacked you?’

‘Ti’luk,’ Master Sebastian responded.

Master Glim looked to Lomar and both their faces showed concern.  Samuel was perplexed.  Ti’luk meant hungry in the Old Tongue.

‘He’s not much use,’ Orrell said.  ‘Bring him downstairs.’

They tried getting Sebastian to stand, but no amount of persuasion could get him to move from his corner in the attic.  He wriggled from their hands and wedged himself tightly in the corner, screaming like a wild piglet.  He was already covered in cuts and scratches and was only hurting himself further as he struggled against them.

‘Don’t worry,’ Orrell finally directed.  ‘Leave him be.  My men will drag him out whether he likes it or not.’

They waited downstairs while there was much screaming from Sebastian and much cursing from Orrell’s men.  They eventually sent for a rope and dragged him out between them, tied hand and foot.  Still, he thrashed wildly and the men had angry scratches and bite marks to show for their efforts.  A gag had been tied around Sebastian’s mouth to stop his incessant crying and screaming.

By then, Tailor and Keller had finished their search for passages below.

‘There is an underground stream that runs beneath us along this entire rise,’ Keller told them.  ‘I can’t tell whether or not it’s full of water or even accessible, but it is large enough for someone to pass through.’

‘Very well,’ Captain Orrell said.  ‘I’ll send someone down.’

‘Lomar,’ Samuel began.  ‘Do you think that one mage could have killed all the others—this Ti’luk.’

‘I don’t know.  If he did, he may have escaped unseen.  Orrell’s scouts would not have noticed if he was hidden by magic.  He must be very strong to do all this.  We should keep ready,’ and Samuel nodded in understanding.

One of Orrell’s men had dropped one end of a rope down the well with a lantern tied to its end.  The rope that had originally been used with the well was gone, which meant either that someone had removed it or the well was unused.

‘It goes down quite a way, Captain,’ the man said, peering down.  ‘I think I can see water.  Shall I go down?’

Orrell nodded and the man prepared himself by taking off some of his light armour and removing his sword.  They tied the top end of the rope to a great iron pin that was sticking out of the stones.  The shaft was just the right size with rough stone walls, so that the man could press his back against one side and his feet against the other.  With the aid of the rope, he began down.

‘What do you think made Sebastian lose his mind?’ Samuel whispered to Lomar beside him.  ‘A spell?’

‘I don’t know, Samuel.  I met him once, years ago, and he was sane then, but he could have lost his mind at any time.  I wouldn’t trust anything he does or says.  Still, I feel we must display caution here.’

Samuel nodded.

Grunts of exertion echoed up the shaft as the man steadily progressed down.  ‘Hold on.  I can see something moving!’ he called up.  ‘Wait…there’s someone below!’

‘Captain,’ Master Glim urged.  ‘Get your man up.  If there’s someone down there, it’s not someone your man wants to meet alone.’

‘Get him up,’ Orrell barked out and then he called down the well.  ‘Hold on tight.  We’re pulling you up.’

They began heaving on the rope.

‘He’s coming up after me, Captain!’ the man in the shaft echoed up.  His voice was carrying some hint of alarm.  Samuel looked to Lomar and Master Glim and they both look uneasy.  ‘Captain, he’s...get me up!  Get me out of here!’  The man in the well was now screaming frantically.  ‘Hurry!  Hurry up!  It’s coming after me!’

The men were all pulling and heaving as best as they could, while Captain Orrell peered down the well with concern etched on his face and one hand on the hilt of his sword.  The frantic man could be heard climbing just below the top and Orrell’s hands went down to help him out.  A pair of grubby hands came up and gripped the top of the well, followed by a terrified face as Orrell pulled his man out by the back of his shirt.  The soldier toppled over the edge and sprawled on the ground, rolling away from the well and leaping to his feet with wild eyes.

‘It’s not a man!’ the soldier gasped between frantic breaths.

Captain Orrell took a look down the well and quickly stepped back.  ‘Get back!’ he ordered and everyone nervously took a backwards step, Samuel included.  Swords hissed out of their sheaths.  Samuel and the magicians moved further back as something came up from the well.

A large, round, bald head, pale and swollen and devoid of ears, poked up from the shaft and eyed them with enormous, black, saucer eyes.  It looked at them and it grinned as its oversized, tooth-laden mouth came into view.  It was not human, and it was not animal.  It was something else.

Behind them all, Sebastian was thrashing on the ground, his bonds tearing at his skin with his wild eyes fixed on the rising thing.

‘What, by the nine gods of old, is that?’ Keller asked.  He was on the opposite side of the well to Samuel, and his face had suddenly drained white.

‘Bowmen, ready!’ Orrell called and five of his men stepped to the front, putting arrows to their bows and drawing their strings tight.

The creature continued up out of the well, carried by a set of long bony arms and equally disproportional legs.  Its skin was a pasty white with long blue veins pulsing underneath, stretched tight over its bulbous, swollen sack of a stomach.

‘What is it?’ Samuel hissed.

‘Ti’luk,’ Lomar responded, his eyes never leaving the creature.  Hungry.

The men all stepped back further as the thing clambered over the well and regarded them eagerly with its glinting, saucer eyes.

‘Master Glim!’ Captain Orrell called across.  ‘What is that thing?’

‘I don’t know, Captain,’ came the answer.  ‘But I recommend you kill it quickly.’

He had no sooner spoken than the creature snapped out an arm at blinding speed and grabbed Master Keller around the waist.  Its reach was deceivingly far.  He had no time to even scream as it pulled him in and bit into his shoulder.  The limb snapped off in the creature’s mouth and it proceeded to finish it with a quick gulp.  It was then that Keller began screaming, locked within its grip.

‘Loose!’ cried Captain Orrell and the creature was an immediate pincushion of arrows as the bowmen released their missiles into it.  Their empty bows hummed in their hands and the bowmen stepped back.

Keller was skilfully avoided, but blood continued to gush from his ruined shoulder, spraying over the creature’s pallid skin.  ‘Help me!  By the gods help me!’ he screamed.

The creature ignored the shafts that hung from its body and took another bite from Keller, this time putting his howling head into its gaping mouth and snapping it off with a single chomp.  Keller’s thrashing body fell limp.

Samuel could not believe his eyes.  This hideous creature seemed born of his worst nightmares.  How could such a thing exist?  Not even in the spirit world of his dreams had he seen such a monstrosity.  There, everything had been wispy and made of smoke, however horrible.  This was all too real.

‘Kill it!’ Orrell ordered and a dozen men stepped in with their swords raised.  The creature sprang up, dropping Keller’s lifeless body down the well as it leapt.  It jumped clear over the swordsmen and landed amongst the astonished bowmen.  Some found the sense to dive aside, but the creature grabbed a man in each arm and swung them both high into the air above its head and then back down into the ground with a spine-chilling snap of bones, its mouth wide open all the while with its horrid teeth laid bare.

One of Orrell’s men darted in to hack at it with his sword but its head rolled around, spying him.  Just as quickly, one of its legs flashed out and grabbed him with its finger-like toes.  It pulled him in and threw its face down upon him, burying the man impossibly in its mouth.  It then raised its head again and, with a rattling gulp and a shake of its belly, Orrell’s man was gone.  There was no hint as to the soldier’s existence, except his sword lying on the bare earth.

The man who had been down the well had found his feet and he ran for the gates, past other guards from outside, who were running in because of all the noise.  Attracted by the attention, the creature dropped the two broken bodies and in three strides it was away from the group and had the fleeing man in its hand.  It took only a snap of its neck and he was gone, vanished into its mouth as a chicken pecks up grain.

‘Cast your spells!’ Lomar said beside him, slapping Samuel on the arm as if to wake him, while Orrell and his men chased after the thing.  They were slicing and hacking at it with their swords from all sides, but the creature avoided their strikes with lightning speed, retaliating with its arms, picking up the men one by one.  Bodies flew against the keep walls with a terrible crunch of bones, or were picked up and shaken violently, breaking their backs and necks and ribs.  The corpses were then thrown back at Orrell and his remaining men so that they had to avoid their own shattered comrades.  When their swords did manage to meet the creature’s flesh, the blades bounced off as if striking the hardest of leathers.

‘Nothing works!’ Master Glim cried out.  ‘I cannot harm it!’

Spells were flying from all the mages, but the creature was similarly unaffected.  Samuel shook away the fear and made his own, trying to bind the creature’s limbs.  The spell had formed true, yet the demon thing continued to dash the men to pieces around it.  It should have been held stiff by his spell.  He should easily be able to seize a creature of its size, but his weaves slid through it as if it did not exist.

‘Get back!’ the mage, Tailor, cried.  He had levitated the wooden stable roof over and with a final effort, sent it crashing upon the beast.  Some of the men, Orrell included, caught the motion in the corner of their eyes and dived aside.  Others were showered with the splinters and debris as the roof slammed into the creature and cracked in half.

They scuttled back as the monster slowly pushed the roof aside and clambered unsteadily back onto its spindly legs.  Bodies littered the ground all around and it surveyed the scene around itself calmly.  Its face was devoid of emotion, yet it seemed to be searching for the source of its discomfort with its great unblinking eyes.  It spied Tailor and a low, rumbling noise emanated from deep within its belly.

Tailor sensed his peril with wide eyes and turned to run, but the creature bound past Orrell’s men as they hacked at it, and it had him by the leg.

Samuel could see spells pummelling the creature from the Erics and Lomar and Master Glim, but the thing was undaunted as it tore the robes from Tailor’s body before dropping him into its gaping mouth to disappear into the depths of its stomach.  It was barely twice the height of a man, and the impossibilities of its acts were perplexing.  There was not enough space in its whole body to fit the men it had already swallowed, yet somehow, it had—and only wanted more.

Captain Orrell and the remainder of his men had gathered together.  Samuel and the magicians stood in a similar cluster, discussing the situation.  The creature looked between them, twisting its pale limbs around itself and rubbing its belly as if in anticipation of its imminent meals.  It reminded Samuel of a huge, hideous old man with demonic distorted features.

‘I think we now know what happened to the people here,’ Eric mentioned.

Spying the still-bound, still-gagged body of Sebastian, the creature started leisurely towards him.  In all the commotion, Sebastian had managed to wriggle some distance away and now, seeing the creature closing on him, he began wriggling frantically.

‘I’ve tried everything,’ Goodfellow said.  ‘It seems impervious to sword and spell.’

‘But not physical blows,’ Master Glim noted.  ‘That rooftop knocked it down for a moment.  We need something similar…something larger,’ and he eyed the walls around him.

‘Let me try something first,’ Samuel said.  He was not enraged as in the past, but he put his mind to summoning as much power as he could handle—he could feel the magic rushing into him, both terrible and sweet.  The others stood back, sensing his summoning, but not knowing what to expect.

Pushing a terrible torrent of energy between his hands, Samuel willed all the magic he could muster through his trembling body.  The others took a further step back as his spell began to hiss and spit in his hands.  Sparks arced between his fingers, snapping and flashing from finger to finger with azure brilliance.  All at once, Samuel felt he was on the verge of losing control, his muscles trembled to contain the growing spell between his palms, and so he released it with a shout of exertion, throwing his hands out towards the creature at the very last instant.  The spell flew like an unholy comet, warping the air with its vigour and heat and trailing tendrils of lightning behind it.  It struck the creature as it was dangling Sebastian above its gaping maw.  There was a flash and a boom and Samuel fell, his legs buckling, as the earth rocked back and forth.  The others also stumbled around him as they struggled to remain afoot.

A cloud of dust fell all around them.  A building across the courtyard was half demolished, lying in ruins across the ground with one of the creature’s long legs jutting out from underneath.  Sebastian’s lifeless body was hanging from the second floor, charred and blackened.

‘What was that?’ Goodfellow asked in disbelief, dusting himself off.

‘Just something I’ve been thinking about,’ Samuel replied groggily.  His head already felt giddy and his muscles weak from the toll the spell had taken on him.  He had used too much power and his debt had been accrued.

The creature stirred beneath the ruins and began dragging itself from the rubble, groaning loudly from its belly.

‘Can you manage another one?’ Lomar asked.

Samuel shook his head and almost fell over.  Master Glim held onto him with both arms.

‘Then I think we’re in trouble,’ Goodfellow stated as the thing stood and took an unsteady step.

It suddenly bound hissing towards them on its long legs and Master Glim threw Samuel aside as it landed amongst them.  Samuel found his senses and rolled back to his feet, feeling something slap at his legs.  He was thrown onto his face once more, sending pain through his neck as it bent at a right angle.  With blurred vision, he could see the monster standing over him.  Then, the shadow of something large flashed overhead and the creature disappeared with it.  A great boom followed and echoed from all around.

‘Get him out of here,’ someone called as the ground still shook.

Something gripped Samuel’s hand and began dragging him across the hard earth.

‘Get up!’ Goodfellow cried to him.  He stopped pulling long enough for Samuel to find his feet and they both staggered into the building where Sebastian had hidden before.  Goodfellow pushed him up the stairs and they went up into the attic to hide.

Samuel’s heart was racing in his chest as they sat in the near darkness.  Shouts could still be heard from outside.  ‘What is that thing?’ he said after a few moments.

‘I don’t know,’ Goodfellow returned.  His spectacles were missing from his face.  ‘I just hope they can stop it.  It took your spell and then Lomar threw a piece of that building into it and it still kept going.’

‘They must have summoned it from some hell,’ Samuel said.

‘I don’t believe in any kind of hell,’ Goodfellow stated plainly.  ‘There’s no such place.’

‘Until now, I didn’t believe in devils, but there’s one just outside—or something like it.’

‘What are we going to do, Samuel?  We can’t wait here until it decides to come for us.’

‘I know.  Let’s help the others kill it.’

‘Are you well enough?’

‘I have to be,’ Samuel replied.  ‘At least now I’m starting to see straight.’

‘I can’t,’ Goodfellow replied, waving his hand before his squinting vision.  ‘Actually, I can still see as long as it doesn’t get too close, but then, I don’t want to see it if it comes that close.’

‘I’ve got an idea!’ Samuel suddenly said.  He leapt to his feet and began down the ladder.  ‘Follow me!’

Treading carefully downstairs, Samuel was relieved to find that Master Glim and Lomar were waiting there, peering out the door and into the courtyard.

‘What’s it doing?’ Samuel asked and Master Glim nearly leapt out of his skin in fright.

‘Don’t do that, Samuel!’ the old teacher hissed, shaking his head.  ‘You scared me half to death!  It’s dropping the bodies down the well.’

‘A meal for later,’ Lomar added.

‘Where are the others?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘They’re trapped in another building,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘I think that Eric is there, with Orrell and the last of his men.’

‘I have an idea,’ Samuel said.

‘What is it?’ Lomar asked, not taking his eyes off the door, lest the creature should come leaping through it.

‘Our spells don’t seem to affect that thing, but it’s still made of flesh and blood—of sorts.  We know that by hitting it with something heavy enough, we can stun it, so if we can drop something even bigger on it, we may be able to kill it.’

‘That’s a logical assumption,’ Goodfellow stated.  ‘But how can we get it to stand still while we push the walls in on it?  It’s as quick as a fox.’

‘We need bait.  I’ll go out and attract its attention while you all get everything you can and drop on it.’

‘And what about you, Samuel?’ Master Glim asked.  ‘How will you stop it from tearing you apart and how will you not be crushed?’

‘I’ll form a spell shield.  Everyone who’s been grabbed has been too terrified to protect themselves.  If I make a strong enough shield, I can keep it at bay for long enough and the same shield will protect me from being crushed, as long as you dig me out as fast as you can afterwards.  I should be safe.’

‘That’s ridiculous, Samuel,’ Master Glim said.

‘What else are we going to do?  We can leap from the walls, but I’d bet that thing would catch us before we hit the ground.  If we stay here, it will eventually come and find us when it’s hungry.’

‘True,’ Master Glim concurred.  ‘Lomar, what do you think?’

‘It sounds difficult, but if we could get that thing to stay still long enough, I believe we can kill it.  Samuel’s plan sounds fair.’

Samuel nodded back at Lomar in agreement.  ‘Very well.  Are you ready?’  The others nodded.  Master Glim did not look pleased and Samuel did not think he had ever seen Goodfellow looking so doubtful.  ‘Just don’t forget to tell Eric.  We’ll need everyone to crush that thing and then get me out from underneath as quickly as you can.’

Samuel walked into the square.  The creature was there, slowly dragging a couple of Orrell’s men towards the well without any hint of the vigour it had shown when killing them—there were few other bodies left.  Samuel spied Orrell, peeking down from inside the half-demolished building.  Samuel waved to him and Orrell returned a questioning glance.

As the creature’s head appeared back atop the well, it saw Samuel approaching and a groan echoed up from its ever-hungry belly.  It proceeded to clamber out, never taking its wide eyes off him.  Behind him, Samuel could sense the others moving into position.  Hopefully, Goodfellow had gone in to tell Eric what to do.

‘Hello, monster,’ Samuel said as calmly as he could manage.  The creature squatted upon its perch on the well and watched him approach.  Samuel could feel his friends beginning to spell.  He could see the walls and roofs around beginning to tremble and loosen.  Loud cracks and bangs sounded as their spells began to do their work.  He hoped they made a good job of it.  He did not want to die for nothing.

He prepared his own spells, forming a firm barrier in the air before him, filling the spell with sand and grit, so it was not formed of mere magic alone.  The creature took one tentative step down towards him, fixing him with its shiny gaze.  There was a loud crack behind and Samuel winced.  He turned and saw a portion of wall dislodge itself from the kitchen building and begin to rise into the air, but when he turned back, the monster was looming above him expectantly with its hundred-toothed grin.

Samuel squealed with uncontrolled fright and the creature lashed out with one pasty, white arm towards him.  He threw his feet out and dropped onto the ground as its blood-stained fingers flew by his face.  He remembered his shield and reformed the spell around him as quickly as he could.

The creature tilted its head and took a sideways step, as if examining him.  It seemed to be able to feel his spell in place, for it did not attack immediately as he expected.  It half circled him and stooped its head to examine closely.  Samuel trembled and concentrated with all his might on maintaining his spell, for its breath was foul and acrid.  He suddenly felt frail and weak beneath the awful thing’s unblinking gaze and he could feel his power waning.  Putting its arm forward, the creature pushed its palm flat against Samuel’s shield, but it could not touch him through the spell, fortified as it was with tiny, earthen fragments.  Then, the thing began to push harder and Samuel began to slide backwards on his backside, pushed within his own spell.  Its hand began to come closer and so Samuel concentrated on his spell, pushing all his will into keeping the creature at bay.  It continued to push him until his back was hard up against the well and then Samuel realised his mistake.  The creature kept pushing, and, with nowhere to go, its grasping hand came ever closer towards his face.  The stones at his back began to crack and fall away into the well shaft and still the creature pushed its claw in towards him.  The air itself began to press on Samuel’s shoulders, making him feel as if he was already being buried in stone.  Samuel pushed everything he could into his spell and the creature’s hand was inches from his cheek, when a voice called out from afar.

‘Samuel!  Now!’

He did not know whose voice it was, but immediately after he heard it, it seemed the sky fell down.  A great slab of stone shattered upon the monster’s head and rained pieces of rubble all around.  Samuel’s shield was battered and he felt his body tremble with each blow.  Huge lengths of stone and wood began pelting down upon him, shaking his bones and deafening his ears.  With dread, he realised his shielding spell was terribly underprepared to match such weight.

Samuel looked up to see another greater mass of stone, an entire length of wall carried by the spells of Master Glim and Lomar, looming above him.  The creature spied it too and forced itself to stand up with a guttural snarl from its throat, shaking the broken rubble from its shoulders.  Just then, the spells carrying the great length of wall vanished, and Samuel threw himself backwards into the well as cracking thunder struck around him.

The earth shook with a deafening roar as Samuel plummeted into the darkness.  Stones and dust were in his throat and eyes as he fell.  He just realised he should try to slow his descent with a spell, when he slammed into shallow water and then felt rubble and ruins tumble atop of him, striking his back and head and pushing him further under water.  His hands found earth underneath and he pushed his head up and into the air and took a great breath.  Dust filled his lungs and set him into a choking fit as he put his sleeve over his face to filter the air.  He readied himself to be buried alive, as more pebbles and stones continued to fall; but instead of smothering him, the rain of asphyxiating fragments gradually subsided.  When the shaking had eventually come to a stop, Samuel found himself in utter darkness.

He stood, feeling water up to his knees, but he could see nothing.  The air was full of dust and Samuel gagged and coughed until he pulled his shirt up over his mouth.  After a few moments, he gathered his wits and strained to look above for some hint of sunlight or some sound of rescue, but the well was deep and his ears still rang from all the noise of just before.  He summoned a mage-light and it burst into life beside him, illuminating the bottom of the well with its bluish hue.  Far above, he could see that the shaft was blocked and ruined, and dust and rubble continued to drop down on him.  Samuel did not like to assume the stone would stay there, precariously balanced as it was.  He thought it best if he moved rather quickly before his luck ran any lower.

An underground tunnel was visible in the gloom, leading away in opposite directions.  He would have to find somewhere safe to stay until his friends dug him out.  This was not quite what he had in mind when he had made his plan, but he was alive and it would have to do for now.  His friends would find him eventually.  It just might take them some time to move the masses of earth that lay above—assuming the creature was, indeed, dead.

To stay here was quite unsafe, so Samuel regarded his two choices of direction thoughtfully.  The beast had dragged the bodies somewhere, so he knew that there was a fair amount of space down here—enough to store those men at least.  Samuel then had a dreadful thought that had him looking over his shoulder into the dark corners—he hoped there was only one such creature living in this well.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Precious Breath

IT TOOK ONLY a dozen steps for Samuel to discover why the water level was only knee deep.  Something—perhaps the creature or perhaps the men of the keep—had completely blocked one end with stones and earth; to what end, Samuel could not begin to fathom.  Perhaps the creature enjoyed its new abode, but preferred it a little less damp, or maybe the magicians’ spells, in their attempts to destroy the beast, had brought a part of the roof of the tunnel down.  Whatever the reason, this direction offered no escape and so Samuel turned about and headed back to try the other way.

Returning to below the well shaft, a great lump of earth fell down with an echoing splash, an ominous reminder of the danger of the situation.  Samuel peered up, with dreadful thoughts of the whole tunnel collapsing and burying him alive.  As he edged past the shaft, a second chunk splashed behind him, wetting his back and head.  He shuddered with its cold embrace against his skin and spelled himself a little warmer.  It was about all he could manage at present, as exhausted as he was, but he was momentarily thankful for his magician’s gifts.  His confrontation with the creature, followed by the harrowing fall, had left him in a frail state.  There was not much magic left in him to be had—although that was not strictly true, he reminded himself.  Magic was always present in vast quantities.  It existed in and around every living thing.  It was merely his mortal body which was worn and tired, unable to channel in its haggard state.  If only he was somehow refreshed and rejuvenated, he could be out of there in moments.  Unfortunately, he needed time to recover his strength.

He continued along past the main shaft, sending mage-lights out to illuminate the walls.  He did not want anything jumping out and surprising him.  It would be enough to scare him to death at the moment.  Then again, someone could walk straight up to him with a hammer and pound him on the head and there would be little he could do about it.  The thought made him shudder once more.

The tunnel curved to the left and Samuel followed it cautiously.  The water was deeper in the middle, but only up to his knees at the sides, so Samuel kept his feet to each edge, shuffling along with his hands pressed against both walls to maintain his balance.  It was slower going, but it took only a moment to discover that this way was also blocked.  A short distance ahead, illuminated by his lights, was a wall of solid stone.

Samuel’s heart sank.  He waded up to it, pushing through the water with determination and almost fell into a deep circular pool at the tunnel’s end.  Shallow at its edges, the water was black as night at its centre, seeming to go down into the bowels of the earth.  Hopefully, it would lead somewhere safe, somewhere where he could rest or find his way to the surface.  His life depended on it.

There was a stirring in the pattern, and the stone around him shuddered as spells were cast above.  Flecks of stone dropped from the roof.  From back near the shaft, a splash sounded, as if other, larger pieces were crashing down.  His friends were trying to unearth him and Samuel hoped they were being careful.  The stone all around was fractured and brittle.  It would not take too much more to flatten this tiny tunnel and him inside it.

Samuel returned his attention to his escape and sent a mage-light down into the dark waters.  Its light did not penetrate far, but he could see it going down some distance into the black depths before he felt the further resistance of his spell meeting more stone.  Somewhere down there, there would have to be some way for the water to move on.  This was part of a natural underground system in the area and so would eventually meet other such tunnels.  He could just not be sure which of those would have air and which would be filled completely with water.  The creature, after all, had dragged its bodies down here and must have put them somewhere.  It seemed to have been storing its food for later.  Somewhere, through this pool, must be another cavern that the creature had used as its larder.

There was another tremor in the fabric of the pattern and the tunnel was shaken once more, more violently, causing Samuel to brace himself between the smooth walls.  The earth groaned all around and a loud crash of falling earth sounded down the tunnel.  Samuel froze, expecting the roof to fall upon him at any instant but, after a nervous moment, no such end to him came.  Ripples came lapping against his thighs, but all else was quiet once again.

If he was a common magician, the others above would perhaps be able to sense him and know of his well-being.  Unfortunately, unless he was channelling some powerful magic, he was invisible to them all.  What was previously a boon to him was now a curse.  They could not know whether he was alive or dead, or even where he was.  Their only choice would be to slowly dig their way down and hope they could reach him before they buried him alive.

The walls trembled once again and a straining groan crept through all the rocks around, chased by a series of cracking and clacking sounds.  That was enough for Samuel.  Taking his lights with him, he stepped into the freezing waters and, taking as great a breath as he could, he dived down and kicked towards the freezing depths.  His mage-lights threw a ghoulish blue hue onto the pale, stone walls around him.  Tiny colourless things wriggled and danced before his eyes.

Samuel spied a dark opening just below him and began to swim through it, kicking into a narrow shaft that went straight back up to mirror the first.  His lungs had begun to burn, craving air.  He fought upwards with all his resolve, desperate for some sign of salvation.  His mage-lights reflected a silver wall above him and he kicked towards it with all his resolve.  Expecting some kind of resistance, he was surprised when the barrier vanished on contact and he found himself breaking through onto the surface.  His lungs pulled in a great gulp of air and he immediately felt sweet relief.  A second breath followed quickly and, after a time, still kicking all the while to keep his head above surface, the craving in his chest slowly yielded.  It was only then, as he began to take note of his surroundings, that Samuel noticed the rancid odour that saturated the air, like festering meat.

The edge was smooth and without purchase, so Samuel had to kick with considerable effort to get himself up onto the tunnel floor.  He lay like a stunned fish, shivering to the bone until the soreness had eased in his legs.  The stone floor was cold and hard against his wet cheek, but he lacked the energy to even lift his head.  As his breaths slowed, Samuel finally had the chance to survey the tunnel and hope there was nothing here with him.  He rolled over and managed to climb woodenly to his feet.  His clothes were sodden and freezing against his skin.  His boots were full of water.  All he could do was hug himself for warmth with his hands pushed into his armpits.  Thankfully, his mage-lights were still with him, hovering not too far away and no other creatures had yet swept down to swallow him.

This tunnel was narrower, although much taller than the first and led down at a steady gradient.  The walls were filled with crevices and cracks, and it was from these that hung the arms, legs and bodies of Captain Orrell’s Royal Guards.  Their carcasses were stuffed firmly into the narrow openings, hanging out somewhat where they would not entirely fit.  Sticky fluids trickled from many of them, oozing down the walls to form a pool on the floor.  The sight sent a shiver running up his spine.

A further boom shook the walls all around and Samuel found himself hurrying along as best he could on the slippery stones.  From far ahead, running water could be heard and he continued towards it, past the men who glared out at him with lifeless, bulging eyes and mouths locked open in endless, silent screams.  There were other men also pushed into the cracks here.  Some wore armour and others the clothes of magicians.  All were mangled and still.  Now, at least, Samuel knew what had happened to the unfortunate occupants of the keep.

Sebastian had said that there was only one such creature and Samuel was beginning to feel that the madman had spoken the truth.  If there were more monstrosities in the cavern, they surely would have shown themselves by now.  Still, Samuel eyed the many empty fissures and dark corners with dreadful anticipation as he passed them by.  His heart could not help sounding a steady rhythm against his ribs.

He had been walking for some time, ever downwards.  His shivering had begun to subside, yet his limbs felt weighted with lead.  The rumblings had been left far behind and only the increasingly loud echo of rushing water could be heard still ahead.  The tunnel then began to grow smaller once more, its sides slick and smooth, until Samuel came to the point where he could see its end.  Angling down sharply, the tunnel formed into a narrow sluice.  Samuel judged it to be treacherously slippery, and cautiously he began down, placing each footstep with the utmost care lest he should slip and fall to some jagged death.  The stone had been worn as slick as ice where the underground stream had run its course for years unknown.

The sound of water had become a roar and Samuel could feel moisture thick in the air.  He managed to slide cautiously down the tunnel on his backside, until he came to a gaping drop at its end.  An underground river surged below—a thundering torrent of white water rushing by, illuminated by his hovering mage-lights.  The tunnel edge was treacherous and slippery and Samuel had to keep his hands pushed out firmly against the walls to hold himself in place.

To the left of this opening, almost within arms’ reach, the river began, surging furiously from the stone and dropping down far below.  There, the white foaming water swirled and bubbled and rushed away through a black opening.  Samuel craned his neck out and scanned the walls for any other openings, but was disappointed to find only flat stone.  He waited there in the tunnel mouth for some feeling of resolve to help him choose his fate.  There was nowhere to go but down, out through that crack.

As he sat there, frozen and miserable, his worst fears began to be realised.  His mage-lights, which had been growing smaller all the while, began winking out.  There was no energy left with which to support them and so, one by one, they faded from existence, leaving him in complete and utter darkness.  ‘Damn,’ was all he could think to say, but the word was lost amongst the roar of the water.

The shivering magician sat, propped at the tunnel’s edge, and waited for  something to happen, some miracle to come and return even a little of his strength, but nothing did.  Still, he sat and shivered in the darkness and nothing else occurred except for the water’s endless roaring and falling and surging and gurgling.  He had hoped that, given time, he would feel stronger again, but all he felt now was the desire to lie down and die and, with each passing moment, the prospect only became all the more inviting.  Lost in the darkness and the river’s roar, Samuel could barely feel his existence at all.  Most of his body was now numb.  Only his thoughts remained as evidence he was still living at all.

Taking one last heavy breath and forcing his rigid arms to relax, he leant forward and let himself topple into the void.  Hurtling down into the total darkness, his body felt almost weightless.  The air blew a cool breath into his face, like a final tender kiss.  Then the water struck him with a violent slap and it thundered in his ears.

Sudden shocking cold entered him as he plunged into the freezing depths, with roaring and babbling in his ears.  The weight of the waterfall fell upon him and drove him further down, the immense weight crushing him.  His eyes were open, yet could see nothing.  He kicked and found air and cried out with shock and pain before being dragged under once more.  He could feel motion as the water carried him and then it sucked at him and for an instant there was air again and he took half a gulping breath before being sucked under and tossed and turned every which way.  Rocks struck at his knees and elbows and head, and he careered into and over them at the current’s whim.  He took a great mouthful of water as again he was pulverised, and he vomited at once before being forced to take another watery breath.

Then there was light and Samuel spilled out into vacant air.  He caught a glimpse of a vast, underground lake in a dimly-lit cavern; then he splashed down, swallowed once more by the icy waters.  He fought with the last of his strength for the surface and came up, coughing and emptying water from his stomach once more.  He could barely tread water as he tried to overcome the horrible nausea that filled him.  The water was in his boots and pulled him down with each kick.  His breathing was frantic and he had no goal but to desperately keep his chin above the water.  Something struck his boots and Samuel kicked out, feeling hard rock.  He took a tenuous step and, finding more firm stone under his foot, he struggled forward.  Each step raised him higher until he was only wading up to his thighs—yet the water felt like molasses around him.  His body felt enormous—almost as if strings were tied around him and were pulling him down relentlessly.  He drove himself towards a nearby island of stone.  Step after step he forced himself on until, utterly exhausted, he struggled out of the water and collapsed on the hard stone floor.  He coughed and retched out copious amounts of water as he rolled onto his side, labouring for breath.  His entire body felt ruined.  His muscles had been screaming for relief and now they had it, they ached in entirely new and excruciating ways.  Still, he was alive.  For the first time, he managed to form a conscious thought: By the gods!  I am still alive!

He lay panting and coughing for what seemed like hours, slipping in and out of consciousness, until the skittering of some tickling insect across his face, roused him back to awareness.

From this position, he could see much of the cavern that surrounded him.  Water cascaded in from several gaps high in the wall, lit by multitudes of tiny glowing worms that seemed to hang from the ceiling on milky, silken threads, shining with a pale green light.  The water ran to the edges of the great cavern, where it drained though unseen cavities.  Ledges and rocky outcrops jutted from the high walls, like the balconies of an underground city.  Samuel continued staring upwards, gawking at the enormous stone cavern like someone seeing stars for the first time ever, until darkness crept around his vision once more, and he passed out.

After some time, Samuel awoke and the first thing he realised was that he could not move.  His muscles had knotted up so tightly as to paralyse him.  With great strength of will he forced himself up into a sitting position.  He felt weak to the core and was tempted to lie down again, but he knew that he would only become weaker by lingering here.  He needed to be dry and warm and have some food in his stomach.  Only then would he be safe.  Only then could he rest.  His belly felt knotted and it stung as if he had swallowed glass or nails.  Escape was foremost on his mind, but in his current condition he had little chance of going anywhere.  Sitting on the stone, he felt entombed within the earth.  Hours passed as his mind struggled in and out of consciousness.  Finally, his mind began to assemble itself into some semblance of sanity.  I am alive! he remembered thinking.  He wanted to shout it out in all directions, but something made him fearful of speaking aloud.  He was afraid that no sound would come from his throat if he tried and perhaps he was dead after all.  He slapped his cheeks and pinched his fingernails in attempt to shake the stupor from himself and, slowly, it seemed to work.

He struggled to his feet and examined his surroundings.  From his ledge, he could walk around the perimeter of the cavern, where a series of outcrops rose along the wall.  He was sure he would not survive another voyage in the water and so he sought other means of escaping.  He began clambering up the rocky ledges, with each movement a struggle, and passed many dark openings leading away into the earth.  He dreaded having to leave the stone-lit sanctuary and entering the unknown darkness, but then felt something that almost made him cry out with joy—a slight movement of air on his face.

It was just a tiny motion, but Samuel was sure that, just for a moment, the air had stirred and moved towards him.  He scraped his boot amongst the stones at his feet to mark the narrow passage and continued exploring the chamber.  He waited momentarily before each of the other passages, but none gave him any hint of wind or breeze.  Eventually, Samuel made his way back to the marked passage.  He began into that black opening and was quickly swallowed by the darkness.

He felt his way along the walls, step by step, slowly through the dark, with nothing but the hollow echoes from the cavern behind him and the scraping of his sodden boots upon the gravelly floor.  He would have taken them off, but the ground was jagged in places and would lacerate his feet in moments.  He continued on, ignorant of the time passing, tripping over stones and fumbling over rocks, until the sounds of water behind had long ceased and he felt entombed in his solitude, deep beneath the earth.  All he could hear were his own breaths and grunts of exertion.  Even his footsteps came echoing back from the dark as if to haunt him.  Each one was a painful accusation, a testimony of his breaking of the silence—silence that until now had ruled this unexplored realm beneath the earth absolutely and without exception.  Almost certainly, he feared some terrible retribution, but he pushed himself on without pause.  His lips moved silently and incessantly in prayer, in the hope that whatever titanic gods were observing him from their lairs in the darkness would be compassionate and would let him continue, if only he did not stop.

The breeze did not return, but Samuel could not turn back.  He could not abandon his one hope of escape.  Soon, even the fear of things watching him disappeared.  Often he stopped and waited, straining to sense some movement of air, licking his finger with his dry tongue, but he could feel nothing.  He continued on, following the twisting and turning passage until his hand, pressed against the wall to guide him, was worn and sore.

It was then the tunnel ended in an abrupt wall.  He fumbled his hands all over it, but it was solid rock.  Almost in tears and about to set back the way he had come, Samuel felt something cold against his ankles.  Ducking low, he could feel a soft breeze coming through a fissure in the rocks.  He sucked a finger and then stuck his arm in as far as it would go, feeling the coolness of moving air on the end of his digit.  There was nothing left to do but drop onto his stomach and pull himself into the gap.  He groaned and grunted beneath the rocks and was terrified for a moment when he became wedged in tight, but a bit of sideways wriggling meant he found a gap and he continued wriggling his way in.  The dust filled his sightless eyes and he coughed in the darkness, making echoes that raced in all directions.  A crack of light became visible far above through a long, narrow crevice and he turned his head as much as he could to stare at the distant light with one eye.  It was impossible to squeeze himself into that tiny crack above and so he lay there for long moments, savouring the delightful presence of sunlight filtering down from somewhere far, far above.  He dragged himself on, feeling hope at the mere presence of sunlight, determined to set himself free from the earth’s deathly embrace.

The lone magician dragged himself along the rough stones with renewed vigour.  He felt sure that his body would be covered in cuts and bruises, but all that would not matter if he could just get out under the open sky.

Finally, the feeling of confinement vanished and Samuel could feel open space all around as he pulled himself from the crack in the stone.  He climbed to his feet and stumbled into the wall, finding his bearings.  He laughed aloud as he peered far ahead, for there was something up ahead he could almost see.  As he neared the place, he grew more assured and hurried himself along; limping and staggering towards the growing light.  He could clearly see the walls around him now and as the tunnel grew into a great yawning cavern, Samuel could see the bright whiteness of day up ahead.  He hobbled and pushed himself to go on, until, jubilant, he came to the cavern’s end and careered over onto his stomach to lie in the warm embrace of the sun as it flooded down upon him.  At first, he could see nothing and was forced to keep his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  Slowly, he became accustomed to the daylight and the shapes and colours of the outside world slowly became apparent.

He lay splayed out in the cave’s mouth, halfway up a short slope and facing another hillside, which also was pocked with numerous similar cave openings.  He smiled under the touch of the sun and laughed aloud at being free of the weight of the earth.  Never again would he venture into such smothering depths.

He staggered down the slope and made the narrow valley floor.  It seemed like afternoon and he supposed he had been trapped beneath the earth all day.  He peered up the valley.  He guessed that he had come a fair way downhill and that the keep must be located somewhere atop one of these hills.  He began hiking on unsteady legs, hoping his sense of direction would somehow serve him true.

A trail of smoke, snaking up into the sky, made Samuel hurry, and it was not long until he clambered up a steep rise and could see the ruined keep.  Smoke was slowly curling up from its centre.  It had taken some hours to navigate the steep slopes of the escarpment, and now the thought of impending darkness hurried Samuel on.  As he neared the keep and began to round its broken walls towards the gate, a shout came up and one of Captain Orrell’s men, Valiant, came running to his side.

‘Where on earth did you come from, Magician?’ the man asked in disbelief.

Samuel smiled and went to answer, but only managed to choke on his words.  Valiant had Samuel’s arm slung over his shoulder and began dragging him into the keep.  Surrounded by the other magicians, a large fire was burning at the courtyard’s edge.  Rocks and rubble lay against the three remaining walls and the buildings behind all lay shattered and broken.  Across the centre of the keep, a long depression marked the ground where the earth had fallen in.  Samuel thanked his luck he had time to escape, or he would be buried now, far below.

‘Samuel!’ Master Glim and Lomar cried together and they all hurried over to him.

They fussed and bothered over him, asking him all sorts of questions and wondering how he was still alive, and all Samuel could do was cough and laugh; he had strength for little else.  They helped him nearer the fire and prepared some bedding.  Samuel remembered almost diving down upon it and his head just making contact with the bundle of clothes that would serve as his pillow.  After that, sleep had him and he knew no more.

When Samuel awoke, he found himself in Captain Orrell’s camp.  The sun was fairly high and he felt like some life had crept back into him.  The others had obviously set some spells around him and he felt all the better for them and a decent sleep.  He could see everyone’s backs around the campfire.  He roused himself and went over to the others, who were speaking loudly, deep in conversation.

‘What are we talking about?’ Samuel asked with a raspy voice, sitting amongst them.  ‘And what is there to eat?’

‘It’s good to see you back with the living,’ Lomar said.  ‘We are just discussing what on earth to do next.’

Master Glim leaned over and carefully scooped a bowl of steaming hot stew from the pot that was now boiling away over the fire.  He handed it, with a spoon, to Samuel who began to throw the food down without even the slightest of hesitation.  ‘You gave us a terrible fright, Samuel,’ the teacher said.  ‘Even poor Lomar was beside himself with fear that you were lost.  Goodness, I’ve never seen him so upset.’

At that, the tall and dark magician looked uncomfortable.  ‘It’s only natural to show concern,’ he explained.

‘Now you’re awake, you can tell us how on earth you managed to escape?’ Eric asked from opposite the fire.  ‘We all thought you were dead for sure.’

Samuel shrugged his shoulders and swallowed some of his meal.  ‘I fell down the well,’ he managed to say through a mouthful of stew.

‘We know that much,’ Lomar said, ‘and we began digging for you as carefully as we could.  Of course, we were all horrified when the tunnel collapsed.  How did you find your way free?’

‘I could hear you lot doing your best to bring the roof down on me, so I did my best to be out of there,’ Samuel explained.  ‘I managed to find my way through the caves eventually, but I honestly thought I would never set my eyes upon the sun again.’

‘Ah,’ Captain Orrell said.  ‘I’d heard there were many caves in this area.  Lucky for you, I’d say.’

‘What of the creature?’ Samuel asked.  ‘I assume the plan was a success.  It is dead, isn’t it?’

Master Glim nodded.  ‘When we pried back the stones, it was crushed dead, sure enough.’

‘You used enough weight then?’ Samuel questioned, burning his lips as he attempted to shovel down as much food as he could.

‘Half of the keep,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘We burned the creature all day and night.  Its carcass was quite stubborn and it had a foul stench like nothing else.  We made sure to keep a good distance.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘Aye.  I could not believe the thing was so strong.  I wonder how those magicians ever managed to summon it.’

‘We have been discussing the same,’ Master Glim said.  ‘I have never heard of such a creature.’

‘The magicians had been tampering with unknown forces,’ Lomar told them.  ‘We found a few notes on their studies: black magic and foul arts.  It seems they believed they could control anything which they summoned, but they were caught unprepared by what actually arrived.  If what Sebastian said was true, they meant to ready the thing for us.’

‘Which leads us to Garret and his men,’ Captain Orrell said.  ‘I’m starting to believe that they weren’t even told to meet us here.  This whole mission stinks of foul play.  It seems we were being sent into an ambush.  We’re pulling back to Hammenton today and then it won’t take me long to find out and, when I do, there will be hell to pay.  Someone will pay the cost for every one of my lost men.’

Master Glim spoke up.  ‘I’ve been thinking about what Sebastian told us.  He was certainly mad, but that doesn’t mean he could not have been telling us the truth.  I suspect that Ash and Dividian may still be in Cintar, and that they are in league with High Lord Rimus and perhaps others still.  We were obviously manipulated into coming here and Rimus seemed quite keen about the whole idea.’

‘We cannot know that for sure, Samuel,’ Lomar rebutted, ‘but it’s true that High Lord Rimus has been behaving strangely since the Emperor’s death.’

‘But why would he want us dead now?’ Goodfellow asked. ‘I know we have not seen eye to eye in the past, but surely he is not one to bear such a piffling grudge against us?  I thought the Grand Master had smoothed everything over.’

‘I don’t know if piffling is the correct word,’ Eric suggested.  ‘We were branded the Empire’s greatest threat just a short time ago.  I would think it more surprising if Rimus had forgiven us.’

‘Wait a moment,’ Captain Orrell said.  ‘Are you are telling me there are even more plots within the Order?  Is the Emperor’s death not enough?’

‘Perhaps the same plot,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘It’s no secret that some people have been using the Emperor’s war plan as a vessel for their own designs.  Rimus may have been aiming to be Archmage all along.’

‘And now we are all out of the way, it is a perfect time for him to take the Staff of Elders,’ Lomar said.

‘But he is already going to be Archmage,’ Eric said, ‘so there is no need for him to take it by force.’

‘Unless he plans to take the throne as well,’ Samuel added and everyone looked to him incredulously.  ‘It’s possible,’ he stated resolutely.  ‘The Argum Stone is still sitting in the High Tower.  Added to the power of the Elder Staff, it would give any wielder incredible power—easily enough to defeat a whole city full of guards.  Now would be a perfect time for someone to seize control.’

‘No magician could lead the Empire,’ Orrell corrected.  ‘The people would not accept anyone not of royal lineage.  Even having a woman temporarily in power has caused terrible civil unrest.  If any magician tried to take the throne, he would soon find himself missing a head.’

‘I don’t think you are quite hearing what we are saying, Captain,’ Master Glim spoke out.  ‘If a magician as powerful as Samuel is suggesting takes the throne, no one—no army—could do anything about it.’

‘I don’t know that any of this sounds feasible,’ Orrell said, sounding decidedly sceptical.  ‘You’re trying to tell me that one magician could be powerful enough to overthrow the Empire alone?’

‘Before now, Captain,’ Master Glim questioned, ‘did you think that a creature could be summoned from some despicable hell and almost destroy your entire squad?’  Orrell’s sceptical look vanished.  ‘Do you see what we are saying?’

‘Then I suggest we do something about it,’ the captain stated.

‘Exactly,’ Master Glim responded.  ‘We’re heading back at once.’

‘But Grand Master Anthem is there,’ Goodfellow said.  ‘He will keep an eye on everyone.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ Glim replied.  ‘Rimus was quite insistent in getting the Grand Master to come with us, but the stubborn old goat refused.  If he is in Rimus’ way, then that spells trouble for him.  We should get back immediately.’

‘I’ll join you,’ Orrell said. ‘If what you say is true, then the Empire is in danger.’

‘Very well, Captain,’ Master Glim said.  ‘If all this does prove to be true, then I’m sure that our return has been allowed for and we’ll need all the help we can get.  We need to return to Cintar as quickly as we possibly can.  There’s a slim chance, but the fate of the civilised world could depend on it.  Rimus said we have until the month is over, but given that everything else he said has proved false, I would bet my front teeth he’ll try to get his hands on the Staff of Elders as soon as he can.’

‘I’ll ready my men—what’s left of them,’ Orrell said and stood, barking orders to Valiant.

‘How are you feeling, Samuel?’ Lomar then asked.  ‘Do you feel ready to travel?’

Samuel groaned.  ‘I have to be, but I won’t enjoy it.  We need to get back—quickly.’

‘None of you is the best of riders,’ Captain Orrell explained, ‘but if we ride straight through, and change horses wherever we can, we can make it back to the city in about two days.  It won’t be easy.  We won’t be able to sleep—we’ll barely have time to rest.  You’ll be wrecks when you get there.  If we had the luxury, it would be better to stretch the ride over three days.’

‘We’ll aim for two, Captain,’ Master Glim informed him.

‘We must go as quickly as possible.  Don’t worry.  We will persevere,’ Orrell stated.

‘Let’s go,’ Samuel suggested firmly and he stood, ready.  ‘I can barely wait to get back to Cintar and see Rimus’ expression when he sees we’ve survived—and then finally, finally get my hands on Ash.’

‘I reckon you’ll get your chance, Magician,’ Captain Orrell said.  ‘And I hope you enjoy it.’

They had been hurtling along the roadway for a full day when the magicians had to admit they could not go on.  They had exchanged their tired mounts for fresh ones every time they came to an Imperial garrison or met soldiers patrolling the road, but the long hours of constant motion had taken their toll on the magicians.  Samuel had been sad to see Jess left behind, but he had no other choice.  The animal was spent and no amount of magic was going to keep her on her legs much longer, so they had left her behind in Dunbarton in exchange for a fresh ride.

They had afforded themselves six hours’ sleep in a busy country inn, but Samuel’s head had no sooner touched the pillow than the others were already rousing him.  His body ached with each movement, but somehow he managed to stay on his horse hour after painful hour.  The others were also feeling the strain, and they all said little, except for the brief moments when they were dropping from one horse to climb upon another.

They were barely half a day from Cintar when heavy rain set in, filling their eyes and making the trip even more miserable.  Captain Orrell, leading the way, raised his hand and began to slow his mount.  His last four remaining men did the same and the magicians pulled back on their reins, letting their horses fall back into a gentle canter.  Ahead, there was a large encampment beside the road and a soldier was hailing for them to stop.

‘Ho, there!’ Orrell called to the man as they neared.  Troops were armed and readied at their tents and began to stand and take notice as the magicians arrived.

‘Ho, Captain Orrell!’ the man returned.  ‘We have been waiting for you here a long time.’

‘Captain Garret’s company?’ Orrell asked the man.

‘Aye, Sir.  He’ll be here momentarily.’

‘What in damnation are you doing here?’ Orrell commanded him to explain.  ‘You were supposed to meet us at Hammenton.’

‘Hammenton?  I’m sorry Sir,’ the man replied.  ‘I haven’t heard anything about that at all.’

A tent flap flew open and a middle-aged, stocky man clanked out.  He was not wearing the light riding armour of Captain Orrell, but the heavy plated armour of the city garrisons.  He looked almost like a living fortress himself.

‘Captain Garret!’ Orrell called out from atop his mount.

‘Ah, Captain Orrell,’ the other man replied with a rough voice, clanking over.  ‘You’ve finally arrived.  What’s happened to your squad?’

‘All dead.  Just these men are left.  I’m taking the magicians back to Cintar.’

‘Ah,’ Captain Garrett returned.  ‘Then I need to speak with you.  There have been a few developments you should be aware of.  Let your men rest a moment and get out of the rain.  We’ll ready you fresh horses for the rest of your journey.’

Orrell looked back at the magicians for a moment, and also to his men.  ‘Wait here, magicians,’ he told them.  ‘I’ll just be a moment.’  He swung himself down and went to talk with the gruff older man out of the rain.

Samuel let his horse step up besides Master Glim’s.  Ahead, from a pair of tents, Samuel could see the telltale shimmer of magic emanating.

‘Can you feel it?’ Samuel asked of his teacher.

Master Glim nodded, looking grim.

‘What does it mean?’ Samuel asked him.  ‘What would magicians be doing, hiding away like that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Master Glim mused.  ‘Lomar, what do you think?’

Lomar moved up to the other side of Master Glim.  ‘This could be a trap.  These men seem unsettled—not as if they have finished their duty by finding us, but rather as if their work is about to begin.’

Samuel looked to Captain Garret’s men.  They were eyeing him back and looked serious.  They had the look of men who were waiting to act.  Lomar was right.

‘Perhaps,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘They are readying spells.  It can’t be good.’

Just then, Captain Orrell came striding back.  ‘It seems Captain Garret can help us.  We can eat something and change our horses here before setting off again.’

‘I don’t think so, Captain,’ Master Glim told him, his eyes glancing to Garret’s men.  ‘Something here is out of place.’

Captain Orrell looked back at the camp and regarded it for several moments before turning back to the magician.

‘I believe you’re right,’ he said softly.  ‘You have good instincts for a magician.  If anything happens, make for the city and ride as fast as you can.’  Orrell turned to his men and spoke loudly to Valiant.  ‘Lead the magicians to the back of the camp.  Tie their horses up there and then come and get something to eat.’  At the same time, Samuel noticed him put his finger to his ear, as if scratching it.  Valiant nodded back in quiet understanding, and Samuel was sure they had passed a secret sign.

‘As you wish, Captain,’ Valiant replied.

A slight movement caught his eye and Samuel glimpsed riders gathered amongst the trees.

Captain Orrell nodded to Master Glim.  He mouthed the word ‘go’ silently with his lips.  With a sudden shout of ‘ya!’, Orrell’s men kicked their heels into their mounts and sent them leaping forward, out of the hands of Garret’s men.  Master Glim followed suit and Samuel did the same, followed by the others.  Captain Orrell was already astride his horse and ready to follow them.

They galloped away from the camp and into the trees, with Garret’s men shouting in pursuit and with drawn swords.  Branches struck Samuel’s face, but he did his best to follow Master Glim’s mount in front.  A flash of magic drew this attention and Samuel caught sight of a magician darting through the trees towards them.  A spell flew out at Master Glim.  It had the look of a Moving spell and Samuel met it with a counter spell of his own.  Just then, a battle cry sounded beside him and a man appeared from the bushes, swinging his sword towards Samuel with all his might.  Samuel cried out and tried to pull his horse aside, but there was no time.  He swung his leg right out of the stirrup as the man’s weapon struck.  Samuel’s horse screamed as the weapon bit into it and the animal threw him from the saddle.

Samuel toppled head over heels and crashed into the prickly bushes.  His instincts had him back on his feet and running blindly as more cries sounded behind.  The others had already sped past on their horses, but Samuel had to carry himself on his own two legs as the sounds of pursuit dogged him.  Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of a number of men all pushing through the branches after him.  It was then that his next footfall met nothing, and Samuel slipped down an embankment, tumbling through the air and rolling down a muddy slope.

‘After him!’ came cries from behind and men began treading down after him, being careful not to slip down the sides, which had been made treacherous by the rain.

Samuel was on his feet and off again, following the narrow gully as fast as he could go.  The sides were rocky and steep, so he continued running along it, hoping to find somewhere he could climb out and lose his pursuers.  His thoughts turned to his magic, but he was so fatigued from riding and running that he could barely feel a hint of magic inside himself.  He ran until, exhausted, he bent over with his hands on his knees and struggled to regain his breath, stumbling the last few steps.  He looked back and could hear the men’s shouts nearing, their armour clanking as they ran after him through the rain.

I have to stop them, Samuel thought to himself.  But what good is my magic if I’m always too bloody tired to use it?

He had a pain in his side, but he forced himself to stand upright as the men came into view.  They slowed to a walk on sight of the magician waiting before them.  Despite their numbers, they were facing a member of the Order, and Samuel’s black clothes gave them reason enough to be tentative.  One man nodded for some of the others to move in, and they began to creep towards Samuel with their swords held forward.

Samuel eyed the sides of the gully, but they looked too difficult to climb.  The men would be at his back before he had time to even scale part way.  Instead, he closed his eyes and forced his shallow breaths to become longer and deeper.  He could feel magic far away, lingering beyond his reach and he beckoned for it to come nearer.  He could feel the soldiers nearing, but he tried to ignore them as he concentrated on tapping the source.  Unarmed and untrained in combat, he had no way to survive against swords of steel.  Magic was his only defence and, without it, any magician was helpless—even useless.

Calming his mind, he called again and he was overjoyed as he felt a sudden tug in the pattern towards him—he had it.  Magic slowly came creeping in, ever so slowly at first, but growing steadily, more and more.  With each heartbeat, his reserves of power increased.  Time was what magicians needed most.  These soldiers, wary of the lone magician, had given Samuel exactly what he needed to defeat them.  When he opened his eyes once again there was a smile on his lips.

The men came at him through the rain.  Samuel had not yet decided on any particular spell to use against them, but as the closest man broke ranks and came running forth, magic sprang from Samuel before he knew it.  The soldier flew from his feet and sailed clear past his fellows to land skidding along the gully floor behind the others.  The others stopped and looked to their comrade with wide eyes as the soldier groaned and unsteadily regained his feet.

Samuel’s smile grew wider as he felt more and more power filling inside him.  It was growing greater within him now, swelling to such proportions that he felt he could do anything.  The pain in his side and the yearning in his lungs vanished as he took a step towards the armed men.

‘Kill the magician!’ one soldier cried out and they all came charging forward.  The first two men were nearer than the others, barely an arm’s length away, when Samuel grabbed them each in turn and sent them flying back, crashing onto the others.  The remaining soldiers cried out defiantly as they continued forward with their swords aimed towards him.  Just defending against these soldiers was not enough.  They would need to be dealt with quickly and finally.  And now he had pushed them all to a safe distance, he had gained the space he needed.

Samuel spread his hands wide as he pushed his magic out into the earth.  He grasped the rain-sodden, gully walls and, with a sudden surge of power, Samuel brought his arms together.  The dark, rocky earth on both sides exploded free and fell in upon the men like great waves crashing down.  They only had time to scream and raise their hands to their faces before they were all slammed down and buried beneath the tons of damp earth and stone.

Samuel laughed at the sight, for his magic and fatigue had left him somewhat light-headed.  He thought about climbing out of the depression he had made, for roots and stone that he could use as hand-holds stuck out from the earth, but the soil looked unsteady and dangerous.  Instead, he turned and continued trotting unsteadily along the gully.

A flash of light gave him a moment’s notice, and Samuel had a spell shield in place as a stream of magic came flying down from the gully top.

‘He’s over there!’ came a distant shout.

Samuel continued on, eyeing the gully sides for any further sign of attack.  Ahead, the gully flattened out.  A large puddle had formed there and Samuel came splashing out into a large stony quarry.  Galloping down on his left came a dozen armoured riders with Captain Garret on a great beast of a horse at the lead and two mounted magicians following at their rear.  They spread out before Samuel and their horses snorted and stamped impatiently.

‘Well, it looks as though we’ve caught at least one of your miscreants,’ Captain Garret announced.

‘You should go on ahead after the others, Captain,’ one of the magicians responded.  ‘We can take care of this one.  He has no power to speak of.’

Garret nodded and was about to turn his horse to leave when Samuel shouted up at him.

‘Don’t think you can be rid of me so easily!’ he called out.  The rain felt like ice upon his cheeks.

The grey-bearded captain bared his teeth and smiled.  ‘Very well, Magician.  Have it your way.  We’ll kill you quickly and then be off together.  The other traitors will all be rounded up eventually, whether they make it past me or not.’

‘Traitors?’ Samuel responded.  ‘It seems you’ve been misled, Captain.  No matter.  Very well, come kill me if you can.’  His magic was still dancing on his skin, crackling in his skull and tickling behind his eyes.

‘Let me,’ the second magician said.  ‘I’ll give it to the Outlander for thinking he can match our Turian blood.’  He was bald-headed, and bore a small, pointed beard.  Samuel disliked him immediately.

‘I’d wager you are a true Turian,’ Samuel called to the man.

‘Why is that?’ the bald magician responded, as he climbed down from his horse.

‘Because you are all the same: arrogant, self-righteous and bigoted.  You deserve to lose your precious Empire.’

The bald man laughed.  ‘And I haven’t met an Outlander like you who didn’t deserve to be crushed.’

The magician called upon his power.  He seemed quite strong, but he was not nearly powerful enough.  Samuel’s head was light, but he knew he could not lose.  He was about to say something clever and demeaning to the man, when a hint of magic at the corner of his eye caught his attention.  He dived aside as a great boulder, the size of a wagon, crashed down beside him with a massive boom that shook the earth.

‘Is that it?’  Samuel said with a grin as he scraped the mud from his thighs.  Dark shadows had crept into the auras of all the men before him—dark and jagged and insistent.  ‘A spell of Lifting?  What a clumsy effort.  Where is the elegance?  Did you not pay attention to your studies?  Why waste so much power, when the same effort invested into something smaller can be so much more effective?’

Samuel flicked his wrist and a swarm of pebbles flew up from the ground and struck the bald magician like a volley of arrows.  Blood flew from the man’s surprised face as the stones passed through him and punched vital fluids out his other side.  Garret and his men all cried out with surprise and fear and their horses leapt and kicked.  The bald magician toppled over and splashed face down into the puddle at his feet, turning it crimson around him.

Samuel laughed again, but a sudden pain in his throat had him choking.  He dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck.  A spell had him caught tight and he had failed altogether to notice it forming.  If he had not been so busy choking, he would have damned himself for not concentrating more closely on his opponents.  With magic singing in his head and being almost delirious from fatigue, focussing his thoughts was proving quite difficult.

His eyes were squeezed shut in pain, but he sensed the other magician striding up beside him, intensifying the power of his spell to throttle the life out of him.  Samuel rallied and sent his own magic to work, desperately trying to undo the man’s spell, but it was already knotted tightly around his neck.

It was useless to fight a spell that had already taken hold, so Samuel decided instead to deal with its source.  He opened his eyes to find the magician standing over him, gloating, with a satisfied grin.  His hands were cupped as if he was strangling Samuel himself, shaping and guiding his spell with his gestures.  Samuel clenched his teeth against the pain and eyed the man sidelong.  It would take more than this to keep him from reaching his power.  He formed another spell of Moving, but this time, he sent his magic into the puddle around his feet.  He slapped one hand down to start the spell along and a splash of water flew up at the magician with a sound like suddenly torn cloth, passing through the man from his groin to his shoulder like a red-hot knife through butter.  The magician’s spell stopped at once and his mouth dropped open soundlessly.  His body dropped quietly to the gravelly quarry floor.

Still coughing, Samuel regained his feet and eyed Garret and his men darkly.

‘Gods and devils!’ Garret cried out.  ‘This magician is a fiend!’

He turned his horse and began away across the quarry as fast as it could carry him, kicking its sides as hard as he could.  His men followed him, screaming out curses and praying for their lives.

‘It’s not so easy,’ Samuel muttered to himself, for a thirst to see all these men dead had overtaken him.  ‘Fate has already handed me your deaths.’

His magic was waning now.  He could feel it slipping from his grasp even as he called for more, so he pushed his fingers together into a matrix of summoning and rallied one final burst of power.  The men were away towards the far end of the quarry, making for the distant opening, but Samuel gripped the earth firmly with his magic and sent a shudder of power into it.  The ground heaved and stones leapt as the spell raced away, sounding great shattering cracks as massive underground stones were cleft in two.  The wave of heaving earth flew out after the riders and struck them from behind, spilling the horses over and sending the riders sprawling onto their backs.

Samuel glanced up, momentarily distracted by the pattering rain and, at once, it ceased to fall.  He strode closer towards the men where they lay, stepping up and over the shattered rocks and jutting slabs of stone.  Each man was scrambling to crawl away on his hands and knees.  Samuel clenched his fists and gathered his final blow.  There was a brilliant flash of power and every stone in the quarry began rattling like coins in a beggar’s cup.  The men could find no traction as the earth shook beneath them and they wallowed about in the stony puddles, desperately clawing in all directions.  The ground shook faster and faster until it became like water and everything heavy began to sink into it.  The screams of men and horses still sounded as the rocks began to swallow them.  The men screamed and begged, trying to pull their own sinking bodies from the earth, but there was nothing to lend them purchase.  One by one, as they disappeared from view, their sounds of terror ceased.  When there were no more screams at all, Samuel released his spell and the ground eased its mournful rumbling.  There was no trace of man or horse at all.

‘Gods, Samuel!’ came a voice from behind.  ‘What have you done?’

Samuel turned around to see Master Glim standing not far behind him.

‘What kind of magic is this?’ his teacher asked.

‘Master Glim,’ Samuel responded.  He released his hold on the ether and all the giddiness of his magic vanished, leaving him feeling abruptly old and spent.  ‘I…I don’t know what came over me.’  With his power released, rain began to fall around them once more.

Master Glim shook his head.  ‘At times, you seem capable of the most monstrous feats, Samuel.  I’ve never seen such a terrible spell!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Samuel repeated.  The pleasure he had felt at hearing the men’s screams was now souring in his belly, turned to guilt.

‘It doesn’t matter.  We can speak of this later.  The others are far ahead.  We should go quickly.’

Two horses were still tied near the trees, left by Garret’s magicians and Samuel went over and took one in hand.  He stood there long moments, rigid, until Master Glim asked him, ‘What’s wrong, Samuel?’

‘I can’t get up,’ Samuel responded.  ‘I can’t lift my legs.’

Master Glim helped push him up onto the horse.  ‘You’ve overspent yourself once more, Samuel.  I don’t need to tell you how dangerous that is.’

‘I had no choice.  If I hadn’t, I would be dead now.’

‘The others are headed for Cintar.  We must be after them quickly.  Captain Garret’s company is still after us and there may be others on the road looking for us.’

Samuel nodded dumbly, for the words sounded like buzzing insects in his ears.  ‘Let’s go,’ he managed to say, fumbling the words out his mouth.

Samuel and Master Glim sped along the dark highway atop their mounts through the steady rain.  The old teacher’s mage-lights blazed ahead, flooding the road and roadside trees that flashed past with their bluish hue.  Soon the sun would rise, bringing Rimus one day closer to getting hold of the Staff of Elders—if he had not managed to do so already.  Samuel did not even dare to think about what would happen if they arrived too late.

Feeling his mount tiring beneath him, Samuel cast a little more energy into the horse.  There were only a few more hills until they made the next town, Nolanhull, and there it would be the last change until they reached the capital.  Samuel was exhausted, but he had no choice save to hold on and keep riding as best he could.  He remembered the warning that Grand Master Anthem had given him the last time.  Every time he overexerted himself, there was a greater chance that it would be fatal.  Even now, he half-felt like letting himself drop from his horse onto the muddy roadside and allowing death take him in its grip.  At least then he could have some rest.  Every particle of his body felt spent.  Foul bile kept leaping up into the back of his throat, reminding him that his body was wracked and wasted.  He felt like a dried husk of a man.

He looked over to Master Glim and determination was set on the teacher’s face.  Samuel could sense the man feeding power into him and he was thankful for it—it was the only thing keeping him in his saddle.

They had ridden hard since leaving the quarry, but they found no sign of Lomar and the others.  Neither did they meet any more soldiers bent on stopping them.  Several times, they passed regular highway patrols in the rain, but none made any attempt to hail them or slow them down.  Samuel only hoped his friends had made it to Cintar similarly unmolested.

Their hooves clattered across the Northbank Bridge soon after dawn and they galloped to the front of the queue that had formed before the North Gate.  A ruckus seemed to be going on and the guards were struggling to keep the crowds under control.

‘This is not good,’ Master Glim mentioned to Samuel.  ‘The city folk are restless.  Trouble could be afoot.’

The guards at the gate waved them through and the two magicians pushed their way into the city with due haste.

‘Where to now?’ Samuel asked.

‘We’re both exhausted and useless as we are,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘I suggest we get some rest and then we try to find the others.  I’m sure they have taken refuge somewhere also.’

‘Can we go to the school?’ Samuel asked.

Master Glim shook his head.  ‘I don’t think we should.  I don’t know what Rimus is planning, but it’s better we stay out of sight for now.’

‘That also leaves out the safehouse,’ Samuel said.  ‘General Ruardin’s men will know about it now.’

Master Glim nodded.  ‘We must assume that Rimus knows every place of refuge we have used so far.  We’ll go to an inn,’ he decided.

‘What about The Pride,’ Samuel suggested and then he continued upon noticing Master Glim’s puzzlement, ‘It’s an inn—a favourite of Eric’s.  I don’t know of anyone else who goes there.  It’s not too far from the palace.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Master Glim said with a nod.  ‘We’ll get a room and put our feet up for few hours or until we can find the others.  Niether of us is in any state to do much of anything.’

They agreed and began through the jostling streets, until Master Glim began to look uneasy.

‘We’re far too conspicuous on these mounts and in these clothes,’ he said.  ‘We’d better get rid of them.’

They dismounted next to a farrier’s hearth, where the blacksmith was too busy hammering on a rod of radiant steel to notice them.  Instead, the apprentice came running over to meet them.

‘Watch these for a few moments, will you?’ Master Glim asked.  ‘We’ll be back in a moment to speak with the smithy.’ And, with that, they walked off.

They took the quieter streets and alleys, always winding down towards the sea.  As they were crossing one particular street, Samuel looked to his left and almost choked when he saw a group of soldiers marching towards them.  Black cloth could be seen amongst them.

‘I’d say we’ve been noted,’ Master Glim remarked without even a turn of his head and they crossed over into the opposite narrow street.  ‘Hurry.’

They quickened their pace and began to run down the paved street.  As they turned another bend, Samuel could hear shouts and the sound of hurrying boots following behind.

‘We’ll head towards the southern quarter,’ Master Glim said.  ‘Once we lose them, we’ll make back for the inn.’

‘This way,’ Samuel said and they squeezed into a narrow gap between two buildings.  It opened onto a bare yard and Samuel and his teacher darted through, opening a weather-stained, wooden gate, loose on its squeaky hinges, and stepping out into another busy street.  Samuel could feel his heart inside his chest, beating loudly and quickly.  He was operating on his last bare shreds of energy.

‘I think this must be Cherry Street,’ Master Glim mentioned.

They continued on at a brisk pace, with Samuel taking the occasional glance over his shoulder to peer through the crowd, but he could see no sign of their pursuers.

‘In here!’ Samuel called as they passed a series of cloth merchants and he led the way into a tailor’s store.

‘What are we doing in here?’ Master Glim asked, eyeing the racks of clothing along the walls.  The place smelled like all tailors.  Moth-fluid cups sat in the corners, giving off a bitter smell that kept all the ravenous insects away from the precious fabrics.

‘Getting a disguise,’ Samuel told him.  ‘It’s something I learned from Eric.  We need to get out of these magician’s clothes.’

‘Good idea,’ Master Glim replied, looking nervously to the door, ‘but we may not have much time.’

The tailor emerged from the back room with a needle and length of thread still in his hands.  ‘May I help you, My Lords?’ the man asked.

Samuel quickly snatched up two long tunics from beside him.  ‘These will do.’

‘Ah,’ the tailor remarked.  ‘Very fashionable.  Perhaps you would like something similar with a sturdy black dye suitable for the Order?’

‘No, thank you,’ Samuel replied.  ‘We’ll take these.’

Samuel pushed by the man and went behind a tall divider.  Master Glim followed closely.  They both stripped to their undergarments and began to pull the tunics over their heads.

‘If I may be of assistance?’ the tailor inquired and came over, helping them both adjust their new clothes and tie the drawstrings at their waists.  ‘The fitting is really not appropriate,’ he said with a shake of his head.  ‘Perhaps if you give me some time I can adjust them accordingly.’

‘No need,’ Master Glim insisted and he pressed a handful of coins into the tailor’s palms.  The man could only bow deeply and smile.

Samuel’s outfit was a pale blue, while Master Glim’s was a grassy green.  They both looked rather strange and Samuel felt half-naked, as he had not worn clothes that revealed his legs since he was a small boy.

‘I hope you enjoy your new clothes,’ the tailor expressed with a grand smile.

‘Well,’ Master Glim mentioned as they went to the door, ‘we certainly look…unusual.  No one will certainly be picking us for magicians in a hurry.’

Samuel managed a smile as they exited the tailor’s store.  ‘I think we look rather fetching.’

Peeking outside, they saw no sign of any guards or magicians, so they began again down the street, this time at a much more leisurely pace.  The street here led directly to the central market and so was bustling with activity.

After they were jostled and bumped too many times, Master Glim turned to Samuel.  ‘I think we should find a quieter route.’

They pushed their way to the side of the street towards a quiet laneway.  They could take some back streets for a while and avoid the crowds.

As they squeezed through the people, Samuel noticed an extremely short man, barely reaching to his waist, jostling tightly at his side.  Samuel gave the little man a questioning glance and the fellow looked back at him, baring a puckish smile.  Samuel turned to Master Glim to say something, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Master Glim’s eyes opened wide.  The crowd around them seemed to act as one and fell in upon the two colourful magicians.  Someone had Samuel around the legs and he toppled over.  As he struggled on the ground, something hard and heavy struck him fair on the head, and the last thing Samuel saw was the sky spinning up and around him and a big, mischievous grin.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Empire and Order

SAMUEL LOOKED OUT through the iron bars and sighed.  He surveyed the world outside with his chin cupped in his hands and with his elbows set upon the dusty windowsill.  Through the small opening he could not see very much, but the shadows upon the ground far below were stretching longer under the late afternoon sun.  Tiny people were moving in the courtyards and gardens beneath them—dark splashes of magicians strolling, glinting soldiers striding, and coloured officials and servants scurrying, going about their duties.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Samuel said.  ‘I can’t stand it any more.’  The words caught in his dry throat.  He could feel the magic surge and beckon just beyond his reach, but he could not touch it.  He felt hollow inside—empty—as if his innards had been torn out and just a dry husky shell was all that was left for him to inhabit.

‘Try not to think about it,’ Master Glim said, sitting up against the wall on the floor.  He did not bother to look up, but kept tracing letters on the dusty cell floor with his finger.  ‘We can depend on the others to help us.  They should come up with some plan to save us soon, assuming they even know we’re here, of course.’

‘It’s been two days already.  They could have been caught by now or worse.  It’s probably all over by now, anyway.’

‘Calm now, Samuel,’ the level-headed teacher told him.  ‘That’s not like you.  I’m sure the others are fine and I’m sure nothing has happened yet or we would know about it.’

‘Well, there’s something going on out there,’ Samuel said, straining his head against the bars to see as directly downwards as possible.  ‘They’re looking busier than before.  There are guards everywhere.’

‘But they’re not running and screaming.  That’s what we should be worried about most.  Until that happens, we know we still have some time to act.’

‘You’re right,’ Samuel said, and turned away from the window with a sigh.

For the second time in his life, he had awoken to find himself locked in the Mage Cell.  Master Glim had been sitting beside him, chewing on an old crust of bread that had been thrust under the door.  They were both still dressed in their coloured tunics, but they were considerably scuffed and dirtied all over.  The last couple of nights had not been kind to them and Samuel just hoped he did not look as bad as Master Glim.

‘I feel so terrible,’ he moaned plaintively.

After a few empty moments, Master Glim responded.  ‘I know.  Don’t dwell on it.  It will only make it worse.  Just be glad we’ve had time to rest.  You certainly needed it.  I’ve had to stop the guards from taking you away twice.  You slept so long that I think they thought you were dead.  It was only your infernal snoring that finally convinced them otherwise.’

‘I can certainly think of other places I would have preferred to stay,’ Samuel stated.  ‘And I would have slept much better if I hadn’t been lying on a stone floor.’

He pushed his head against the bars once more.  There was little else to do up here, except peer out the window as far as was possible.  People were still skittering around down below, but there was nothing that hinted at an imminent rescue.

The solitude of the Mage Cell chilled his heart.  For his second time within it, he felt no better.  In fact, the longer he was held away from the touch of magic, the smaller and colder he felt.  Samuel turned away from the window and stalked around the small square cell, rubbing at his forehead in frustration.

He had barely turned away, when a grunt from the window caught his attention and a man’s legs suddenly dropped into view outside the bars.

Samuel pressed his face against the bars and gawked at the tall man swinging around outside.  ‘Lomar?’ Samuel said, peering between the bars.  ‘When did you learn to fly?’

‘I didn’t,’ Lomar grunted, his face now visible beyond the bars, creased with effort.  ‘I’m on a rope—and it’s cutting me in half!’

‘What are you doing out there?’ Samuel asked incredulously.

‘Trying to set you free…and trying not to kill myself in the process!’

‘How, may I ask?’  Master Glim questioned, coming to stand beside Samuel.

‘Spells work perfectly fine out here,’ Lomar explained.  ‘Once I get you out, you will be able to spell as much as you please.  Now, if you will.’

‘Step back,’ Master Glim urged as Lomar began a spell.

Samuel did as instructed, while Lomar began to concentrate his energy upon the cell window.  His spell took hold of the bars, which began twisting and turning as the magic did its work.  Flecks of mortar began popping into the air and, one by one, each bar groaned and snapped and clunked onto the floor with a resounding clang.

‘Not bad,’ Master Glim noted, examining the cleared window.  The stubs of the bars were hot to the touch and Master Glim’s finger hissed as he tested one.  ‘Ai!’ he spat and shook his fingers in the air and sucked on the injured digit.  Samuel managed a smile and shook his head at his teacher.

‘Come now!’ Lomar urged with a grunt as he struggled with his makeshift harness.  ‘Get out of there before I fall to my death.’

Samuel was first into action.  He pushed his head out the window and observed the ground far below.  It was distressingly far to the ground and he felt his heart lurch in his chest.  He gulped and closed his eyes a moment, trying hard to calm himself.

‘Master Pot and Master Goodfellow are assisting me,’ Lomar noted, ‘but my poor stomach can only take so much.  Try to hurry along!’

‘Can it hold both of us?’ Samuel asked.

‘It may,’ Lomar responded.  ‘But I do not think that the Erics can.  They can only take our combined weight for a moment—long enough for you to get out of the cell and cast yourself a spell.  I hope you have something suitable ready.’

Samuel nodded.  He reached out and grabbed the rope just above Lomar’s head, and pulled himself slowly out.  Despite his efforts, they both began to swing around and worried shouts of distress sounded from above.

‘Quickly, Samuel!’ Lomar urged frantically, as they slowly spun in the same place.

Samuel felt helpless as he clung to the rough rope for all he was worth.  A long fall awaited him should he slip and the dizzying heights made him all the more giddy.  It did not even seem a particularly sturdy rope, all coarse and fraying.  Magicians often lacked the more practical skills in life, Samuel quickly noted, such as being able to choose a decent rope and a more effective way of fixing it to Lomar, who looked to be in great discomfort.

Samuel could feel his energy returning and the giddiness from the height was replaced with excitement as his magic returned to him.

‘Samuel!’ Lomar hissed.

Samuel remembered himself and quickly cast out a spell.  He pushed his feet out against the tower wall and then his hands followed, so that he clung to the side of the tower like a spider.  He still felt nervous, hanging so far above the ground, but a smile lit his face as he enjoyed the taste of magic again.

It was then Master Glim’s turn and he, too, popped his head out the window.  He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the ground far below.  People were still busy down in the palace grounds but, so far, none seemed to have noticed them.  Master Glim sucked his bottom lip, no doubt imagining what would happen should he fall.

‘Master Glim,’ Lomar urged.  ‘Hurry!  My stomach can’t take much more of this!’

In a moment, Master Glim had mustered his own skills and was out beside Samuel.  The man looked terrified as he clung to the wall, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.  Samuel examined his teacher’s spell.  It was not really so great in strength, but quite a mastery of efficiency.

‘You two look like a couple of overgrown butterflies,’ Lomar remarked with a grin, referring to their brightly coloured tunics.

Samuel made a sour face.  ‘You don’t like my tunic?  It’s very popular with some.’

‘Yes,’ Master Glim agreed, ‘—with women!  It was all his idea.  Little good it did us.’

Lomar started to laugh and then coughed.  His face was turning bright red.

‘Down?’ Samuel asked him, looking far below.

‘Up! Up! Up!’ Lomar exclaimed excitedly and began quickly tugging on the rope.

With a jerk from above, he began to rise, bumping and banging into the wall, grunting and muttering each time.  Samuel took one last look inside the Mage Cell.  He hoped he never saw its insides again.  Nothing had made him feel that terrible for a long time—not since he had lost Leila.  It was a different kind of feeling, but it filled him with the same strange despair and hopelessness.

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim said, ‘can you set one of your illusions inside?  We don’t want to be missed.’

It took a moment to become calm enough to cast another spell; then Samuel formed an illusion of himself and Master Glim, and set them in the cell.  Thankfully, the spell held true and the two images sat quietly beside each other on the floor.  Samuel grinned.  Turning right side up, he followed Master Glim and the grunting Lomar up the tower’s side.

‘You should try our way,’ Samuel suggested to his lean friend.

‘No, thank you,’ Lomar said.  ‘I would not like to see what would happen if you sneezed and forgot your spell, or a mage below noticed you and negated it.  Despite the discomfort, this rope is doing me fine.’

‘That’s true,’ Samuel said, with a sudden uncomfortable realisation, and he quickened his pace up the wall.

Samuel leapt over the top of the tower and landed beside a surprised Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow, both straining with the remains of a long coil of rope.

‘Samuel!’ they exclaimed together.

Master Glim followed him over and then an exceedingly bruised and buffeted Lomar clawed his way over the tall stones.  The two Erics collapsed with relief as his weight finally left their hands.  Their faces were red and their gloveless hands were raw and blistered.  Samuel shook his head at them once more.

‘What has happened?’ Samuel asked.

‘The ceremony is due to begin within the very hour,’ Goodfellow answered.  ‘Empress Lillith has vanished and General Ruardin has his men in a frenzy searching for her.  The city folk don’t yet know about her disappearance, but when they find out the city will fall into a state of turmoil!’

‘What has happened to Grand Master Anthem?’ Master Glim asked.

‘He’s also nowhere to be found,’ Eric explained.  The wind was stronger up here and it tugged at their clothes and whistled amongst the tower-top stones.  ‘As we guessed, Rimus has somehow removed the Grand Master from the scene and we fear for the worst for him.  We have been blamed for everything!’

Samuel shivered in his thin tunic as it flapped and stuck to his skin.  ‘So everyone who could possibly stop him is out of his way, except for us.  What about Ash?’ he asked.

‘He still hasn’t been seen,’ Eric responded.  ‘We have to be very careful who we speak to in the Order.  Nobody knows whom to trust any more.’

‘We’ll discuss it downstairs,’ Master Glim said, himself shivering.  ‘It’s a little too open here and far too windy for my liking.’

They all agreed and Eric lifted the heavy trapdoor and they descended into the tower.

They crept down the first narrow flight of stairs, past the door to the Archmage’s chambers.  The other upper levels seemed deserted, but they grew more and more cautious as they descended.  As they passed the level of the Mage Cell, Lomar urged them all to keep absolutely silent.

‘This level is full of guards,’ he whispered after they had passed the sturdy entrance.  ‘After Samuel’s previous escape, they’re not taking any chances.  I hope your illusions fool them long enough for us to do our work.’

‘My spells will hold,’ Samuel whispered back.  ‘The rest has done me wonders.  As long as they don’t ask us any questions and they expect us to actually do nothing but sit and look blankly at each other, the illusions will fool anyone.’

‘With luck, our escape will not be noticed,’ Master Glim said.  ‘The councillors will all be busy with the ceremony and the guards won’t be bothered to ask us about anything—I hope.’

After they had descended several more flights of curling stairs, Master Glim stopped and put his ear carefully to an ornate door.  After a moment he turned the brass handle and ventured in.  ‘In here,’ he whispered.

They crept inside the small chamber, which seemed to be someone’s living quarters.  There was a large bed set against the wall, and some black robes hung on a stand by the door.

‘This is Lord Irshank’s chamber,’ Master Glim informed them.  ‘I presume he is in the assembly room now, so we should be able to talk here uninterrupted.  But first things first.  I’ve got to get out of this ridiculous tunic.’  And he scowled again at Samuel.

‘So what do we do?’ Goodfellow asked, as Master Glim and Samuel began looking over Irshank’s enormous robes.

‘We have to keep Rimus from taking possession of the Staff of Elders,’ Samuel stated.

‘Yes,’ Lomar agreed.  ‘He’s made us all out to be traitors and set himself up to be Archmage.  We have to stop him.’

‘Can we ask the councillors for help?’ Eric questioned.

Master Glim shook his head.  ‘No.  They may have been planning this with Rimus all the while.  Either that or they’ve been fooled by him.  As Eric said, we don’t know whom, if anyone, we can trust.’

‘But Rimus is waiting for the ceremony, so all the councillors can’t be aligned with him, or he would just have them undo the Manyspell around the Staff and hand it to him now,’ Goodfellow said.

‘True,’ Master Glim responded, ‘but any one of them could be with Rimus, and we don’t know which ones.  Once we act, our advantage of surprise is lost, so we’d better get this right first time.’

‘We could just find Rimus and kill him,’ Eric suggested.  ‘That would solve a lot of our problems.’

Master Glim nodded.  ‘We could, but we need to ferret out all the conspirators from the Order once and for all.  Rimus could be just another pawn and, if we simply killed him, we may never find the true masterminds behind all this.  It’s all become very convoluted and I cannot believe Rimus has orchestrated all this alone.  No, we need to know where the Grand Master and the Empress are and we need to find Dividian and Master Ash.  Once we do that, we can finally finish this sorry mess.’  He had slipped on one of Irshank’s robes and was securing it with cords—for it was far too big for him.  ‘But first, we need to stop this infernal ordination.’

‘Wait,’ Samuel said.  ‘What happened to Captain Orrell?’

‘After we returned to the city, he went to speak with General Ruardin,’ Lomar responded, ‘but we have not heard from him since.  Who can guess what has happened?’

‘So what do we do?’ Goodfellow asked of those around him.

‘We must hurry,’ Samuel suggested.  He had begun to rummage through Irshank’s drawers and had found a faded old cloak that seemed almost the right size.  ‘The ceremony is about to begin.  Rimus will be Archmage and he will have his hands on the Staff of Elders.  Whatever he has been planning will be that much closer to him and our task will be much more difficult.  I say we go in there now and confront him while we can.’

Master Glim eyed Samuel back levelly while he contemplated the idea.

Eric nodded.  ‘I agree.  The room will be full, but it may be the last chance we have.  The Lions will support us at the very least.’

‘If we’re lucky, we can reveal Rimus’ plans for what they are and there won’t be any need for violence,’ Goodfellow put in.

Master Glim looked at Lomar.

‘I think we have little choice,’ the tall man responded.

Master Glim looked unconvinced and he chewed the thought over for a few moments.  ‘Our plans seem based on hunches and hope.  I was hoping for something a little more sound.’

‘If we can at least make our accusations before the entire gathering, it will grant us some time,’ Lomar said.

‘Then let’s go,’ Master Glim finally declared.  ‘We have precious little time, but let’s take care—be prepared for anything.’

They all agreed and cautiously left the room, with Master Glim and Samuel in their borrowed, ill-fitting robes.

They reached the bottom of the tower without passing a soul and entered the palace proper, nodding to the busy servants they met there.  They walked the many long halls without incident and crossed over to the High Tower.  They began up its stairs towards the assembly chamber, where small events and meetings could be held.  Guards were hurrying all about, but they paid the group no heed.

When they reached the third level they branched away from the stairs towards the assembly chamber, following the long rolls of red carpet.  Two armed men met them at the wide single door to the room.

‘Strange to see such men at an Order ceremony,’ Samuel noted.

‘That’s to ensure Rimus’ plans all go to plan—so to speak,’ Master Glim replied.  ‘This is anything but a normal Order ceremony.’

The two men seemed to recognise the group for who they were and were reaching for their swords when they both slumped to the floor, put to sleep with a flick of Master Glim’s wrist.

Samuel stepped over them and led the way into the assembly chamber.  It was an imposing room, easily able to seat two or three hundred people on its long rows of benches.  The chamber was full of magicians who were buzzing with talk but, luckily, the ceremony had not yet begun.  Most of those gathered were younger Masters, while the minority were many of the old magicians who had missed the slaughter in the palace and had now come to Cintar to witness the new Archmage being appointed.  Some stood in the aisles and talked in small groups with each other, while the elder mages sat soberly in their places, waiting patiently.  There had not been a new Archmage in most men’s lifetimes, so the event was cause for quite some interest.

The Staff of Elders stood in the centre of the staged area, held upright on an ornate stand of polished, curved wood.  Samuel could see an intricate web of spells around it—five spells from five different people, and they were tied in a marvellous way—simultaneously cast to be intertwined and interdependent in an ingenious knot of magic.  Each spell would need to be removed simultaneously in order to get at the Staff.  Given time, Samuel was sure he would be able to defeat such measures—as when he had dispelled the Emperor’s protection spells—but he doubted that anyone here would be willing to give him the opportunity.

The councillors were seated in the front row and, as Samuel looked down, Lord Vander, shortest amongst the men, turned and spotted him.  The man’s eyes opened wide and he began alerting the other councillors at once.  Samuel leapt down the stairs and the others followed, but the councillors had already stood up to intercept them.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Lord Hathen boomed up at them, standing in the aisle and blocking their path with his hefty frame.

Lord Vander put his hands on his waist and cleared his throat.  He glared at Samuel and looked set to explode.  ‘You people are wanted felons!  You should not be here!’ he stated angrily.  ‘And you!’ he looked directly at Samuel, ‘have escaped once again from the Mage Cell!  This cannot be tolerated!  That blasted thing is useless!’

‘Hold a moment, Lord Vander,’ Master Glim urged with a raised palm.  ‘We had nothing to do with the Emperor’s death, or that of the Archmage.  That was plain for everyone to see and we have no idea of what has happened to the Empress.’

‘You are a disgrace, Master Glim!’ Master Irshank bellowed, making his drooping chins wobble about furiously.  He then looked about the room.  ‘Somebody go fetch some more guards.’

‘Such nerve!’ Lord Butler said from behind, adding to the other councillors’ disdain.

Samuel noticed two cloaked figures quietly stand and approach from the side of the room.  Their auras spoke of power and they were readying their spells.  Samuel looked around, hoping to spy the five Lions, but the celebrated magicians were nowhere to be seen.

‘We have to stop the ceremony, My Lords,’ Master Glim went on.  ‘High Lord Rimus cannot be Archmage.’

‘Nonsense,’ Irshank stated defiantly.  ‘The ceremony will go on.’

‘At least delay it another few days,’ Lomar urged.  ‘Wait for Grand Master Anthem to return.  Wait for the Empress to be found.’

Samuel could feel the tension of magic building in the chamber, and he realised that a confrontation was inevitable.  He began to gather his own power in response.

‘That layabout!  No one has seen him in days,’ Irshank stated.  ‘He’s no better than the lot of you.  He was probably even helping you with your vile plot to ruin the Empire.  Now I will give you two choices.  You can sit down and shut up or get out!  Either way, you can all expect to be facing the most severe punishment when this is over.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the Empress decides to hang you from the highest yard-poles—whenever they find her.  I’m sure General Ruardin will certainly be interested in getting his hands on you.’

‘Don’t you think it’s strange?’ Master Glim asked the councillors, ‘that just when the Empress vanishes, Grand Master Anthem also disappears and High Lord Rimus still insists on going on with the ceremony before any of this can be resolved?  Why would it matter to postpone the ceremony for a few more days—a week, even?’

‘No,’ Irshank replied defiantly, ‘I don’t think it’s strange at all.  The Empire is in danger of falling into chaos and what it needs is a figurehead—a stout Turian who knows the people and knows what they want!  We need the power of the Staff ready to protect us.  The city is on the verge of revolt.  We need a new Archmage now!’

‘The Empire will not collapse in a matter of days, Lord Irshank,’ Master Glim told the weighty lord.   ‘What we need to do is move slowly and carefully so we don’t do anything foolish.’

‘I don’t care what you believe,’ Irshank retorted.  ‘The ceremony is going ahead and High Lord Rimus will be Archmage before the afternoon is done.’

‘But Rimus can’t be Archmage,’ Samuel insisted.  ‘He set a trap for us in Hammenton!  He is probably in league with Ash and Master Dividian and who knows who else!’

‘What’s that?’ came a voice, smooth as honey, as Rimus stepped into view at the front of the room, appearing from behind a set of heavy, velvet curtains.  ‘Why can’t I be Archmage?’ And all eyes turned to him as he stepped towards the Staff of Elders in the centre of the chamber.

‘Damn you, Rimus,’ Master Glim shouted at the man.  ‘What have you done with Grand Master Anthem?’

High Lord Rimus merely smiled.  ‘Done with him? Why nothing.  I don’t have a clue where he could be—out looking for the Empress, I imagine.  If he turns up and can validate your fantastic story, I’ll pass the Staff on to him for safe keeping—how does that sound?’

‘That’s a lie!’ Eric spat out.  ‘What have you done with him?’

‘Ugh!’ Rimus voiced with disdain.  ‘I have no patience for such barbarianism!  You Outlanders can be so terribly vulgar.’

Eric was set to launch himself forwards, clenching his fists tight, but Lomar held him firm.

‘We can beat him,’ Samuel whispered to Master Glim.

‘No, Samuel,’ Master Glim said surely.  ‘It’s too dangerous.  This room is full of power.’

A grand smirk crawled across Rimus’ face.  ‘Call the guards.  Take them away,’ he called out.  ‘Use any means necessary.’

With that, everyone who had not already done so began to ready spells.  Some magicians, most notably the younger ones, began hurrying up the aisles and out through the chamber door, fearful of what might unfold, while others gathered nearer, readying to support one side or the other.  Samuel looked from the corners of his eyes.  The two mysterious magicians loomed near, dripping with power of blinding silver.  Sweat began to trickle down Samuel’s brow.  His magic swelled to the brim and he set himself to loose it free—but Master Glim called out above the din that had arisen in the room.

‘What a room full of fools!  Calm yourselves down.  There’s no need for lost tempers.  It can only bring misfortune upon us all to unleash our spells here.  Magicians must never use magic against one another!  It’s against everything we have worked for.  Everyone sit down, take a breath and start using your heads.’

At that, a few faces relaxed.  Samuel felt the goosebumps on his skin subside and he, too, let his power slowly recede in turn as the room returned to calm.

Master Glim turned back towards Rimus.  ‘We concede, High Lord Rimus.  Continue with the ceremony.  We will not hinder you any further and you can deal with us how you wish afterwards.  We were only trying to establish the truth here.  We can just as easily do that after the ceremony, can’t we?  Go on.  Take your Staff.’

Samuel looked to his teacher in an effort to ascertain the man’s intentions, but Master Glim gave nothing away and Samuel dared not ask now.  Rimus wrinkled his brow and looked doubtful; then he made a narrow smile.

‘As you wish, Master Glim,’ he conceded.  ‘Take your seat and we shall continue.  When we are finished here, you will be dealt with.’

‘Master Glim!’ Eric began, but Master Glim silenced him with a stern glance.

‘Come,’ Master Glim urged them, ‘let’s sit quietly and watch.’

The magicians in the chamber all gradually returned to their places, mumbling and bickering amongst themselves as they went.  When Samuel and his group had seated themselves a few benches back, Goodfellow whispered over to Master Glim.

‘What are we going to do?’ he asked.

Master Glim again raised a calming palm.  ‘We cannot risk such a confrontation here.  We must wait for another chance.’

‘But we can’t let him take the Staff,’ Samuel whispered.  ‘Once he has it, none of us will be able to stop him.’

‘What would you have us do, Samuel?’ Master Glim hissed, for the first time showing signs of ill temper, ‘—start a battle here?  The palace would fall down around us and we’d all be killed.  We must wait and see what will unfold.’

Samuel conceded and sat back in his seat.

‘Then, let us continue,’ Lord Irshank called out, ‘and, after all this ruckus, I think we’ll just omit all the formalities and get straight to the heart of the matter.’

In front of them, High Lord Rimus has taken a seat on a nearby seat, casually crossing his legs, while the five councillors who had bound the Staff of Elders—Lords Vander, Irshank, Butler, Needle and Joneson— now formed a circle around it.  They began to spell and Samuel could feel that their power was intensely focused.  Their weaves struck out at the Staff and their spells then began to intermingle.  Samuel marvelled at the sight, for the five men were acting entirely by feel.  They had no way of directing their weaves visually as Samuel could.  They continued for a long while, slowly untying their own knots of power, releasing the knots of the spells beside them.  Eventually, Samuel could see that the process was almost done and they began to quicken their pace as their dispelling neared its end.  Sweat was beading on their foreheads and, finally, the Manyspell lock around the great Staff of Elders fell away and was gone.

‘What do we do now?’ Eric whispered to Master Glim.

‘I don’t know,’ was their teacher’s only reply and Samuel realised that the man really did not have any plan at all.

‘Is it done then?’ Rimus asked and, on spying a weary nod from Lord Irshank, he stood up and went over to the Staff of Elders.  ‘Wonderful!’ he said and plucked the Staff out of its cradle.  He began turning it over and examining the thing in his hands, looking very pleased.

‘The Royal Guard are here!’ someone called down from the doorway.

Rimus glanced up, looking very pleased.  ‘At last!  Tell them they can take these traitors away.’

A golden-armoured soldier stepped through the doorway, but it was not some lowly guard as Rimus expected.  It was General Ruardin, himself.

‘What’s going on here?’ he shouted out across the chamber as a host of soldiers began to file in and line the walls on either side of him.  Captain Orrell came in last and stood beside the general.  He looked quite flushed and he seemed anxious.

Rimus’ smile seemed to lose some of its sincerity and his lips began twitching around the edges, as if tired of their unnatural pose.  ‘Thank you for coming, General!’ Rimus called up to the imposing general.  ‘You’re just in time.  The traitors have finally been caught.  You can take them away with you now.’

Ruardin shook his head and walked part-way down the stairs.  ‘I don’t think so.  I understand that there is more going on here than I have been told.’  And he looked around the chamber, scrutinising the magicians there.  Everyone seemed to squirm under his gaze.  ‘I’m fed up with you magicians and your schemes.  What’s happening here?  Why wasn’t I told of this?’

‘We didn’t think you needed to know,’ Lord Irshank replied.  ‘With all the events in the palace, we didn’t want to trouble you.’

‘I need to know everything!’ Ruardin boomed and every magician in the room shrank back, for the man’s presence was overpowering.  ‘What gives you all the nerve to hold this ceremony without my knowledge or consent?  What gives you all the right to hand out the Staff of Elders as if it were a child’s plaything?’

‘It’s Order business, General,’ the stocky Lord Vander replied defiantly.

‘There is no Order business!’ Ruardin shouted back.  The veins in his temples were staring to pulse with anger.  ‘Everything is Empire business!  Your precious Staff of Elders belongs to the Empire, and the Empire, not the Order, chooses whom to give it to and when to give it!’

‘Excuse us, General,’ Vander peeped, but Ruardin barely heard him.

‘I want this ceremony to cease,’ Ruardin continued, ‘and I have questions for all of you—especially you, High Lord Rimus!  From this point on, I am assuming you are all guilty of treason until the Empress is found and some questions can be answered.’

Rimus surprised the room by laughing out loud and all eyes turned to him with disbelief.  Few people would dare scoff in the general’s presence.

‘You old goat!’ Rimus said.  His grin now looked evil and quite out of place, somehow not suited to his face.  Samuel sensed a change in his attitude.  Even his voice seemed different, somehow awfully familiar.  ‘I couldn’t care less about your Empress or your pathetic Empire.  All I have ever wanted is power—and now I have it!  You see, the ceremony has already finished and with this, the Staff of Elders, in my hands, no one—least of all you, General—can stop me.’

‘What!’ Ruardin roared out, putting his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Lord Vander looked highly confused.  ‘What do you mean, High Lord Rimus?  What are you talking about?’

‘Prepare for the end!’ Rimus called out, as if his words were enough to strike everyone down.  He began to lift the Staff of Elders, intent on wielding its power, but a knife flew across the room in an instant, past Rimus and biting into the wall behind him.  Samuel looked up and saw that Captain Orrell was standing primed, having thrown the narrow blade himself from far across the room.

Rimus reached up to his neck, where the skin was sliced from front to back.  A thin, red line traced around across his throat and a gush of bright fluid burst out, jetting blood across the floor.  Rimus dabbed at the wound with his hand and then looked at his bloodied fingers with disbelief written on his face.  The room was silent.  All were waiting with their mouths hanging open, for the wound was surely mortal.

‘Gods!’ someone cried out.

‘They’ve killed him!’ gasped another.

Strangely, the blood stopped flowing after that first gush and Rimus’ horror became a look of amusement.  ‘Oh, no,’ he said calmly.  ‘You can’t kill me quite so easily.  I haven’t been around so long without learning a few tricks of my own.’

Rimus then reached up and scratched at the wound on his neck and, much to everyone’s surprise, he dug his nail into the flesh and pulled away a large piece of his own throat.  Instead of howling in pain, Rimus only smiled more as his face began to sag and fall away in chunks.  Everyone was aghast as the flesh seemed to fall from Rimus’ face as if he had, for some reason, literally begun to fall apart.

Slowly, Samuel realised what was happening.  Rimus’ hands went to his face and clawed away the dissolving flesh and skin and muck.  Recognisable beneath the dripping, wax-like skin was the face of Ash.  He stretched his arms back and laughed as he shook the sticky remnants of the other man’s guise from himself.

‘By the gods, Ash!’ Vander cried out.  ‘What have you done!’  The stocky man darted in deceivingly quickly and put both hands on the Staff of Elders.  Ash was taken by surprise and they both began to tussle over the long staff.

‘Give me that!’ Vander commanded.  He was stronger than the taller man had expected and looked about to tear the Staff from Ash’s grip.

‘Damn you, you horrid little dwarf!’ Ash swore out loud.

With that, Ash drew a small vial from his pocket and slapped it so it broke against Lord Vander’s head.  Vander began to scream at once.  He let go of the Staff and began reeling around and clutching at his face, screeching all the while.  His skin peeled back and his blood began boiling out from eyes and ears.  The other councillors stepped away in fear as Lord Vander’s body fell smoking and lifeless to the ground.  Even General Ruardin stood full of trepidation at the sight.

The congregation leapt to its feet as Ash laughed and drew another tiny vial from his pocket.  With glee, he then tossed it up into the fleeing crowd.  Panic erupted all around as the glass shattered onto a bench-back, splashing the hissing and smoking fluid all around.  The room was turned to anarchy as suddenly everyone was up and scrambling to escape.  They clambered over everything and each other to get up and away, and magicians began shouting and pushing up the aisle, throwing the Royal Guards aside in their haste to get out the door.

Ash only laughed again as muck continued to drop away from under his clothes.  He drew out another vial and whispered into it.  A white beam flashed out and turned a fleeing magician to thrashing screaming flames while those around him leapt aside, desperate to be away from the inferno.

General Ruardin had been pushed to the floor and was struggling to stand, while the councillors were all too aghast to do much of anything.

‘Come to me, fools, or be damned!’ Ash declared ferociously.  ‘Now is not the time to be yellow-bellied.  It’s kill or be killed!’

The barrel-chested Lord Hathen was the first to move.  He shook the fear from himself and scurried to Ash’s side, eyeing the chaotic scene around him with open-mouthed apprehension.  The two mysterious cloaked figures also came forward to stand by Ash and had their shields in place to stop any further attacks upon their master.

Lord Irshank stood stunned and full of bewilderment.  ‘Hathen!’ he cried.  ‘What are you doing?’ but the other man only scowled back at him.

‘Irshank!’ Ash declared.  ‘You’re a fool!  It’s too late now.  You’ve been helping me all along whether you knew it or not!  They’ll never believe you.  Kill these fools and I will give you everything I promised.  Back out now and they will have your head hanging from the palace walls, I swear to you!’

Irshank looked absolutely aghast.  He glanced about at his fellows in total disbelief.  Finally, he climbed up to stand beside Lord Hathen, looking quite forsaken.

‘Destroy them!’ Ash cried out, retreating behind his loyal servants.  He still pulled at the last shreds of matter that clung to his face, flicking them away like stubborn leaches.  Fluid and ooze dripped from his sleeves and slapped onto the floor.  He carried the Staff of Elders away and vanished back behind the curtains, leaving a trail of muck behind him.

At that, spells began to fly out into the fleeing crowd, but Master Glim threw a shield spell into place.  Lomar joined his spells with Master Glim’s and together they struggled to stop the volley of spells that pummelled them.

‘Well?’ Master Glim said to Samuel, and Samuel threw a spell up beside his teacher’s.  The two Erics quickly followed suit.

‘What’s happening here?’ Ruardin called out, having pushed through the fleeing magicians to stand behind Samuel and his friends.  People were still pushing their way out, but it would take some time yet before the room was emptied.

‘We’re trying to save everyone’s lives, General,’ Master Glim told him.  ‘I recommend you and your men leave at once.  This room may not be here much longer!’

‘Are you serious, man?’ Ruardin asked in disbelief.

Just then, a spell penetrated their shields and struck one of Ruardin’s Royal Guards as he was taking cover behind the benches.  The man screamed and burst into dust and bones.

‘Yes, General,’ Master Glim replied adamantly.  ‘I’m serious.  There’s nothing you or your men can do now.’  A bench beside Master Glim suddenly vanished, exploding up into the ceiling.

‘Very well, Master Glim,’ Ruardin said worriedly.  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Don’t worry, General.  Just take your men and wait downstairs.  Catch anyone that comes out of the tower.  If they don’t stop, kill them.  And if anyone but us comes out with the Staff of Elders…be prepared.’

Ruardin nodded gravely.  ‘I understand,’ he said, and began to back up the aisle as fast as someone of his proportion possibly could.  The magicians had all managed to escape and, with one gesture from the general, the soldiers hastened out also, leaping over bench-backs and up the aisle.  Captain Orrell was the last to leave, backing out of the chamber with concern engraved deeply on his face.

‘Eric!’ Master Glim called out with some difficulty.

‘Yes?’ Eric Pot answered beside Samuel.

‘Not you!’ their teacher growled.  ‘The other one!’

‘Oh, yes?’ Goodfellow responded, daring to open one of his eyes.

‘I want you to go out and help the general.  Send his men to find the Lions as fast as you can.  Ash may have sent them somewhere during the ceremony.  He obviously didn’t want them here, lest they interfere.  Find them and get them here as fast as you can.  Our lives may depend on it.’

‘Yes, Master Glim,’ Goodfellow said and hurried away, looking over his shoulder as spells kept shattering against their shields.  He was at the doorway and away in moments.

‘What are we going to do?’ Samuel asked.  ‘We can’t keep this up forever.  They’re pulling our spells to pieces!’

‘Don’t…worry,’ Master Glim responded with some difficulty.  ‘We just need a little…more…time.’  Just then, a spell came sizzling toward them and Master Glim matched it with one of his own.  ‘There!’ he cried with joy.  ‘Got it!’  The two spells hung in the air, locked together.

Another spell came forward and Master Glim guessed correctly once more.  His timing was impeccable and, again, he locked the spell in place.  The air buzzed with another spell and this time Lomar had it.

‘Well done!’ Master Glim shouted.

More and more spells came at them and Master Glim and Lomar caught as many as they could, until a knot of spells began to form above them.  Finally, Samuel realised what they were doing.  It was the Magicians’ Game.  Irshank, Hathen and the two unknown magicians also realised what was happening, and they desperately began trying to match Lomar and Master Glim’s counter-spells, for Samuel’s friends had the advantage to begin with.  The game had begun, and each side kept frantically throwing out spells to catch the other’s.  Whoever gained enough foothold in the game would have control over the combined power of all the spells above.  The energy trapped therein was growing and, when either side fell too far behind, the total sum could be used upon them.  All the while, they continued sending spells to check each other’s defences.  It was a cunning and complicated game of wit.

Samuel saw a spell coming and shot up a counter-spell of his own.  His aim was true and the two magics locked in place.

‘No, Samuel!’ Master Glim told him.  ‘You can’t help!  You and Eric must go after Ash.’

Samuel nodded, and stood to leave, but a spell flying forth had him ducking back down behind the seat in front of him.  If he and Eric left, Master Glim and Lomar would be outclassed and outnumbered by the four master magicians below.  The game would not last long.

Just then, a flurry of spells came pouring down from the doorway in volumes.  It was old Master Sanctus who had joined the fray, hobbling down the carpeted steps with magic pouring from his sleeves like streams of billowing ribbons.  There was a smile set on his face, like a mirthful boy, and he began trapping spells left, right and centre, throwing fake spells and trap spells all over to keep his opponents busy.

‘Hurrah!’ Lomar yelled with glee.

‘Go now!’ Master Glim commanded.  ‘We can last here!’

‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked.

‘Go!’

Samuel and Eric stood and raced back up the stairs.  Spells flew at their heels, but Master Glim protected them as they went, catching each spell and adding it into the game.  They made through the doorway and out into the abandoned hall, leaving the hiss and flashing of magic behind them.

‘Where are we going?’ Eric asked as they sprinted for the main stairway.

‘Where Ash is going,’ Samuel replied.  ‘For the Argum Stone.  I’m guessing he needs the Staff to finish awakening the thing.  Once he does that, he could be unstoppable.’

‘But what is going on, Samuel?’ Eric asked.  ‘What has been happening?  Where is Rimus?’

‘I don’t know,’ Samuel replied, jumping up the first flight of stairs.  ‘Probably dead.’

They made it up into the tower proper and ran down the hall to the next stairway.  The place seemed completely deserted.  Perhaps General Ruardin had cleared it upon Master Glim’s warning or perhaps everyone had simply run on sight of the other fleeing magicians.  They went up many levels and Samuel’s legs started burning before long and he could barely keep up the pace.  He found himself quickly wishing this tower had the same climbing spells set in it as the smaller Mage Tower.

Crossing another hall, they turned a corner to find three men waiting on the stairs.  They had swords ready in their hands and looked ready to kill.  Samuel assessed them in an instant—they were mercenaries.  Samuel and Eric stopped, labouring for breath and eyeing the men warily.

‘Turn back.  To come this way means your death,’ one man told them plainly and without flourish.  He had a strange lilting accent that meant he was definitely not Turian.  Samuel took him as the leader.

‘Let us pass!’ Samuel ordered, his chest still heaving.

The man shook his head slowly.  ‘Lullander!’ he called and a plain-clothed magician scuttled down the stairs from behind him, already preparing a spell.

The leader signalled and the other two mercenaries darted forward at the same time, brandishing their weapons.  Samuel immediately cast a spell and froze them in their places.

The leader swore and stepped back defensively, unsure.  ‘Lullander!’ he called out again in frustration.  ‘Don’t just stand there like a fool!  Do something!’

At that, the magician threw down a spell.  Samuel diverted it easily with a spell of his own, but in that instant, the mercenary leader had taken his opportunity, springing forwards, quick as lightning.  Equal doses of surprise and pain hit Samuel as the man’s fist collided with his cheek.  Eric yelled out in pain beside him and Samuel only recovered his senses in time to see the mercenary leader dance backwards, drawing his sword, slick and glistening from Eric’s belly.  Eric fell onto the carpet, howling aloud and clutching at his stomach as his blood poured free.

‘Eric!’ Samuel cried, but a flash of magic caught his attention as the magician, Lullander, spelled again.  It was the same spell as before—a simple binding spell that could potentially stop some vital function of the victim.  Samuel had already surmised that Lullander was a pitiful excuse for a magician and he had no trouble deflecting the spell again.  And this time, he threw one of his own back at the mage for good measure.  Lullander managed to catch Samuel’s spell with one of his own spell shields, but it left the man looking quite shaken.

‘What are you doing, Lullander!’ the mercenary shouted to his comrade.  ‘You really are a good-for-nothing!’

‘Blast!’ the magician replied.  ‘He’s too strong!’

With that, Lullander began backing up the stairs and then turned and fled.

‘Damn you, coward!’ the mercenary shouted after him.  He then turned and faced Samuel.  ‘Well, Magician.  You have bested us all.  If Lullander cannot defeat you, I will not risk my neck for this kind of venture.  You can pass.’  With that, he gave another flourish and a short bow.

Samuel was unsure and readied a spell to fling at the man.

‘Your friend seems mortally wounded.  Perhaps you should see to him before he loses any more of his blood.  Don’t waste your time on me if you want him to live.’

‘This isn’t a trick?’ Samuel asked warily.

‘No,’ the man replied and dropped his sword onto the carpeted stairs.  ‘It’s only money.  I don’t know what these magicians have been up to, but it’s clear they are not on the winning side.  I will gladly be out of here while you go and find whatever fate awaits you upstairs.  I apologise for the inconvenience.’

With that, he stepped neatly past Samuel and strode down the hall.  Samuel was certainly not bothered to chase him—Ruardin’s men would catch him downstairs—and he dropped to Eric’s side.

‘It really hurts!’ Eric said, clutching at his gushing wound.  His entire front was bathed in blood and Samuel guessed from the rate of it, the injury was serious.

‘Don’t worry,’ Samuel told him.  ‘I’ll help you,’ and quickly cast a spell to slow the bleeding.

‘Go!’ Eric howled out.  ‘You need to go after Ash.’

But Samuel was hesitant.  ‘You can’t stave off the bleeding by yourself, Eric.  If I leave you, you will die.’

‘No!’ Eric hissed through clenched teeth.  ‘I’ll be all right.  You can’t risk wasting any power on me.  If I can get myself to the others, they can save me.  Don’t worry.  I can manage.’

Something in Eric’s tone told Samuel he was hinting at something beyond the obvious.  It took him a moment to realise what it could be.  ‘You finished the Journey Spell?’

Eric gripped his arm with desperate strength.  ‘I’m sorry, Samuel!’ he declared.  ‘I didn’t want anyone to know.  It was more trouble than it was worth.’

‘Just go, now while you still have the strength.  I will stop the pain as much as I can.’  With that, Samuel did his best to lesson his friend’s discomfort.

‘That’s good,’ Eric said, opening his eyes and looking calm.  ‘Now get back.  You don’t want to be too close when this happens.’

Samuel did as he was told as a web of magic bloomed into being around his friend and immediately began weaving itself into an intricate design of utmost beauty and perfect symmetry.  It was as if a crystal web of delicate cross-spans and concentric circles had forged itself in the air.  Numerous opposite edges began knitting together, perfectly synchronised.

‘He’s doing it,’ Samuel heard himself whisper, just as the spell clicked into place and finished itself.

In that instant, Eric vanished.  His magic snapped down to an infinite point at its centre and vanished along with him, following Eric to wherever he had gone.  Unlike the last time, there was no terrible residue left behind.  Eric had formed the spell perfectly and had simply journeyed away.

Barely believing what he had just witnessed, Samuel turned away and began up the stairs, past the two frozen mercenaries.  He continued up stair after stair, climbing ever higher into the massive High Tower of Cintar.

Samuel could feel the magic of the Magicians’ Game still escalating below.  He only hoped his friends were up to the task.  With all the power he could feel in that room already, the losers would most likely not survive.

That was nothing, however, to what he could feel gathering above.  Somewhere above him in the Argum Stone’s chamber, something was gathering magic in enormous volumes.  Vast quantities of energy were being called into being—a massive pool of magic that already felt beyond all natural limits—and it was still growing by the moment.

Samuel hurried up the stairs past a few worried servants as they all fled down.  Presumably, they had bolted themselves in their rooms, but now the tower had begun to sway, they had decided that fleeing was the better choice.  Their concerned faces eyed the dust that shook loose from the ceilings and the walls as the tower shook and trembled.  It did not bode well.

Panting and with burning legs, Samuel finally arrived before the door to the Argum Stone’s chamber.  Magic was forming all around and gathering, bursting into existence and surging into the room.  Gingerly, Samuel tested the door, but it was bolted firmly.  Whatever was inside was incredibly dangerous and he was not even sure he wanted to go in.

‘You there!’ came a voice from along the hall.

It was the magician, Lullander.  He began to approach down the corridor, but his steps slowed and stopped when he recognised Samuel.  He turned and ran without a pause.  There were only a few more floors above in the tower, so Samuel assumed the man was going to go huddle out of view and bide his time until all this was over.

Samuel promptly returned his attention to the door.  There was little time left for subtleties.  He summoned a fist of energy and blew the thing right in.

A blinding, white light greeted him inside and he had to subdue his sense of sight to almost nothing just to see into the room.  Revealed within was an intense cloud of energy, convulsing and contorting above the Argum Stone, which itself was glowing white hot, cradled in a frame that held it upright.  Magic came from everywhere, manifesting from the very air, and was being sucked into the churning cloud.  It twisted and pulsed spasmodically, as if somehow trying to resist the forces that drew it together.  There was a noise in Samuel’s head like titanic stones grinding together and he could hear his own blood surging in his ears.  The experience was overpowering, almost too much to behold by his senses, yet he did not flee.  Standing in the room was something—someone—who had a stronger grip on his attention, outweighing any thoughts of turning away.  Standing there was a man that Samuel could not take his eyes off, for killing him had become the very reason for his existence.  Ash.

Ash was standing across the room, arms-folded, next to another black-cloaked magician.  It took Samuel a moment to realise that the second man was Master Dividian.  He had the Staff of Elders in one hand, outstretched towards the enormous form of the Argum Stone.  He was forging a Great Spell upon the ancient relic, pouring the tremendous power he had summoned with the Staff of Elders in upon it.  His eyes were sealed shut and his body shook with sweaty exertion.  Dividian’s lips were moving and Samuel could sense the vibrations of each word as they formed on his tongue in the Ancient Lick.  Dividian continued on, heedless of Samuel’s entrance, but Ash had clearly noticed him and smiled.

‘You’re just in time, Samuel,’ Ash called out.  ‘You’re about to witness something fantastic.’

Samuel stepped into the room and glared back at the man.

‘Doonan!’ Ash called out and a very small man came scuttling over from near one of the bookshelves.  He was barely waist-high and Samuel had not even noticed him before, although he certainly remembered him.  ‘The spell is almost ready.  Go and tell Balten his prize will be ready soon.’

‘I’m supposed to stay here,’ the midget responded in a fierce and squeaky voice.

‘Do as you’re told, you vile little man!’ Ash retorted.  ‘Balten will get what he wants, just go tell him to hurry up and come get it.  You may have some trouble downstairs, but I trust you can get out of the palace somehow.’

The midget shrugged and began to leave the room.  As he passed Samuel, he looked up with a secretive smile before scuttling out the door.

‘You have certainly proved yourself to be a thorn in my side, young Master Samuel,’ Ash then declared.  ‘Time and time again I think I am rid of you and then, once again, you appear to meddle with my affairs.’

‘I’m just trying to return the favour,’ Samuel returned.  ‘You ruined my life and I vowed I would not rest until I saw you dead.’

‘Well, this is the last time you shall bother me,’ Ash called, ‘for it is much too late for you to do much of anything.  As you can see, the spell is almost complete and the power of the Argum Stone is about to be released.  Nothing can stop it now.’

Samuel’s gaze flicked towards the great relic, which was starting to resonate with the power of the spell above it, shaking and rattling about in its magic-imbued wooden cradle.

Ash continued on.  ‘The Circle have been watching you, Samuel, or so I am told.  It seems you are quite the magician.  If I had managed to kill you, they would probably have been quite annoyed with me for ruining their plans.  Perhaps I should have let you join me.  We could have done wonderful things together.  Then again, you are quite useless to me now.’

‘You’re a thief and a murderer, Ash.  No matter what you say, I will see you dead before this day ends.’

Ash laughed again.  ‘You seem to have no comprehension of the situation.  Can you not see what is about to happen?’

‘I only speak the truth.  No mage can match me.  I have destroyed all who have tried.’

‘So it’s true then!’ Dividian said, pausing momentarily from his spell work to open his eyes and look at Samuel.  Almost straight away, he realised what he was doing and returned to the task at hand before his spells became unsettled.

‘So what would you be in my absence, Samuel?’ Ash asked.  ‘Would you be Archmage, or perhaps you have designs on being Emperor, too?  King of the world, perhaps?’

Samuel ignored the remark.  ‘I will kill you, Ash, as you killed my beloved and my family.’

Ash laughed so long and loud that Samuel clenched his fists with rage.  ‘Oh, you poor fool!  You’re telling me that you have been after me all along because one of my men killed your woman?  And what’s this about your family?  I’m sorry—did I happen to kill them, too?  Well, that’s a shame, but I really have no idea what you are talking about.  I kill many people every day, my naive young friend, and I certainly have no way of remembering one corpse from another.  I can’t believe you have been stumbling along all this time trying to kill me, when I really had no idea you even existed.  This really is quite amusing.’

Samuel was incensed by Ash’s demeanour.  He took a step forward and readied to throw a spell at the man that would tear him to pieces.

‘Oh, I’d stop there, if I were you,’ Ash called out.  ‘If Dividian’s spell is not finished properly, we could be in for quite a bad time.  You see, all the power in here has to go somewhere, and if it isn’t used to awaken the Argum Stone it will blow this tower to dust.  Don’t even think about using any of your magic.  One wrong spell could destabilise the whole process.’

At that, Samuel stopped and eyed the hideous knot of power above them.  Ash was probably right.

‘You see, it took me a long time to get where I am now, Samuel.  I have lied, manipulated, stolen, tortured, kidnapped and killed.  I have done every kind of foul, heinous and dishonourable act to claw my way to this point.  It’s amazing what you can achieve with a little perseverance.  With these two relics in my hands, I will be the new Emperor and ruler of the known world.’

At that, Dividian opened one beady eye towards Ash.

‘Keep going, Dividian, you damned fool!’ Ash told him.  ‘Stop now and there’ll be hell to pay!’

Dividian scowled but closed his eye and continued on, sweat pouring from his forehead in rivers.

‘Why?’ Samuel called out above the raging din.  ‘Why did you kill them?  What did they ever do to you?’

‘What?’ Ash asked with disbelief.  ‘Are you still going on about your pathetic family?  I don’t know, boy!  I don’t even know whom they were!  Asking me to remember a few names or faces is like asking me to remember which my favourite pebble on the beach is.  I began my life so poor and miserable that I began killing people almost as soon as I could hold a knife.  When I found out how easily fooled most magicians were, I could not resist joining the Order.  It was like finding the fattest, wealthiest, most stupid merchant in the world and having him ask me to mind the key to his front door for him.’

‘How could you bring the Order so low?’ Samuel asked him.  ‘How could a magician be so foul?’

Ash laughed with outright mirth.  ‘You mean you really don’t know?’ he asked incredulously.  ‘Oh, my boy, you prove yourself more incompetent by the moment.  I’m no magician!  I couldn’t cast a spell in a hundred years!  That is why I forged an alliance with the Circle of Eyes.  They covered me with spells so I would pass as one of you and, in return, I would do them various favours and pass them information.  The fool Lord Jarrod thought he was using me all along, but in the end I killed him, too.  He wanted the Argum Stone for himself and arranged to have me return it to him but, in doing, so he gave me a path straight to everything I ever wanted.  What a grand imbecile he was!  And Rimus was no better.  How can I bring something lower when it is already so pathetic?’

Samuel laughed in disbelief at himself for being so foolish.  ‘You don’t have any magic?’

‘Of course not!  It’s true, I do have some skill in manipulating the dense and foolish of this world, but magic?  No.  I dallied a little in black magic, but I found its aftertaste rather bitter.  It’s much safer to let others meddle with such dark things.  Just look at Dividian here.  He seems to enjoy it immensely.  I enjoy killing people because I think of all the riches that will result, but Dividian here is truly sick.  He enjoys cutting and torturing people in ways that make my stomach turn.  He prepared all my vials for me and taught me how to use them.  Without him, I would have been killed long ago, so I guess I owe him my many thanks.  However, with this,’ he gestured to the great stone tablet shaking beside him, ‘comes true power, for the power of the Argum Stone is truly a wonder.  With it, I will be able to wield magic like a true-born magician.  I will wield the Staff of Elders and be utterly unstoppable.  I will rule the Empire and no one will be able to lift a finger to stop me.’

‘Ash!’ Dividian called out from beside the Argum Stone.  ‘You’ll pay for this!  Cang will have your head!’  He had ceased his chanting on hearing Ash’s tirade and the room started shaking as all the great weaves of magic began to fall out of alignment.

‘By the gods, Dividian!’ Ash cursed.  ‘You can’t stop now!  We’ll all be killed, damn you!’

‘Cang will kill you for this, Ash!’ Dividian declared, but he firmed his jaw and continued with the spell.  The violent shaking became subdued as the Great Spell of Awakening continued.

Ash laughed again.  ‘You see, Samuel?  This is true power.  Look at Dividian here.  Right now, he has realised the truth about me and wants to kill me with all his will, but he cannot.  His choices are defined by the situation I have created.  Here he is, working the Staff of Elders on my behalf and for my benefit, even as he learns I have betrayed him.  Even the great Circle of Eyes is but putty in my hands.  Like all magicians, they are conceited and egotistical.  They, the Order and even you, young Samuel, have seriously underestimated me.  A common man has brought down the Order and the entire Turian Empire!’

There was a sickening slowing in the cycle of the pattern, making Samuel’s stomach churn.  Then, a deep growling boom sounded and the tower lurched to one side, causing Samuel to scramble for balance.  There was another gut-wrenching shudder and then Samuel’s head cleared.  The Great Spell had finished and the enormous pool of energy in the room was gone, instantaneously swallowed with a great gulp into the ancient relic.  Samuel knew what had happened, even without Ash’s maniacal laughter to tell him, for Dividian had succeeded.  He had finished the spell and awoken the power within the Argum Stone.  There was a sharp hiss as the enormous bulk of the ancient relic then shivered and vanished.  For a moment, held in mid-air, something tiny could be seen in its place, glinting in the light, before it fell to the floor with a soft clink.

Dividian opened his eyes wide and staggered back, falling heavily to the floor and dropping the Staff of Elders from his hands.  He looked thin and drained and struggled to move.

‘It’s done!’ Ash called out jubilantly.

‘Wait!’ Dividian cried.  ‘The magic is spent but I must seal the spell for the transformation to be complete!  If not, the relic will revert to its original form in a matter of days.’

‘Then do it, you fool!’ Ash commanded.

Dividian gathered the last of his strength and began to call out in the most ancient of tongues, the lost language of the people who had created all the wondrous relics ages before, a language only known as the Ancient Lick.  ‘Karem abatu; mendar arrellum; daedus mantati hellevar; amun morbata!’

With each phrase, the tiny object on the floor blazed and squealed with white heat, seeming to recognise the words.  At the completion of the utterance, it hissed cool again.

‘Is that it?  Is it done?’ Ash asked impatiently.

‘It’s done,’ Dividian groaned, looking set to keel over.

‘Then it’s mine!’ Ash declared with delight.

‘Samuel!’ Dividian croaked.  ‘Kill him! Kill him now, you young fool…before it’s too late.’

‘Hah!’ Ash spat out and kicked the Argum Stone’s wooden frame crashing to the floor, where it snapped in two under its own weight.  ‘It’s already too late.’   Then, he bent over and plucked up the tiny, gleaming object from the floor.  He gloated at it as he held it between his thumb and index finger, and rolled it around to glint in the light.  It was a small, glimmering ring.

‘That’s it!’ thought Samuel.  At last, he knew the meaning of the word’s Ash had spoken in Tindal.  Amun-morbayah.  They were simply instructions on how to awaken and use the relic, infused with the power of the Ancient Lick.  ‘It’s a ring!’ he gasped aloud.

‘Why so it is,’ Ash responded, glancing up at Samuel with an amused smile.  He popped the thing onto the ring finger of his right hand without so much as a pause and began rolling his hand around, letting the Argum Stone catch the light on its surface.  ‘It’s not so bad at all,’ he mused to himself.

Samuel took half a step forward, but stopped in his stride, for Ash’s form had begun to pulse with blinding energy as magic began to course into him from the ancient relic.  Samuel staggered back, shielding his eyes from the light as magic filled the man.  Through slitted fingers, Samuel could see Ash bend over again and pick up the Staff of Elders.

‘Now let’s see what all the fuss is about,’ Ash mused.

‘Damn you, Ash,’ Dividian groaned, still splayed out on the floor.  ‘The Circle will not forgive you for this.  You will die the most horrible of deaths!’

‘So will you,’ Ash said and tipped the head of the Elder Staff at Dividian.  A fury of magic sprang out and turned the old man to thrashing flames.  ‘Wonderful!’ Ash declared, but Dividian continued to roll around as he burned, wailing and shrieking hideously.  ‘Damned Magician!  You can’t even die properly!’ he said and sent more beams of fire out over the old man until Dividian was only a flaming pile of matted bones.

The presence of the Great Spell forming in the room had kept Samuel’s mind reeling, but now, with the spell spent, Samuel could begin gathering power of his own.  As Ash had his attention set on Dividian, Samuel had cast a spell of Lifting and began readying one of the huge bookshelves into position over Ash’s head.  He only hoped the man was too busy to notice.

‘Perhaps this will take some getting used to,’ Ash spoke to himself, turning the Staff of Elders over in his hands as he scrutinised it.  He then looked to Samuel with satisfaction on his face.  He tipped the Elder Staff forward and power burst forth.  Samuel leapt aside as the energy struck the wall with a piercing shriek, releasing his Lifting spell as he did.  The hovering shelf dropped down and smashed Ash to the floor, spilling books all over.  A protruding twisted arm was all that could be seen of Ash, still gripping the Staff of Elders tightly in its hand.

As Samuel dusted himself off, the shelf fell aside and Ash clambered to his groggy feet.  Samuel gritted his teeth as Ash checked himself over.  The man’s face was brimming with jubilance as he realised he was still alive.

Ash laughed.  ‘How magnificent!  The power of the Staff protects me, Samuel.  And I have not even begun to draw on all power it contains.  I was foolish to underestimate you again, but I cannot go on until you are dead—I know that now.  I can sense all kinds of incredible things and I feel now that it was our destiny to meet here, but I cannot have you distracting me any further.’

‘Such magic will destroy you, Ash!’ Samuel called out.  ‘It takes a lifetime of experience to wield such power.  Such a burden will be the end of you.’

Ash laughed aloud.  ‘We shall see!’

A deadly beam of heat struck out again and this time it struck true, piercing Samuel through the middle, blackening the stone wall behind him.  Ash gave a triumphant yell, until he realised that Samuel was still standing unharmed.  The young magician was actually grinning in defiance of Ash’s attack.

Another Samuel stepped from the curtains.  Ash again raised his staff and blasted this second Samuel.  He, too, remained untouched by the fire, even as the curtains behind became flames.

‘Damn you!’ Ash roared.  ‘Such insolence!’

With that, Ash raised the Staff of Elders and closed his eyes in concentration.  Only a magician should have been able to call such ancient magic, but Samuel could sense the Argum Stone pulsing into life, acting as a conduit between Ash and the Staff of Elders, channelling power into the man—not even a magician—against all known laws of magic.  The air began moving within the room and loose pages on the floor slowly rolled over and began to brown and smoulder before the spell had even begun.  Ash brought the Staff down to strike the floor and opened his eyes once again, igniting his spell with wild fury.  A storm of sparks burst into being and swept around the chamber, scorching everything they touched.  The room filled with a hurricane of intense flames and swirling smoke, howling madly with a deafening noise.  As quickly as the spell had appeared, so too it faded.  Everything not made of stone had vanished—even the walls were scored and covered with blackened marks.  All the shelves and ancient books that had lined the chamber had been turned to glowing embers and blackened residue, smouldering and settling in the corners of the room.  Even Dividian’s charred remains had been swept away and obliterated.  There was nothing left standing except for Ash.  In moments, everything had been utterly destroyed.

Samuel lay panting, gripping the outside wall of the tower with all his resolve.  Smoke billowed in plumes out the window through which he had just barely managed to escape.  His robes were burnt and singed at the edges.  He could hear Ash laughing inside and could feel the energy, ever mounting, as Ash opened himself to more and more power from within the Staff of Elders.  Samuel’s heart was thumping in his chest in steady rhythm to the pulsing, grinding power that was emanating from inside.  It was too much power for any human to wield so quickly.  Soon Ash would not be able to contain all the magic he was calling and something very dire would happen.  At the very least, the man would be incinerated by wild mage-fire as it burst from within him.  Hopefully, that would happen before too much damage was done.

Ash’s laughter slowed and stopped and then his voice carried clearly out the window.  ‘For a moment, I actually thought I had killed you, Samuel, but now I feel very glad that you are still alive.  I wish you could feel what it is like to have this power.  I have truly become more than I could ever have dreamed, and with every passing moment—’  His voice was changing.  It seemed to be echoing from the air all around.  ‘—I become even more.’

Samuel cried out as a shrill ringing filled his head.  It was an unbearable pain, as if his mind was skewered with pins.  It finished as abruptly as it had struck and, as he recovered his senses, Samuel had a strange feeling of motion and he could hear the wind whistling in his ears.  He opened his eyes to see the ground flying up at him.  His spell had broken and he was falling like a stone towards his death.  It took a moment for him to recast his wall-walking spell and he desperately pushed his hand out to touch the tower wall.  The spell formed true on contact with the stone and Samuel’s descent began to slow, with his hand brushing the smooth stones until eventually, and with a sigh of relief, he finally came to a halt.  He hugged the tower with all his will while his heart slowed its feverish pace.  In a few fleeting seconds, Samuel had dropped nearly half the height of the tower.

The sun was setting now, and the sky to the east was in twilight, leaving only the west still hung with a hint of daylight.  Looking up, Samual saw an unnatural silver light beaming out from Ash’s window and a vast crowd had amassed in the palace grounds far below.  People were filling every available open space, staring up at Samuel and pointing at the awesome display of light from Ash’s window.  This was more than just magic.  Samuel could feel something terrible happening up in that room.

Samuel took one last determined breath and started back up the tower wall, spider-like, and an audible gasp rose from the people below.  He still had no idea of what to do or how to defeat Ash.  All he knew was that he had to stop the man.  If he could even delay him for long enough, perhaps the others would finally arrive to help; or perhaps Ash would make some crucial mistake.  Perhaps his flesh would finally fail under the strain of all his newfound power.  Perhaps with the Lions, Lomar and Master Glim together they had a chance of stopping the man.  He only hoped the others were somehow on their way to help.

Laughter was still emanating from Ash’s chamber.  The man was giggling like a child now.  He had opened himself entirely to the Staff and magic was gathering into him at a terrible rate.  The pattern itself seemed to be shuddering in trepidation.

‘Ash!’ Samuel cried into the window.  ‘You have all that you wanted and yet still you have not destroyed me!  What good is all your power if you can’t even kill one insignificant magician?’

The smoke within the room had thinned enough so that Samuel could peer in and he saw Ash’s face slowly turn towards him.  Ash raised a charred sleeve and wiped the dribble from his lips.  He opened his mouth and a dark, coiling vapour ran out and down his chest.  It was blood, boiled and fused with magic so that his flesh could no longer contain it.  Samuel was horrified.

‘Ah,’ Ash gasped slowly.  ‘Ah, the power.  I can feel it in every part of me.’  He held his hand up before his face and turned it over, as if scrutinising it in wonder.  ‘I am but a shell of flesh.’  The man’s very words echoed with magic.  Samuel could feel it rattling against his skin like splashes of rain.

A spell formed and Samuel rolled aside as the window exploded out, leaving a gaping hole.  Chunks of dust and smouldering rocks dropped far below into the grounds.

Ash slid out and hovered beside the tower.  ‘Now I am coming for you, Samuel.  Run.’ he whispered.  His voice was hollow and echoing, his lips were parted, yet unmoving.

Samuel realised he was in desperate trouble and scampered away from Ash and around the tower, still maintaining the same height.  He lay panting with his back against the hard stones of the wall, looking left and right for any sign of the abomination that had been Ash.

Curiously, a tight white beam of light appeared out of Samuel’s middle.  It shone out far to the hills like some form of signal and, when it had ceased, Samuel found a neat smoking hole at the centre of his robes.  The pain followed and Samuel screamed out loud.  His body had been pierced right through by an intense light, so hot that it had cooked a path from his back out through his chest.  The pain was unspeakable, causing him to shriek wildly until he could throw enough spells into himself to dull all feeling.  As a result, his vision began to blur and darken at the edges and his head felt thick as tar.  Inside him, flesh and organs had been baked and crisped.

Even his fingers and toes had gone numb and Samuel quickly sucked on the fingers of one hand in desperate effort to revive them.  He could sense the incredible amount of damage that had been done inside him and realised it was only pure luck that none of his vital organs had burst altogether.

A tingle in his spine lit Samuel’s senses and brought him back to alertness.  He rolled aside as another beam silently pierced the tower directly beside his head and flashed out into the distance.  Smoke seeped out from the two tiny holes that now marked the tower stones.  Not wasting any time, Samuel started straight upwards.

The land all around was now cast in shades of grey and the sun was just a glimmering sliver of gold on the horizon.  Flecks of silver covered the shimmering ocean, gathering towards a single gleaming point far away but, as the tiny crack of the sun melted and vanished away, the sea, too, became grey and quiet, leaving only the distant clouds with any colour, saturated in pinks and oranges.  Directly above, the sky was darkening as storm clouds slowly gathered, and a soft groan rumbled out from amongst them as lightning flickered in their depths.

Samuel continued moving up the sheer, stone wall with labouring breaths.  A flurry of silent beams sliced through the tower behind him and always the laughter continued, seeming to issue from the very air itself.

Samuel reached his goal and leapt over onto the top of the tower, waiting in the eerie silence of dusk while he gained his breath.  The wind made a soft whisper and the other palace towers were dark shards in the twilight.  The city was grey below, but tiny dots of light were quickly appearing everywhere as people lit the lanterns in their homes.  The ocean, spread out vast beside the city, was tranquil, now barely seeming to move at all.  Various city sounds seemed to carry up to him on the wind and, occasionally, a distant breaker could be heard striking onto the shoals with a whump and a hiss.  At any other time, the panorama would have been marvellous to behold.

A whimpering sound made Samuel turn around and he found Lullander, the magician, splayed out on the tower roof, bawling and whimpering like a child.  On spying Samuel, the man leapt to his feet and ran screaming and blubbering straight off the side of the tower, leaping as if to his salvation.  His howling faded quickly as he plummeted away.

The wind blew up and the sound of rippling cloth caused Samuel to turn back as Ash rose slowly beside the tower heights, held up by the air itself.  Samuel stepped away.  He could no longer see the aura around the man as he had dulled his senses so much, but he could still feel the tremendous power threatening to be unleashed within.  For an instant, Samuel wished he could get a glance at the weaves around Ash—even for just a moment.  He could learn so much just by looking at the spells that Ash had brought into existence through sheer force, but he could not risk it in his current state.

A sickening grin was painted on Ash’s mask-like face.  He observed Samuel, but his eye sockets were empty, gaping holes and his skin was taut and dried like bark.  The Staff of Elders was clutched so tightly in his left hand that the tendons in his wrist were popping out with strain.  The Argum Stone glinted, shimmering on his finger and still feeding magic into the corpse of a man.  Somehow, Ash still lived, even as the mage-fire continued to eat through his body.  He no longer relied on his own mortality.  Such concentrated power was sustaining him beyond all normal reason.

Samuel needed far more power than he had ever summoned before, even if he was just to escape with his life.  He sought within himself for the calm he needed and fought to slow his desperate, shallow breaths.  There was nowhere left to run.  Only his magic could save him, if only he could gather enough of it in time.

‘I see now what the universe is about,’ Ash whispered without motion—his words poured black vapour, his skin was bone white.  ‘I no longer care for the trinkets and coins of this world.  Even my eyes and flesh are only keepsakes that I willingly discard.  What is being an emperor when I can be a god!  I can feel the energy, the life, within everything, within you.  I want it all,’ he hissed.

Ash lifted his hand and five arcs of raw energy flashed out from his fingertips, striking at Samuel like vipers.  Samuel’s legs kicked out from underneath him, sending him sprawling onto his face.  He thrashed and convulsed, his cheeks and teeth striking the stones as he flailed about uncontrollably.  He could feel the life draining from him, being stripped from his marrow.

Ash stopped abruptly and a wash of pain flooded back into Samuel.  He screamed into the floor and choked on the fluid that spilled up into his mouth, coughing it up in volumes, retching pure blood.  He rolled over with wide eyes—his muscles felt knotted and torn—to see Ash standing over him, gnarled and twisted like a salt-withered tree.

Ash’s mouth widened, bearing the yellow teeth that still hung from his blackened gums in a hideous toothy grin, but Samuel barely saw the man, for he was looking beyond him, up to the darkening sky.  Things were moving high above—enormous leviathans of power colliding and interweaving.  A jagged patchwork of light silently zigzagged overhead, leaving tracts of fading scars across the heavens.  More lightning flashed in the north and then the south and the rumbling rolled in towards them.  Angry clouds gathered above and churned as if in a restless dream.

The pain then stopped and Samuel took a great gulping breath, seeming to taste air for the first time in his life.

‘I can stop the pain for you, Samuel,’ Ash hissed, stooping over him.

Samuel opened his mind and drew magic, but before he could use it, it had vanished again, sucked out by the insatiable creature above him.

‘How sweet is your soul,’ croaked Ash.  ‘The more you fight me, the sweeter it tastes.  Please don’t give up just yet.  Your struggling gives me so much pleasure.  There is so much of you to eat—more than you will ever know.’   Ash bent down further and cradled Samuel’s head in his palm.  He pressed his grinning face and eyeless sockets against Samuel’s cheek and the stench of boiled meat was overpowering.  A distant boom sounded in the sky and was echoed by more flashes of light and thunderous clashes just above.

An unholy suffering filled Samuel as Ash began his work once more.  All was darkness and pain as Samuel twitched in Ash’s thirsty grasp.  His bones felt skewered with pins, as if his very veins were being pulled out through his skin.  Yet, somehow, Samuel’s mind disregarded the pain and the agony that pierced his tortured body, and locked onto a sudden obvious fact.

Amun morbata?  The words had been misspoken.

Dividian had summoned the power to transform and awaken the Argum Stone, and he had spoken the ancient phrases required to transform the artefact into its new state, and yet, after all that tremendous effort, it seemed incredible that he could make a simple error in the final words.  Unless, having realised Ash had betrayed him, had Dividian knowingly subverted the ritual?  Was it a subtle message meant for Samuel?  Whatever the reason, the spell was incomplete and the Argum Stone was vulnerable.  Given time, it would revert back to its dormant form, but that could be hours or days or weeks away.  Ash could do untold damage in that time.

If he was to survive, if he was to save the city and all within it from utter destruction, Samuel needed to get the thing away from Ash here and now—and he had only scant moments to do it.

Then, with his mind desperately searching for answers, the thunder sounded once more and Samuel knew what to do.

Ancient words came dancing onto his tongue, appearing almost from nowhere.  ‘Karem abatu—’ he began, forcing them through his broken quivering lips. ‘Mendar arrellum; daedus mantati hellevar…’

‘What’s that?’ Ash asked, tilting his head to one side like a curious dog.  ‘What are you whispering about, boy?’

‘Amun…morbayah,’ he whispered and, abruptly, the pain ceased once again.

Ash screamed and reeled back, dropping Samuel’s head thudding to the stones.  He stood to his full height, screeching in pain as the Argum Stone flashed white-hot upon his finger.  He held his claw-like hand before his face in sheer disbelief and howled at it like a raging banshee.  Finally, his finger cracked off, withered and baked all the way through, and crumbled to dust.  The Argum Stone bounced to the ground at Ash’s feet while Ash was left trembling and wailing, cleft from his source of power.

Waves of harmonious energy sang out from the powerful relic, making a resonant song in Samuel’s ears.  With the sealing-phrase spoken, the Argum Stone transformation was now complete.

Free of Ash’s grip, Magic surged back into Samuel like a wave heaving up and pounding itself down upon the shore.  He threw up one hand as if clutching at the very ether and he was instantly filled with raw, pulsing power.  His skin and bones and tissue and mind were brimming with magic, replacing the terrible pain that had wracked him only moments before.  His body was already spent but, while he could still draw a breath, his magic could sustain him.  He and Ash were vastly different.  He would never have let himself be overcome by such deranged power.

He stood up without effort—as if carried by strings—with magic filling his ears like a thousand frantic drums all beating as one.  He revelled in the power and the world seemed new and clear around him.  Somehow, driven by desperation and sheer desire, Samuel had found his strength.  It had come to him like a sudden revelation, but this time he was not overcome by it or light-headed or filled with rage.  His undivided attention was set on destroying Ash, and all his magical fury lay readied for that task, trembling to be released.

Above, the sky bellowed and flashed.  Thunder boomed and crackled in the heights, slapping at the tower with each release and making it shudder.  A titanic storm had gathered, trying to balance the immense volumes of power being summoned and spent below.  The heavens were voicing their rage.

The wind struck up and began howling like a madman, dragging at Samuel’s tattered clothes.  Irshank’s robe had all but been burnt and torn from him.  If not for his magic, Samuel would have been tossed from the tower like a straw doll.

Samuel looked to Ash, who was frantically searching the stones with one ruined hand, the Staff of Elders still clutched tightly in the other.  His desperate fingers came upon the Argum Stone and the gasp of joy was audible, even above the storm, as he rejoined the great sea of power it offered him.  His head rose slowly and he stood back upright like a ghoulish scarecrow.  A wicked grin formed below his empty sockets.

They both stood readied and positioned, poised atop the highest tower of Cintar.  Samuel held as much magic as he had ever felt before—more than when he had killed the dark-skinned bandits, more than when he had felled Tabbet the magician, even more than when he had slaughtered Captain Garret and his men.  He was not fuelled with rage as then, but this was even better.  Just as Grand Master Anthem had told him, he was in full control of his power.  He could feel more magic within him than he had ever thought was possible, but he knew it would still not be enough to match the-thing-that-had-once-been-Ash.  A man could not possibly defeat such a god, but he had to try.

An ocean of power blossomed and filled the air around Ash as he summoned his killing stroke from the Staff of Elders. It took the form of a monstrous being rising up behind him.  Samuel’s eyes opened wide at the sight, for it was awesome and vast.  So much magic loomed in that space that the air began to smell burnt and acrid in his nose.  He had no hope of withstanding such power, but still he stood defiantly, depending on his one slender chance.

‘Come on, Ash!’ Samuel called out.  ‘What hope do you have if you cannot even defeat a single pathetic magician such as me?  The world is waiting for you to consume it.  Kill me if you dare!’

More and more power began manifesting from the ether, drawn by the will of Ash to join the raging torrent around him.  The Elder Staff howled out in torment from within his grasp while the ether itself seemed to growl in anger as Ash tested its limits.  Finally, he finished his gathering and there was a long and silent pause as Ash turned directly to Samuel with a maniacal, eyeless grin.  The man had gathered more power around himself than Samuel would ever have thought possible.

It was all Samuel could hope for.  He threw his hands up and called his own magic blazing forth.  Ash began to cackle at the pitiful amount of energy that Samuel had brought into being, for it paled in comparison to what he had summoned.  The young magician did not have a fraction of the power he needed to defend himself against Ash, let alone defeat him, but Samuel did not intend on attacking Ash at all.

The storm raged above, now covering the sky from horizon to horizon.  It was a sea of raw power, caught up overhead, and it craved to be unleashed.  Samuel’s last desperate surges of magic were not directed at Ash, but directly up into the heart of the raging skies.  The storm had reached its threshold, filled with incredible, unspeakable power in reflection of all the energy gathered below, and Samuel gave it all the magic he had to offer—and he gave it a path of release.

Ash’s gaze followed Samuel’s gesture towards the clouds and his rattling laughter stopped abruptly.

The air sighed, then a silver bolt blazed forth and speared Ash to the tower.  A clap of thunder, violent beyond belief, fell behind it and struck them like the end of the world.  It shook the earth and made the tower sway and groan as if to fall.  Samuel dropped to his hands and knees and hung on with all his might lest he be thrown from the tower altogether.  Stones shattered and burst away from its edges, raining down below.  Every man, woman and child in the city would have dived under their tables or run screaming from the streets.  The air was full of shrieks and moans and deafening crashes—perhaps from Ash, or perhaps from the tower or the storm itself.  When it was done, the sky was silent and the thunder faded to distant echoes.

The stones around Ash smoked and his remaining scraps of clothing had burst into flames.  He opened his mouth to make some kind of utterance and a second bolt fell, just before a boom that felt like a hammer blow to the side of Samuel’s head.  A brilliant, glowing streak scarred his dazzled eyes before he could look away.

The storm then spoke one final time but, this time, it launched a flurry of lightning rods that streamed from the clouds and set Ash dancing and fitting like a puppet, threading him to the sky with incandescent copper lacing.  The noise was deafening—a continuous shrieking and banging that had Samuel lying flat and covering his ears for all he was worth.  He could feel his skin tightening and the hairs on his arms smouldered, but he dared not cast any spell to protect himself lest he also attracted the sky’s wrath.

When the lightning had finally abated, only the wind and the soft crackling of Ash’s skin then remained to be heard.

Ash was still breathing; a wet and laboured sound that sounded close to death, and he was still on his feet.  He rocked forwards and back, ready to fall, and Samuel could not believe there was any kind of life still in him at all, whatever form it took.  The man had truly become some kind of monster.

Then, Ash’s right hand slowly opened and the Argum Stone dropped out, falling towards the scarred and blackened stones.

At this, Samuel found some uncanny reserve of energy.  He gained his feet and dived, catching the ring before it could bounce to the floor.  Climbing back onto his legs, he could feel the relic nestled firmly in his clenched palm, safely away from Ash.

Ash took an unsteady step, his mouth agape in frozen pain.  ‘What was it that made you so powerful, Samuel?’ he then asked, pinning Samuel with his steaming, eyeless sockets.  His voice was like tearing parchment.  ‘Even with all the magic of the Ancients at my beckoning, you still managed to defy me.  What filled you with such power, boy?  What force made you into this unspeakable creature that has defeated me?’

‘You did,’ Samuel said, feeling the icy ring tight within his fist.  ‘Each time you tried to destroy me, you set me an obstacle to climb, a goal to reach, a new strength to find.  Each time you tried to kill me, I was born anew.  Each time you destroyed something I loved, a seed of vengeance grew in its place.  If it weren’t for you, I would still be picking apples in my father’s orchard.  You made me everything I am, Ash, and I will utterly destroy you for what you have done, as I have so vowed.’

Ash raised the Staff of Elders once more with trembling arms and Samuel could feel him reaching for the power within it.  Incredibly, a trickle of magic began to seep out of the ancient wood and into Ash.  The magic of the Ancients had changed Ash altogether.  His body had all but been destroyed.  It was now merely a smouldering carcass, a vehicle for carrying his maddened soul and somehow he had ceased being human altogether.  The fury of the storm had stunned him, but it had not killed him.  Now he had found some way of reaching into the Staff of Elders directly.  The magic began coming faster, leaping in ever-growing bursts into him.  It was not nearly as much power as before, but it was growing greater at an alarming rate.  Ash began laughing—a sickening and loathsome sound that could never emit from something human.

‘I have learnt such things as you would scarcely believe, Magician,’ the creature facing Samuel growled.  ‘I have seen the secrets of this world and I will not be cast aside so easily.’

Samuel was spent.  The storm was spent.  There was only one more thing he could do.

There, clutched tightly in his palm, Samuel held the key to unimaginable power.  He opened his hand and looked upon it, seeing the flickering light of Ash’s flaming cloak reflected on its silvery surface.  He picked it up and slowly turned his right hand over, spreading his quivering fingers as wide as he could.  His hands were shaking and he had to bite at his lip in concentration, but with the greatest of care, he managed to thread an outstretched finger into its centre and he felt its coolness sliding against his skin.  He pushed the glimmering ring firmly up to his last knuckle and then he opened himself to whatever lay waiting there within.

A lone figure found himself hanging high in the air, far above a vast stormy ocean of magic.  Almost at once, he began plummeting down.  Faster and faster the person fell, rushing towards the roaring waters, accelerating at an incredible rate and without limit.  He smashed into the freezing seas and pierced deep beneath the tumultuous surface, crushed on all sides by the cold and heaving power.  The strength of the magic all around him squeezed the air from his lungs and pushed the blood from his palpitating heart—making his thoughts formless and nonsensical.

He paled before the incredible strength the relic kept pushing into him and he struggled to keep it all from washing over him and smothering him, as it had done with Ash.  Its weight was incredible and it pushed in at him from every side, trying to force its way inside him, trying to invade every particle of his existence.

Then, something wonderful happened—an epiphany of sorts—as if some divine presence, in one sweeping gesture of its arms, had parted all the pain and anguish and confusion that now surrounded him and everything he had ever sensed or learned or experienced then coalesced into an atomic mote of clarity, and from this single fleeting point of omniscience, sprang a simple train of thought:

Magic is a strange and wonderful thing.  When pressed to describe or define magic, most Masters have a different opinion.  Master Sanctus had expressed it as simply a form of energy, while Master Glim called it ‘the manifestation of the will’.  Others believed it was the essence of our spirit and some even said it was a gift of the gods.  Of all the opinions he had heard, Samuel now recalled what his friend Lomar had once told him and, strangely, he could recollect the man’s words precisely, as if reliving that very moment in time.  He could almost feel the great branches of the oak tree from the School of Magic reaching up above them, lending them both its shade.

This is what he said: ‘Magic is a rare and beautiful talent that some of us are lucky enough to possess.  Try not to think of magic as something that is, but rather as something that can be achieved.  On any fine morning, a person may choose to do some chores, or cut some wood, or write a poem, or paint a picture.  They can even choose to sit and do nothing.  Such is magic.  It is not something you can see and say “Look! There is some magic!” but rather something you can experience and say “Behold!  What a wonderful thing it is that magic has done!”’

It was pointless attempting to resist such rampant power as Samuel found in the ring.  To do so would have corrupted him and blasted his mind and body.  Instead, he relaxed and let the force all around fall in upon him.  He welcomed it and joined it, letting it push him all about with its currents, washing over him and within him at the same time.  He became one with that ocean of power, a sea of no bounds or dimension, a sea that filled everywhere and everything, until there was no sea and there was no him, there was only nothing.

Samuel opened his eyes, finding himself still standing upon the stormy tower top, with Ash still standing opposite him, the Staff of Elders poised in his hand.  The entire experience within the magical folds of the ring seemed to have taken forever but, in reality, barely a heartbeat had passed.  Indeed, if it had taken any longer at all Samuel may have been too late, for it was at that very moment that Ash struck out, sending a white-hot stream of power erupting from his staff.

What happened next seemed to occur so slowly, as if the time-thickening properties from within the Argum Stone had followed out after Samuel and enshrouded him.  Each instant in time was enough for him to see every minute detail in every tiny thing around him.

Sparks and mage-fire flickered from all over Ash’s body, bursting from his skin, from the black holes of his eyes and from his wretched gaping mouth, as the beam slowly, slowly burned its way towards Samuel.

The Elder Staff was certainly powerful, but Ash was no magician.  He was a being—no longer even a man—attempting to guide powers he could not begin to understand, while Samuel was now a perfect nexus of magic.

Magic erupted from Samuel’s outstretched hand and met Ash’s beam, throwing out squealing sparks in all directions.  Ash staggered back, but Samuel stood calmly as their powers met; he now clearly understood the nature of magic—for it filled his every pore—and he knew that Ash had lost.  The energy around the man was still vast and intense by normal standards, but a black greasy rim now encased it, like a rot that signalled his inevitable demise.

‘Ash,’ Samuel said.  ‘You wanted to be a god, but you are only a child playing with grown-up’s things.  At another time, I would tell you of all your follies, but time is short and I am beyond tired.  You have done many foul things to me and to countless others, so it is time you received due punishment for all that you have done.  Damn you, Ash.  Damn you for bringing me to this place.’

Samuel pushed his power along the path of Ash’s beam, filling its intense, pure white with twisting streaks of gold and blue and red.  Ash held his staff desperately with both hands, with terror building on his ruined face.  The streaks carried up the beam until they met the Staff in Ash’s shaking grip and there was a blinding flash of magic being un-made.  The Staff of Elders, ancient icon of the Order of Magicians, screeched and turned to dust and spilled out through Ash’s clutching fingers.  Indescribable horror covered his face and he turned to run on wooden legs.  His hands were clutched over his face and he was screaming and sobbing as he blindly ran away.  Without a source of magic to sustain him, there was nothing to hold Ash’s desiccated form together.  An awful howl emanated from his throat as he continued running out over the tower’s edge and toppled down into space.  Dust and glowing embers trailed behind him as he tumbled towards the waiting earth below.

Samuel looked down after Ash and readied a spell to send after the man—a final blow to finish him should some miracle happen to save him but, as Ash fell, his howls became hollow and empty, fading to nothing as his body disintegrated into ashes and was blown away by the wind.  At last, there was nothing left to strike the earth but a few scraps of fluttering, black cloth.

Samuel stepped back from the tower’s shattered edge.  He could feel the final remnants of energy balancing out around him as the flows and weaves in the air all around settled back into near equilibrium.  He looked up, for the first time feeling the cold night air, and could see the clouds already thinning above him, with tiny bolts still flashing reluctantly in their depths.  The wind had dropped to a soft breeze, carrying the salty scent of the Euclidean Sea.

He looked at the small, silver ring on his finger, smooth and gleaming.  With the Staff of Elders destroyed, this was now the only great relic in the world.  He could feel the magic within it almost humming, waiting to be released.  He had certainly not expected the Staff to be destroyed, but it seemed the power of the Argum Stone had greatly overwhelmed it.  Dragging the ring from his finger and tucking it into a smouldering pocket, Samuel staggered to the large, heavy trapdoor on the tower roof, raised it and fell through.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Above the World

SAMUEL FOUND THE tower now completely deserted as he staggered down its many stairs.  His body had been almost ruined, but the power he had found within the Argum Stone had supplanted it, somehow sustaining him when he should have been destroyed.  Even the wound that had pierced his abdomen seemed to have healed almost completely.  The power he had touched had been incredible.  It was no wonder that Ash had been overcome by the force of the Elder Staff.  It seemed that the moment Ash had reached into that vast source of power, it had changed him, smothered him completely.  In mind and body he had no longer been a man, but something else—something horrible, something craving only more and more power.  It had overwhelmed him.  Ash’s lack of understanding had been his downfall, just as much as Samuel’s depth of understanding of it had been his salvation.

Samuel passed down several levels and, with each, his legs became heavier and heavier as if slowly turning to stone.  He passed the Argum Stone chamber, where the doorway still smouldered, broken and twisted in place.  Floor by floor he descended the mighty tower, until he heard someone coming up tentatively from below.

‘Samuel?’ came a cry and Lomar appeared, rushing up the stairs at the sight of him.  ‘You’re alive!’

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied, utterly exhausted.

‘Everyone fled the tower.  We thought the whole thing was going to come down.’  Lomar came to Samuel’s side and held him by the arm, supporting him.

Samuel nodded.  ‘What happened with you and the others?’

‘Lord Hathen proved to be the weakest link.  He tried to escape from the Magicians’ Game.  His weaves collapsed and the game fell in upon him.  He, Lord Irshank and the other magicians were all killed.  Master Glim and Master Sanctus tried their best to limit the damage, but I’m afraid the palace is in desperate need of some reconstruction now.  Half the city’s engineers are there right at this moment.  The other half are trying to decide if the tower will stay up or not—so we should probably hurry along.’

Samuel nodded distantly.  ‘Ah…I see.’

‘What of the Staff?  And the Argum Stone?’ Lomar asked with interest.

‘Destroyed,’ Samuel said.  ‘I managed to get the Argum Stone from Ash and I used it against him.  In the end, they destroyed each other.’

Lomar nodded thoughtfully.  ‘Then the legacy of the Ancients did, indeed, prove itself.’

Samuel nodded numbly and they started back down the winding tower stairs.

Samuel could feel the Argum Stone jiggling in his pocket, but he did not wish anyone to know about it.  If anyone were to find out, the Order would certainly confiscate the relic for their own purposes.  After this latest experience, he still did not trust any of them.

They made their way down the many steps, with Samuel using the shoulder of his friend for support.  The feeling in his body was returning, like jagged glass thrust into his joints, and the pain would not be dulled as it slid beneath his skin.

They finally made ground level and staggered out into the palace grounds, where crowds of people had gathered by torch-light and mage-light.  Samuel could see that Lomar had not been exaggerating, for there was a great hole in the side of the palace beside the High Tower and a pile of broken rubble lay sprawled out beneath it.  Magicians were busy casting spells onto the tower while soldiers and engineers were propping great beams against the palace to keep the remaining walls supported.  General Ruardin’s booming voice could be heard shouting out orders and instructions.

Eric was the first to throw himself onto Samuel, and Master Glim and Goodfellow were not far behind.  ‘Samuel!  You did it!’ he cried.  He had a bloodied length of bandage around his middle and a swathe of spells around his wounds.

‘Eric, you made it,’ Samuel said.  He tried to push some excitement into his voice, but he barely had the strength to make the words, let alone fill them with emotion.

‘Of course,’ Eric declared.  ‘I can’t feel a thing.  Isn’t it great?’

Samuel looked to Master Glim with puzzlement.

‘I know, Samuel,’ the old teacher explained.  ‘He should be in bed, but he refused to rest until we found you.  In a few minutes, he’ll drop like a horse when he realises how tired he is.’

‘Good,’ Samuel said, with Eric’s arms still locked around him.  ‘I think he’s killing me now.  Maybe you can speed things along a bit?’

Master Glim nodded and, with a wave of his finger, set a spell upon Eric, who immediately retracted his arms from Samuel and sighed.  He staggered backwards, eyes closed, and fell gently into Master Glim’s embrace and was fast asleep.  Master Glim, in turn, placed Eric tenderly onto the soft lawn.

‘He should be well once my spells have had a chance to mend him.  It’s a deep wound.  His own attempts to stop the bleeding were pathetic, but I do admit he was in no state to cast much of anything.  I think it was actually just his sheer stubbornness that stopped him from bleeding to death altogether.’

‘We should get him to a bed,’ Samuel suggested.

‘You, there,’ Lomar called to a wide-eyed servant who was standing nearby and gawking at the scene of destruction.  ‘Take him to a bed and be careful.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ the man replied and, with the help of another couple of men, picked up the drooping form of Eric and lugged him off into the palace.

‘Don’t bump his head!’ Master Glim shouted after them.  ‘And be careful with that dressing!’

‘It seems as though you need some attention, as well, Samuel,’ Goodfellow stated.  ‘You look terrible!’

‘Perhaps, you’re right,’ Samuel said, feeling the weariness in his bones and the pain in his muscles.  ‘I think the day is starting to catch up with me.’

‘We’ll find somewhere for you to rest, too,’ Master Glim said.  ‘It’s been too long since any of us had some decent sleep.’

‘Very well,’ Samuel conceded.  ‘But which way is the tower going to fall?  I don’t want to be in that direction.’

Master Glim laughed and summoned over some more servants and together they helped Samuel inside.  Samuel was barely aware of what was happening but, when he felt his head falling against a soft pillow and a mattress beneath his body, he knew it was time to finally let go and sleep took him firmly into its folds.

‘Samuel?’ a voice called through the deep darkness.

Samuel let his eyes flutter open, for he was still trying to decide if he was really awake or still dreaming, and at once noticed Tulan Goodwin seated on a small stool beside him, next to the bed.

‘Tulan?’ Samuel asked groggily.

‘I wanted to see you one last time before I left.’

‘Where are you going?’ Samuel asked wearily; then some realisation came back to him.  ‘What…what are you doing here?’

‘I’m sorry, Samuel.  I’ve been hiding in the city all this time, but now matters have finally been sorted, I must leave.  The Royal Guard and half the Empire are still after me, so I must be away quickly while I have the chance.’

‘Have you really been working for the Gartens?’ Samuel asked, sitting himself up in bed and waking up a little more.

‘Yes,’ Tulan admitted.  ‘I have lived almost all my life in Turia, but I am a Garten by birth.  I came to Turia in my youth to explore my skills with the aid of the Order, hiding my true lineage.  I soon found, however, even at that youthful age, that the Order was just as hollow and shallow as the Turian Empire itself, so I tried to keep to myself as much as I could and concentrate on my studies.  Unfortunately, when government agents in my home learned I had been accepted into the Order, they began to demand favours.  If I did not do everything they asked, my family would pay for my “treachery”.  At first, I only needed to drop a message here, a note there, but each time they demanded more and more from me until I was deeply involved within their network of spies.  Finally, they demanded that I find a way to kill the Emperor.  I used my friendship with Master Kelvin and others around the Empire to gain a place on the Council and, when the opportunity arose, as you know, I took it.  I’m sorry I used you.  You and the Grand Master had your own plans, I know, but I could not take the chance that you would fail.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Tulan,’ Samuel said.  ‘Everything has ended up for the best.  You did what you had to do and the Emperor is dead.  But how will you escape?  I’m sure you must be the most wanted man in the Empire.’

Tulan smiled.  ‘The Empress now owes me quite a favour, so she is giving me one week to disappear forever.  You see, my contacts had learned of hidden rooms and dungeons in the palace many years ago.  After killing the Archmage, I left my men to finish their work with the Emperor and went down to wait for them.  You can imagine my surprise when I found that someone else had also found the dungeons.  Dividian had set up a laboratory there to practise all his dark rituals unseen.  When I heard of the Empress’ disappearance, I had to find a way back into the palace and check there for myself.  Inside, Dividian had several prisoners, with the Empress and Grand Master Anthem among them.  They were quite glad to be freed, as you could guess.’

‘So now everything is over, will you return to Garteny?’

‘Yes.  Hopefully, I may even receive a reward for my success and my family will not be threatened any longer—or so I hope.  I will find a quiet place in a quiet town and disappear as well as I can.  I certainly cannot stay here or anywhere within the Empire’s reach.’

Samuel nodded in understanding.  ‘Where are the others?’ Samuel asked.

‘The others?  Oh, yes.  They’re all still trying to organise some order in the city.  The last of Ash’s mercenaries and any rogue magicians have to be routed out.  Until a short time ago, everyone was still helping to reinforce the tower, but I’ve heard it shouldn’t fall any time soon and they’ve already begun reconstruction of the fallen palace walls.’

‘How long have I been asleep?’ Samuel asked, looking out to the grey sky beyond the window.

‘Two days.  It’s morning now.  I thought you would feel like some breakfast.’

For the first time, Samuel noticed the tray of fruits and bread on the small bedside table.  He looked around and wondered whose room this was.

‘How’s Eric?’

Tulan laughed, rubbing his dark, stubbled chin.  ‘I heard your friend is already up and around, but he won’t be doing anything energetic for a week or two.’

Samuel sat up and took some bread, chewing on it with a sudden clawing hunger.  There was something hard pressing against his leg and Samuel reached down and pulled out the offensive object.  It was a silver ring.  Tulan was staring out the window and so Samuel quickly pushed the thing under his pillow.  Someone had changed his clothes and bathed him, but somehow he still managed to have the ring in his possession.

There was a soft knock at the door and then Grand Master Anthem popped his head in.  On seeing Samuel, he smiled and stepped lightly inside, closing the door behind him and nodding in greeting to Tulan Goodwin.

‘Everything’s ready,’ the old man spoke and Tulan stood and picked up his travelling bag.

‘Then it’s time for me to leave, while I can,’ Tulan said with a slight smile.  ‘I hope we can meet again, Samuel, sometime in the future once everything has settled down a bit.’

‘As do I,’ Samuel returned.  ‘If I come to Garteny one day, I will hope to find you.’

Tulan went to leave, but looked back once more before carefully closing the door behind him.  ‘Farewell.’

With Tulan gone, the Grand Master came nearer to Samuel and sat on the stool.  ‘Well, my boy, I’m certainly glad to see you pulled through.’

‘So am I,’ Samuel replied, pushing more grapes into his mouth to appease his rapidly growing hunger.

‘And I hear you saved the day, no less, facing Ash and blasting him to smithereens.  I can’t say how pleased I was to hear it.’

Samuel nodded again, swallowing.  ‘It’s true.  Master Dividian finally awoke the Argum Stone using the power of the Staff of Elders but, in the end, both were destroyed.’

‘So the thing was truly another ancient relic?’ Anthem asked with interest.

‘Oh, yes—perhaps even more powerful than the Staff of Elders.’

‘And it was also destroyed?’ Anthem asked, giving Samuel a suspicious glance.

Samuel paused, before remembering to swallow the corner of bread still in his mouth.  ‘Yes.  The two relics incinerated each other.’

Anthem nodded and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.  ‘It’s a shame, but there may be more ancient relics in the world still.  With the prospect of this war ended, perhaps we can direct our efforts to finding them.’

‘Is that such a good thing?’ Samuel asked.  ‘Such power seems to bring out the worst in people.  Perhaps such things are better left unfound.’

‘That may be, my boy, but we can’t hide our heads in the sand because of the foolish and the greedy.  Everything in life can be turned sour in the wrong hands.  We just have to be vigilant and rely on our wits and the goodness of our friends.  People usually get what they deserve in the end.’

Samuel shrugged and finally agreed.  ‘I guess you’re right.  Ash is dead, the Emperor and the Archmage are dead—even Dividian is dead.’

‘Dividian?  What happened to him?’

‘Ash killed him in the end.  He had outlived his usefulness, although I must say he was a fool not to have seen it coming.  Tell me, how did Ash manage to capture you?’

‘Lord Hathen asked to meet with me and slipped something in my cup.  The next thing I knew I was waking up in Dividian’s awful lair, bound and tied.  They kept feeding me extract of Scour Spice to keep me weak and addle-headed.  The Empress was there, too, although she looked in much better condition than me.  They had her locked in an old cell opposite mine, but at least she was free to move around and not tied up on the floor like a roped pig.  Scour Spice also has some nasty side effects, but I won’t go into detail.’

‘What of High Lord Rimus?  Was he there, too?’

Anthem sighed.  ‘He is dead.  It seems he, too, had been put to use by Ash.  I can’t say what deal they had done—perhaps Rimus had been part of Ash’s schemes in return for the Staff, who knows—but it was obvious they had some collusion together.  Ash summoned Rimus to the dungeons and he obviously knew what was going on, but it was there that he met a terrible end.  After some initial small talk that I could not hear, Ash and Rimus began to tussle.  Dividian joined with Ash and together they overcame the poor man and subdued him into senselessness with the same wretched root.  It was then that poor Rimus suffered a terrible fate.  I would not have wished it upon him or anyone.

‘Dividian had prepared a great bath of some vial liquids and had been chanting over it all day.  They dropped Rimus into it.  He began to thrash and squirm at once, but Ash held him under with a broom handle.  I called for the Empress to look away and I’m glad that she did, for it was not a pleasant sight at all.  Rimus struggled, but not for long.  When it was done, Dividian began stirring the fluids, and it became evident that Rimus had been dissolved altogether—such foul black arts as I have never seen.  Dividian scooped out the bones one by one with his tongs and threw them into the corner.  He began summoning more of his black magic and Ash took off his clothes.  Stark naked, he stepped into the bath and lay down into the vile fluids, submerging himself completely.  When he stepped out again, he was wearing Rimus’ skin like a cloak.’

Samuel shook his head.  ‘That’s abominable!’

‘Yes,’ the old man agreed.  ‘I can’t say how glad I am that Dividian met his end.  Who knows what else he was capable of or what else he had already done?’

‘And what about you, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked.  ‘What will you do now?’

‘I will go back to the school and do what I do best—teaching young fools like you to use their magic and be polite to their elders.’  Samuel laughed at this.  ‘Well,’ said the old magician.  ‘I still have a lot to do.  The Empress will have every magician’s head in a basket if I don’t go and plead some reason to her.  She’s still quite shaken by the ordeal and her ministers are already clamouring to have her ear.  Rest well.  I’m sure the others will come to see you soon.’

With that, the old Grand Master bade farewell and Samuel ate the rest of his platter quietly in bed.  Afterwards, he reached back under the pillow, pulled out the ring and held it up, inspecting it in the daylight that streamed in through the window.  It looked so small and insignificant, yet it was the key to so much power.  Samuel closed his eyes a moment and could feel the ring almost shivering in his fingers, as if its magic was bursting to be released.  How incredible, he thought, that such a small thing could hold so much power.  He thought about slipping it onto his finger and feeling its energy inside him, but then he thought better.  The relic had already proved too powerful and was dangerous.

Still, he had a great desire to put it on for, since waking, Samuel had come to a terrible realisation.  It was the same terrible feeling as being in the Mage Cell, as if some great force was stopping him from tapping the ether.  He had tried to call his magic several times, but it would not come.  He was starting to feel, with dread, that somehow he had been damaged during his duel with Ash.  Somehow, using the Argum Stone and opening himself to its vast power had destroyed some vital part of him that could summon magic.  He hoped it was only temporary and his power would return as his body healed, for the very thought of not having any magic made him tremble with anxiety.

Each time he felt nervous, however, he squeezed the Argum Stone in his fist and he felt a little better, for he knew, should he desire it or should he really be in need, he could simply call on the vast power within the ring.

Samuel finally roused himself from the bed. After his small meal, he felt much better and decided he should go and find something more substantial to eat.  There was a new set of fine black robes folded on the dresser, and so Samuel dressed himself and then combed his hair in front of the mirror.

Before leaving, Samuel’s heart began racing a little more.  He was still trying to convince himself that his magic would return any moment, but he felt an unsettling fear inside.  He just needed to feel the tiniest touch of magic to calm his nerves and then all would be well.

He turned away from the dresser and faced the opposite wall.  He held the Argum Stone firmly in his fist and called to it gently.  He could feel its magic beginning to seep out into his hand, so he directed a spell towards the centre of the room.  A simple mage-light would do the trick nicely.  Suddenly, there was a rush of power and a huge sphere exploded into being, filling the room with blinding light.  Samuel yelled and released the ring to shield his eyes.  It dropped to the floor and, at once, the enormous mage-light vanished, leaving the room devoid of magic once more.  The ring bounced once with a soft clink and then spun around a few times before rattling over onto the timber floorboards.

Samuel’s heart thudded in his chest.  He was at once relieved and anxious, for the feeling of magic had calmed his nervousness, but now he was feeling alarmed at the very power of the thing.  It was far too powerful for him to use for commonplace tasks.  Using it felt like trying to shell an egg with a sledgehammer.  He would be much happier when his own spells returned but, in the meantime, Samuel had little choice but to pick up the ring and he dropped it back into his pocket.

Another soft knock sounded on the door just then and Samuel called, ‘Enter!’

‘Well, well, well, Samuel,’ said a man as he stepped through the doorway and Samuel was surprised to see it was Soddan.  The mysterious man was dressed in plain clothes, as usual, but he had a beaming smile on his face that was quite out of character.

‘What are you doing here?’ Samuel asked accusingly.

Soddan raised his hands defensively.  ‘No need to get upset.  I merely came to congratulate you and, with the stream of guests you’ve been having, I had to wait my turn.’  He closed the door carefully behind him and sat on one of the cushioned wicker chairs, avoiding the hard stool.  ‘What a grand job you did, Samuel.  I must say, I’m very impressed.’

‘Why is that?’ Samuel asked suspiciously.  ‘After you sent me off to meet Ash, I thought you wanted me dead?’

‘Dead?  Oh, goodness, no.  I told you the truth.  You needed to leave the city before Jarrod’s men found you and you also needed to develop your skills.  It seems you accomplished both tasks quite well.  It was pure coincidence that you and Ash had some sort of disliking for each other and I wasn’t going to interfere with that.  Grown men should deal with their own differences, after all.  And I thought it would be a good chance for you to hone your skills.  I really thought a man like him would be no match for a magician of your calibre.  Of course, he was in Tindal retrieving the Argum Stone for me at the time, so his death would have been inconvenient, but one of my other men could have returned it without too much of a fuss.  He did prove to be much more cunning than he appeared, I must admit—working both the Circle and Lord Jarrod from the beginning, gaining spells from us and black magic from Jarrod and Dividian.  He had promised to deliver the Argum Stone to us once he and Master Dividian had found out how to awaken it, but it looks as though he had been planning to keep the thing for himself all along.  I blame myself.  I really didn’t have time to keep a proper eye on him.  I have to thank you for taking care of him for me.  It turned out he nearly had the better of everyone.’

‘So he was working for you all the while?’

‘So to speak.  You’d be surprised to learn exactly how many people do work for the Circle.  Although, Ash was using us as much as we were using him.  He was quite the conniving trickster, as you learned.  I’m sure you must be quite glad he’s dead?’

Samuel nodded darkly.  ‘That’s an understatement.’

‘Good.  Then with that out of the way, it’s time we set to business.  My leader is a man called Cang and he has just given me some disturbing news.  It seems time is growing short and your assistance will be required sooner than we expected.’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Samuel insisted.  ‘How can you just shrug off the loss of the Staff of Elders and the Argum Stone like that?  They were the two most powerful artefacts in the world!’

‘The destruction of the Staff of Elders is of no real consequence to us.  We would have liked to have added the Argum Stone to our collection, but its loss is not so important.  The fact that it was so easily destroyed only proves that it was not one of the particular items we have been looking for.  The world is a much bigger place than just the petty Empire of Turia and the lands of Amandia, Samuel.  The Circle has all manner of ancient artefacts at its disposal.  We have been scouring the earth for them since this Age first began, and now there is something even more important to consider.  All such artefacts are merely a means to an end.’

‘So you’re telling me that you could have killed the Emperor at any time—that you could have stopped the Empire long ago and halted all this infernal trouble whenever you felt like it?’

‘Yes,’ Soddan replied, as if the answer should have been obvious in the first place.

Samuel was infuriated.  ‘Then, why didn’t you?’

‘As I’ve already told you, these things are inconsequential.  It’s better to let such matters play out in their own time.  The Circle does not meddle with such things.  You just don’t seem to believe me no matter how many times I tell you, Samuel.  There are always wars and tyrants to deal with.  If we stop one, another just pops up in its place, but the Circle of Eyes is the one thing that can save this world and all our precious souls.’  His brow furrowed and he leaned a little closer towards Samuel.  ‘What would you say if I told you that everything we have come to believe is untrue—that everything we take for granted is just an illusion?’

Samuel had no idea what Soddan was talking about and it was written plainly on his face.

‘There is a war of good and evil taking place in the universe that has been waged over time and space immeasurable.  Our world is nothing more than a larder and a breeding ground for that evil.  Every thousand years, the demons return here to feast upon us and revitalise their numbers, fuelling their eternal war.  They wait until a specific time, when our lands are full of life, and then they come though from their world and into ours, and they consume everything they can find.’

Samuel looked steadily at the seated man, trying to gauge him for seriousness.  ‘What are you saying?’  Samuel asked him.  ‘That this is going to happen here, in Amandia?’

‘Not just in Amandia, Samuel, but all over this world.  The demons found a way to come here in the time of the Ancients and they have returned many times since then.  They devour everything, leaving only just enough life so that our world can slowly recover, then they come again.’

Samuel shook his head.  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it?  We have a collection of books you would be interested to read—things not found in your Great Library.  Even Dividian believed us, for he had practised many dark rites and had begun to hear their whisperings in his ear, the foolish man.  Listen to me, Samuel, and listen well.  These things I tell you are true.  We have little time and we need your help.  Anthem and his Lions are too caught up with their own petty struggles to believe us but, when it’s too late, when the gates of hell open and the beasts surge forth, everyone will believe, and it will be too late.  We have only one hope.  Before the demons can enter our world, two great items of power must be brought together.  The Staff of Elders we had already examined and the Argum Stone’s destruction has proved that it was also worthless.  The power of the things we seek is so great that they can crack open the barriers between our realms and allow the demons to cross.’

‘So why would you want to find such things if they are so dangerous?’ Samuel asked.

‘To destroy them, of course,’ Soddan answered, ‘or at least to keep them out of the wrong hands.’

‘Then you’ve been retrieving all the relics so you can to try to find the correct ones?’

‘That’s right, but so far we have been unsuccessful.  What’s more, we believe that in every Age before ours there has been some awareness of this fate, as we have now, and they also tried to find these two relics.  So far, none has been successful.  Every Age has ended tragically, to say the least.  Our Age is nearly at an end, perhaps even within our lifetimes.  To save all our lives and our very souls, we must find those two artefacts and stop them from ever being used.  The demons leave them somewhere, perhaps at completely opposite ends of the world, easily in view where people can find them.  When the time comes and people have become accomplished and learned to travel, they will inadvertently bring them together and thus signal humanity’s own demise.  They must be powerful things, immediately recognisable as a pair, so that people would have the notion to put them together.’

‘But you haven’t a clue where or what they are,’ Samuel assumed.

Soddan nodded.  ‘That’s right.  All our efforts so far have been in vain, and the signs all point to the fact that our time is quickly running short.  Somewhere, we are sure, they have already been found and whatever witless dotards have them will surely be coursing them together as we speak, like puppets fulfilling the demons’ plans.  If we cannot find these two great icons of power and destroy them, or at least keep them safely apart, we are doomed.  If we can achieve our goal, our world will be safe forever more.  You can see how the politics and affairs of nations are inconsequential compared to this.

‘Can you not see why we need you, Samuel?  Your skills are great, and will become ever greater with time, for you are still young.  You even proved Master Celios to be correct, although I’m sure few others would guess it.  Help us, Samuel, I am pleading with you.’

Samuel shook his head as he began pacing back and forth across the room.  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said.  ‘It sounds…fantastic.’

Soddan stood.  ‘Very well.  Come and see for yourself.  I can arrange for you to visit our library, or go browse through Dividian’s collection yourself.  I’m sure you will be convinced.’

‘Dividian’s collection was destroyed by Ash.’

Soddan scowled.  ‘Unfortunate.’

‘I need some time.  These last few days have all been too much.  Give me some time to think about it.’

‘Time is something we cannot afford, Samuel.’  Then he rubbed at his chin a moment.  ‘Very well.  Take what time you need, but do not dally long.  Leave word for me at the smoking den when you have decided—use my contact name—but I must tell you this, Samuel: I am a patient and forgiving man, despite my appearances.  Cang, however, is not a man to anger.  He has told me that your assistance is not optional.  There are many, many ways to gain your aid should we require it and Cang will not hesitate to use them.  He has charged me with gaining your help but, if he hears my efforts have been fruitless, he will not be happy.  The fate of the world is at stake, and he will not accept failure—he cannot.  Keep that in mind.  I’m sure you still have friends, loved ones, even ambitions.  Cang will take those away without a moment’s thought.’

Samuel stopped and looked at Soddan darkly.  ‘Don’t threaten me, Soddan.  Everything even remotely precious to me has already been taken away.  Everyone I have known and loved is dead and my only ambition has been to revenge them.  That wish was fulfilled the moment I killed Ash.  There is nothing you can do to me to bring me down any further.’

Soddan again raised his hands in defence.  ‘Please, please, Samuel.  Don’t misunderstand me.  I am not threatening you.  I am merely telling you what will happen should you decide not to join us.  You may think you have nothing, but you would be surprised at the things a man finds valuable when they are taken away.  I know you still have friends in the Order, but there are other things also.  Pray you do not find out.  Past ages have had powerful magicians, too, but none has managed to survive.  The Circle of Eyes is everywhere, ever vigilant, ever searching.  We rebuild after every Age in our bid to undo the foolishness of the Ancients.  I know you will come to the right decision, Samuel.  You are not a foolish man.’

‘Very well,’ Samuel conceded.  ‘I will let you know soon enough.’

Soddan continued to look at Samuel, perhaps weighing up his final statement.  ‘As a measure of my trust, I will reveal to you my true name.  I am Balten.’  And he even made a slight bow and gave a flourish with his hand.

‘You are Balten!’ Samuel said with surprise.

‘You see?  When even young magicians know my name, you can see why I need an alias,’ the man replied light-heartedly.  ‘Now, I shall bid you good day.  Enjoy your celebrations,’ he added, as he let himself out and closed the door softly behind him, leaving Samuel to dwell on all that had been said.

Eventually, Samuel stepped out into the hall, although still with some uncertainty.  Servants, nobles and courtiers passed by, seemingly unbothered by the events of recent days, although some eyed Samuel warily as he began making his way down the long corridors on his still unsteady legs.  At one junction, a youthful mage came along and stopped upon recognising him.

‘Samuel!’ he said.

‘Artam?’ Samuel asked.

‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘I’ve not seen you since the old days in the school.  Where have you been?’

‘Not far—in Duli since my graduation.  I returned as soon as I heard word that the Emperor had been killed and many Masters had been slain.  I am an apprentice Keeper of Records in the school.’

‘Congratulations then, Master Ritter.  Do you know where Lomar and the others are?’

‘Lord Lomar?  He and the other councillors are meeting with the Empress in the meeting chamber.  I just came from there.’

‘Can you take me there?’

Artam momentarily glanced at the papers he held under one arm before discarding their importance.  ‘Of course.  This way.’

He led Samuel through the vast palace, through halls and across yards and along balconies.  They crossed a great echoing chamber where a hundred men and women sat at a hundred desks, all furiously scribbling and making calculations and none bothered to look up as they passed.  They passed a series of rooms, each resounding with a different music and Samuel could just catch a glimpse of youths in each one, busily practising their instruments.  Finally, Artam brought him before a simple, yet finely polished, wooden door.  He remembered it as being the same room where he had accepted his dispatch to Hammenton just after the Emperor’s death, although he never would have found it on his own.

‘Farewell, Lord Samuel,’ Artam said, and he left Samuel to knock and enter.  The young man had changed much in the short years, but he seemed to have completely dismissed their prior conflict.

Around the long table sat about a dozen men and women.  Empress Lillith sat at one head, wearing a regal gown, and General Ruardin, enormous in contrast to her small frame, sat by her side.  Two ladies-in-waiting stood behind her.  Lomar sat closest to her, with Master Glim beside him.  The others present were various court officials and representatives.  They were all looking at Samuel as he entered.

‘Empress Lillith,’ Lomar began, ‘you may remember Samuel.  Samuel, I’m sure you remember the Empress Lillith.  Take a seat.  It’s good that you have now arrived.’

Samuel bowed to those present and closed the door behind him before taking a place in a vacant seat near the end of the table.  The men opposite him nodded to return the greeting.

‘Welcome, Master Samuel,’ the Empress began.  She was slender and beautiful.  Her proud cheek bore a vivid pink scar—perhaps a souvenir from Ash’s dungeon.  ‘I must begin by thanking you.  I understand it was you who brought an end to the horrid magician, Master Ash, who had imprisoned us.’

‘Thank you, Empress,’ Samuel returned politely.

‘As a result, I would like to offer you a place on the Magicians’ Council—as a temporary measure in recognition of your skills.  I understand this is a great honour for one so young.  Never has the Council had such a youthful member in its ranks.  The permanent members will need to be elected in the coming months, but there is much to be done and the Empire needs the Council at full strength.  I trust you will make good of the opportunity.’

‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ Samuel responded.  ‘I will be glad to fill the role, if only for the time being.’

‘Also,’ she continued, ‘I have nominated Lord Lomar to be High Lord.  Again, it is only a temporary measure to fill the coming weeks, but if he and the Council agree, perhaps he can take on the role permanently.’

‘That sounds fitting.’

‘As you know, the Emperor was obsessed with the desire to conquer Garteny and complete his expansion of the Empire.  I, on the other hand, wish only to maintain the law and keep the people secure.  I’m sure you all realise a woman has never ruled the Empire before, and this will only last until my son becomes fit to take my place.  I am not entirely convinced I will have the same power that my husband did, and the officials even now have created ways to stop me from making many important decisions.  Know this at least, that I will do my best to serve the Empire and its peoples well, and I hope the magicians of the Empire can serve me in turn.

‘We all know that Cintar has been host to Garten spies, but we also have our own spies in Garteny and we have just received word from them.  It seems that the Gartens are not content with only my husband’s death.  They seem to feel that the Empire is still a threat to them and King Otgart sees this as a time of opportunity.  He has marched his armies into our northern lands and has already taken several towns.  I have begun a diplomatic process to try and maintain the peace, but I don’t know how far King Otgart is planning to go with this.  If he insists on pushing his soldiers further south, we will be forced to send our own troops to dissuade him.  For the time being, I have asked our men to keep their distance.’

Samuel sighed.  Despite all their best efforts, it seemed the threat of war had still not yet been staunched.

‘What the Empress is saying,’ Lomar explained, ‘is that even though we are not planning to continue with the war, we may have little choice if the Gartens bring the war to us.  She is counting on the aid of the Order of Magicians, should the need be required.’

Samuel nodded.  ‘I understand.’

‘Very well,’ the Empress said.  ‘I shall leave you to discuss the matter further.  I have much other pressing business, as you can understand.’

With that, her ladies helped her up and she and her entourage filed from the room with General Ruardin striding out beside her.

The various nobles and ministers each took the opportunity to introduce themselves to Samuel, for it seemed he had developed quite a reputation after felling Ash.  They were all smiles as they shook his hand and offered their congratulations and assurances of support.  Slowly they left the room, followed by the remaining officials, until Lomar, Master Glim and Samuel were left alone, standing beside the long table.

‘Well,’ Master Glim said.  ‘That went well.’

‘Yes,’ Lomar agreed.

‘What does the Grand Master think of this,’ Samuel asked.

‘Well, we haven’t exactly had time to tell him,’ Master Glim explained.  ‘But if we prepare him enough, and tell it the right way, just maybe he won’t lose his temper and explode.’

‘I doubt it,’ Lomar added with a grin.  ‘I think he will have a fit either way.’

‘Perhaps, but I believe I heard mention of a celebration,’ Master Glim said.

‘Preparation is well under way,’ Lomar informed with a smug smile.  ‘Tonight, the Empress will take her vows and choose her ministers.  Mourning for the late Emperor shall end and then there will be a great celebration.  The entire city will herald the beginning of a new era and the palace grounds will host the greatest event of recent times.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ Samuel said.  And, indeed, it was.

That evening, as magicians’ spells coloured the night sky, Samuel stood with his closest friends—Grand Master Anthem, Lomar, Master Glim, Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow—and marvelled at the crackling explosions and lights that sounded above them.  The Imperial Engineers had prepared a host of rockets and they whistled up above the city to explode and shower the city with shimmering embers.  The sounds and smells made the rockets as thrilling as any magician’s efforts.  Several magicians were trying to outdo the display and had set the sky afire with all manner of glittering and streaking spells that crossed and hung in the sky.

The palace grounds were covered in tents, pavilions, ribbons and decorations, with music and singing coming from every corner.  Soldiers, ministers and courtiers alike rubbed shoulders and clinked their cups together with merriment.  With so many men present, serving girls, maids and ladies of the court were precious commodities and all barely had a breath to spare as partner after partner swung them around to the joyful melodies.

Empress Lillith had strictly forbidden any magician to appear in his robes or any form of black on this occasion, marking them as too dark and sombre, and so the younger men of the Order had gone out of their way to wear as brightly, and ridiculously coloured threads as they could find.  Never before had such bright reds, blues, yellows and greens been seen in such stripes, circles and swirls!  It seemed that years of monotony had resulted in the most colourful burst of imagination that each magician could muster, and they did it well.

Many of the older magicians could not break their age-old habits and gathered on the border of the celebration, still in their drab magicians’ robes, but nonetheless smiling and tapping their toes.  The Empress declared that they should at least have a coloured ribbon around their waists, and they each submitted to that with only a slight grumbling.

Eric danced with as many young ladies as he could, but Samuel noticed he had settled for one particularly fair lass while the night was young.

‘I see young Eric still has a little fire left in him,’ Lomar mentioned to Samuel as they watched the pair embrace.  ‘I wonder how young Master Goodfellow is faring?’

Samuel glanced around and found his other friend talking to a group of young apprentices, deep in conversation.  ‘He’s never been one for romance.  He’s always been logical and precise, so I’m not sure he will even notice the change when it comes upon him.’

‘And what about you, Samuel?  Will you make the most of your youth while you still can?’

‘No,’ Samuel replied forlornly.  ‘That’s not for me.  I think that part of my life has finished.  I thought I would feel better once I killed Ash, but I don’t.  Strangely, I still love Leila as much as ever, even though I know she is gone.  I still think about her every moment, even now.’

Lomar nodded.  ‘Perhaps time will help to heal your sorrow.  I can’t know what you must be feeling, but I can advise that you do your best to think about the future and forget your woes.  Life must go on and heavy days lie ahead.  We have much left to do.’

‘Of course, you’re right,’ Samuel said to his friend.

‘Go on, have a dance,’ Lomar urged.  ‘You’re too young to give in to bitterness just yet.’

Samuel nodded and took a few breaths in preparation, for he felt his friend was quite right.  He latched onto the hand of a passing young lady, who was red-faced and panting, and dragged her back into the dance from which she had just barely escaped.  His melancholy began to shed with each moment as he lost himself in the merriment and shook loose his woes.  He spun, danced and laughed with the young lady, and each step felt lighter than the last.  He could barely believe he had done it.  He had finally killed Ash—the man who had stood by and watched as his men had murdered Samuel’s entire family; the monster who had killed Leila; the man who had filled his nightmares for all these years.  Finally, Samuel realised he did feel better.  A weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders and he felt the ghosts of his past could finally be at peace.

‘We did it!’ Samuel cried out with joy, as Grand Master Anthem came into view, skipping past him with a maiden on either arm.  ‘He’s gone!’

The old Grand Master looked equally happy and carried on merrily by.  ‘I know, lad!  I know!  Wonderful, isn’t it!  After all these years, we’ve done it!’  But perhaps the old man was thinking about something else altogether.

After all the dancing, Samuel finally had to stop and catch his breath and he let his partner stagger off to rest.  Despite his merriment, an uneasiness still nagged at him.  His magic had not yet returned and he was beginning to think that something within him may have been damaged beyond repair.

Forget all that, he finally told himself, feeling the reassuring presence of the ancient ring tucked firmly into his pocket.  With this, he could destroy a mountain if he chose to.  Tonight is for celebration!

‘Come on, lad!’ cried old Master Sanctus, swinging past Samuel with a young lass in his arms.  ‘What have you got to be so sour about?  Kick up your heels!’

Samuel could not help but laugh at the sight and, with that, the old magician cackled with glee and continued spinning off through the crowd.  All the while, the girl was giggling herself to tears in his wiry, old arms and making a great show of trying to escape him.

A moment had barely passed before Samuel’s hand was grabbed by another flushed-cheeked young lady and he, too, was pulled away to rejoin the dance, lost in the music, laughter and fun.

The entire city celebrated that night, and the music and singing and the booms of rockets floated over the great city walls and echoed far out into the waiting harbour.  Flashes of light lit up the bobbing wave-tops as each rocket burst into bloom above the palace.  The resulting pops and crackles, muted by the distance, took their time ambling out over the battered rocks—still cluttered with the broken splinters of the Merry Widow from years before.  The sea might have fallen back into complete darkness between those explosions, if not for the constant, many-coloured glows of magic emanating from the city.  From here, the docks and the city walls and the palace towers themselves seemed to be shining jewels set into the blackness, surrounded by the lilting music that rose and fell as it twirled upon the wind.  For the time being at least, Cintar was a beacon in the void, separated from the dark of night by little more than mirth, and the gentle caress of the magicians’ lights.

End of Part One

The story is continued in She Who Has No Name

EPILOGUE

A SET OF patient eyes watched the wind blowing across the desert, as it picked at the lips of the dunes and made spiralling vortexes of sand that twisted in the air.  At times like this, the white dunes seemed to form a great and seething, waterless sea.  By the moonlight, it was nothing short of breathtaking; but such beauty was deceiving.  Only the hardy Kateb could stand the extremes of the great desert—endless sand and a blazing sun by day, freezing cold and howling winds by night.  Few of the Paatin people now wandered its depths, for she, Alahativa, had led them from their pitiful nomadic origins in the desert into an age of prosperity and riches.  She had turned them from stragglers and nomads that wandered bleakly from waterhole to waterhole, to founders of the great oasis cities, where they had prospered and grown into the greatest and most advanced of societies.

Now, however, the sands were at her walls.  The desert had begun to creep east once more and it was a sign from the gods.  She had been complacent for far too long.  It was coming to the time of Ajaspah, when the ancient prophecies had foretold that her people would rise like an ocean of blood and fire, and they would flood across the sands like a tide, washing over into the fertile lands to the west.  Her people had grown in number and very soon it would be beyond her ability to provide for them, and all she had worked to create would fall in upon itself.  To the west lay her salvation, for the lands there could provide for her children forever more.  She would never have to worry about the unreliable rains or the looming sands again.  She would be able to watch her people live in plenty and, finally, allow herself to grow old in peace.

There was only one small problem.  These rich lands were already occupied by primitive peoples, to say the least—simple barbarians with no idea of the treasures they possessed—who destroyed their own lands day by day with their incessant warring.

Soon would be the perfect time in which to strike.  She smiled again beneath her dark veil, as she had when she had first heard the news.  Times were troubled in far-off Turia and that was perfect for her.  It seems there had been much disturbance recently within their pathetic empire.  The Emperor had been murdered and his youngest wife now held power, and she had little experience with such matters of state.  The Archmage had also been killed and the Staff of Elders, the pinnacle of their might, had been destroyed.  Added to that, the savages in the bitter north looked set to invade the south and take advantage of the Empire’s turmoil—an example she was set to follow.

It was perfect timing.  After they had all spread themselves thin and worn themselves out, she would conquer their lands and make them all her slaves.

She turned from the tiled balcony and returned through the shimmering veils to her chambers.  Her servants lined the walls and she waved for one to approach.  The servant waited, head bowed.  His well-muscled torso shone with the scented oils he wore and it pleased her to look upon him.  Still, she had developed a penchant for the lighter skin of the westerners.  She reminded herself to send another raiding party to bring back more slaves.  The last one had never returned—insolent fools.  They had probably allowed themselves to be captured or killed and such failure was unforgivable.  Whoever had trained them would be punished.

‘Bring me Utik’cah,’ she commanded, softly.  The sound of her own voice, rich and youthful, was a pleasure to her.

The servant turned and left quickly, scarcely looking up to see where he was going.  She barely had time to begin her bathing, dropping her clothes and stepping into the warm, scented waters, before Utik’cah appeared before her.  He wore his enormous wide scimitar at his hip, as always.  The sight of it annoyed her, but Utik’cah would not abandon it.  It was a shame that he was such a useful general, or she would have enjoyed having him tortured.

‘How may I serve you, wondrous Alahativa?’ he said, kneeling beside the great bath, eyes set on the floor.

She smiled, as her servants rubbed her body with the soft sponges that were carried all the way from the great ocean that she had never seen.

‘Ready another ten thousand men to go west,’ she said slowly, watching her long, slender arms glisten with soap and water.  ‘Send another thirty jidanti and three sitt’i.  I want our first staging post ready before the waning of the next moon.  Keep them hidden, keep them secret.  Bring me all you learn.’

Utik’cah nodded abruptly.  She knew it was a difficult task to force their creatures of war across the soft sands of the desert, but Utik’cah was expected to go to any means to accomplish the task.  ‘It shall be as you have said.’

She signalled for him to leave with a wave of her hand and he did so at once, leaving her to sit in her bath and smile contentedly up at the ceiling.  She would soon own all the riches and wealth of the west and her empire would know no bounds.  Pity to any fools who tried to stand in her way, for her armies would sweep across the land until they had reached the jewelled city of Cintar itself.

There was only one thing that remained to trouble her.  Her spies reported that the magicians of the west had found a new champion, a celebrated magician who was rumoured to be above all others.  She would use caution with him, for she never underestimated an opponent.  She would tell her spies to follow this man and discover all they could.  She would learn his strengths, his weaknesses and his secrets and then she would have him brought before her in chains.  She would not let anything stand in the way of her conquest, least of all this magician called Samuel.

No man can kill what is already dead

No man can not be killed

This is the Law of the Boundaries

That divides the men from the gods

—nameless note on a nameless translation; the Great Library of Cintar

Author’s note:

Thanks for reading my book. I always appreciate feedback and hope you enjoy the rest of the series.

Please connect with me online:

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MichaelFosterWrites

Twitter: https://twitter.com/

– Michael Foster