The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Foster

  The water here was alien to him. It felt cold, deep and dangerous. He imagined gigantic sinewy leviathans intertwining in its depths and wished he could turn back. Whenever he looked towards home, he found the magician, his black cloak fluttering in the wind, sternly blocking his view.

  Toby played about the boat while Salu ignored everything around them, muttering impatiently with their voyage. The old man did not respond when Leopold called to him. It was a strange assemblage, worsened by the knot of sadness in his chest.

  His father had been killed by this accursed magician and he had been sent to accompany him against his will. His mother had told him not to return until the magician’s quest was fulfilled, which caused him more angst. It was only his mother’s adamant instruction that kept Leopold from leaping overboard in those initial hours. He had considered swimming back home, but every time the thought occurred to him, he felt the magician’s gaze boring through the back of his head. Daring to turn and see, the man was glaring at him. Under that gaze, Leopold remained firm in his seat.

  His spirits raised as he mused upon the idea of killing the magician and returning home with the boat. That was easier than swimming away, for he had been relishing the idea of murdering Samuel since first grabbing his mother’s knife. He would not mind taking the old man and the boy with him. They seemed harmless and they would surely rather avoid the accursed mainland.

  Yes, that was it. He would lie to his mother and tell her everything had gone well and the mission—whatever it entailed—had been accomplished. Leopold smiled, deciding to have his revenge at the first opportunity—as soon as he figured out how.

  At that very moment the magician spoke, interrupting Leopold from his dark thoughts and wiping the grin from his lips.

  ‘The water is calm, boy, but your stormy mood could sink this little boat. I hope the outlook changes before we are sent to the bottom of the sea. We have much to do before this is over, so you are set for a miserable time if you keep this up.’

  Leopold would not answer the man. He spiralled deeper into morbid thought. His smile did not return, and he continued his plotting.

  They skipped across the waves. Leopold fell further into his dark mood, wishing that a storm should sink them, so the magician would get what he deserved. However, the sky remained calm. The wind stayed brisk at their back and the sea smooth until well into the afternoon, when the long dark line of the Amandian coast came within sight. Leopold cursed his bad luck and thought of other ways to have his revenge, scanning the waters for any jagged rocks he could run them upon.

  ‘South,’ the voice of the magician called and with a sigh Leopold adjusted the ropes to follow the shoreline.

  He brought them perpendicular to land, but their simple rigging was only efficient when going with the wind and they lost speed immediately. Within moments—rather too quickly for Leopold’s liking—the breeze shifted around to blow at their backs once more. The ocean jiggled and bobbed in response to the change, and Leopold steered their vessel across the unsettled wave tops.

  In sight of land, the magician relaxed and moved about the boat, checking the sky above or the horizon around them, and inspecting his black casket.

  Leopold gestured towards the coffin lid. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Meaningless words in Old Turian script. Powerless things,’ the magician explained with disdain. ‘Before the last emperor unified the nations in decades of bloody war, they had nine gods between them. The Emperor almost stamped them out, but some folk remember their names and many still call to them in times of need. Old faith can be remarkably hard to extinguish.’

  ‘So why did you put them there?’

  The magician smirked. ‘Rumour goes that I have these words on my box, so I inscribed them there so as not to disappoint. I have a reputation to live up to.’

  ‘I’m sure it has some power or purpose,’ Leopold stated confidently. ‘Even on our island we heard of your coffin. There is no greater insult than wishing for the Box of Samuel to wash up on another man’s shore. It is a vile thing, capable of stealing souls and releasing demons. To lay eyes on it is to be cursed.’

  ‘Again, purely rumour. The one time I saw my son’s captors, they had him in a box like this, although much smaller to accommodate a babe. I could not save him, but I memorised the spells around his prison. It took many years, but I crafted this casket in its likeness, only larger to accommodate a grown man.’

  ‘Why did it take so long?’

  ‘Great things take time, as you will learn, young Leopold. Patience is something you have yet to discover.’

  The magician settled into silence. When he did next break the quiet, it almost scared Leopold from his skin.

  ‘I know it is no consolation, but your father was very proud of you.’ He faced Leopold on one of the benches that ran across the breadth of the vessel.

  Leopold looked contemptuously at the magician in return. The affront deserved no response.

  ‘You meant more to him than anything,’ the magician continued. ‘He gave his life to give you a chance. It was a great and selfless thing.’

  Leopold glared at the soulless man, then turned his head towards the open horizon of the west.

  ‘He was a great man and he chose wisely. Anyone else would have fought me until the end. He expected me, expected this, and he gave himself—purely for the sake of you and your mother.’

  Leopold could hold his silence no more, incensed. ‘What would you know of him?’ he spat, furious that the one who had killed his father mere hours before should attempt to justify the act.

  The magician did not flinch or change his expression. ‘I knew him well. He renounced his master of millennia and gave up immortality for you. He was a great warlord and proud man, resigned to squatting on that pathetic rock in the hope that it would keep you safe. It worked for a time, but he knew that refuge would not hide you forever. If any father loved his son, it was he.’

  ‘And you murdered him.’ The words scraped Leopold’s throat; his muscles tightened with rage.

  ‘Understand, boy, that your concept of death is skewed. Your father’s life exists in me. He was a great magician, and he passed his strength on to me. While I live, he lives inside of me. He has not gone.’

  Leopold was indignant. ‘Then when can I see him? When can I hug him? When will I next hear his laughter? Your words are useless, Magician. Please! Do not try to comfort me.’

  The magician glanced aside for a moment—a small victory for Leopold. ‘I get your point, boy,’ he said. ‘It is true; nothing will be the same ... change is inevitable. Everyone has lost someone close and harder times yet lie ahead. I promised your mother and father I would protect you and I will. I assure you, I am not as monstrous as I seem, or as the rumours say.’ The magician caught a scent on the wind, for at that moment he looked to the coast. ‘Set us further to sea. We must go around a headland soon. There are shoals to our left.’

  Leopold did as told and moved the tiller, freeing the long pole that extended to the back of the boat, locking it back into place once the rudder had been adjusted. He swiftly tightened the sail to match. His hands moved expertly and neatly, quicker than most of the experienced sailors he had witnessed, and he rarely made mistakes.

  ‘How did you cope before me, Magician?’ he asked soberly. ‘This boat must have sailed itself.’

  Samuel’s eyes flickered towards him. ‘We managed,’ he said. ‘And, boy, call me Lord Samuel. I am the last Magician Lord in the land and the title demands respect.’

  ‘Then you should stop calling me boy,’ Leopold responded bluntly. ‘My name is Leopold.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ was the magician’s reply. ‘Very well. If we are to remain civil to each other, let us make a binding agreement to keep us in good stead. From this point, I shall call you Leopold—nothing else—and you in turn will call me Lord Samuel. Your father asked me to protect you, and for you to do as I say. We shall both respect his wishes until such time as
our bond is ended.’

  ‘Done!’ Leopold said promptly. He was tired of being harassed and was glad to seal the matter.

  ‘Think well on it, Leopold. A promise to me is not broken easily and should not be made impulsively. Are you sure—’

  ‘I’m sure, I’m sure,’ Leopold replied impatiently.

  The magician smiled at him—a cunning, knowing smile that had Leopold already questioning his decision.

  ‘Then so be it,’ Lord Samuel agreed. ‘The bond is sealed.’

  ‘I have heard your name many times,’ Leopold admitted after a while, and the magician, who had passed into deep thought, raised his chin. ‘Lord Samuel, Spawn of Cintar; Lord Samuel, Champion of the Infernal Order; Lord Samuel, last of the Damned Magician Lords. The people near my home would scare their children with stories of you. You claim to be saving the world, yet your reputation tells a very different story. Do you not realise that the word magician is shameful and terrifying?’

  Lord Samuel was unfazed. ‘People will always talk and bend the truth to their liking. That witch in Cintar has orchestrated much of that—touting me as her servant. Magicians were in fact welcomed by many and I did have titles once, similar to those you mentioned, when the world was different—before Starfall cracked the world’s mantle, before ash rained and choked the lands. In truth however, I was never fond of being called a Lord; but in your case I will make an exception. It may serve to teach you respect.

  ‘Even Cintar now inspires fear, when it was once a bastion of civilisation, nothing like the scourge of evil it has become. The Turian Emperor brought about great changes—highways and bridges and structured governance. His organised administration advanced civilisation in numerous ways. He was a tyrant but, as I hope you will come to understand, even such tyrants have the capacity for good inside.

  ‘The Order of Magicians was a symbol of logic and benevolence—for the most part—comprised of magicians who sought reason and well-being for all. Rei the Witch Queen of Cintar has renamed her armies after the Order to spite all our good work. We sought peace and happiness for all of Amandia and the word magician did not give children nightmares as you suggest it does now. I may be last of the Lords of the true Order, but I am not the beast I am made out to be. Fear of the Truthseekers has turned any whisper of magic or magicians into a dangerous thing.’

  ‘I do not believe you. Many of the old folk remember long before the Darkening, and they say magicians were always scorned.’

  ‘By some, yes, we were not overly welcomed; nevertheless, unless you are blind and stupid or both, Leopold, I am sure you know your father was a magician, too.’

  ‘He was nothing like you,’ Leopold stated assuredly, unwilling to be goaded into losing his temper.

  ‘That does not change the truth. Before the Truthseekers, magicians were common across Turia and much of Amandia. Many survived the Darkening and took refuge wherever they could. They prevailed against the Black Order, but the coming of the Truthseekers marked the beginning of their end.’

  ‘You speak as if the Truthseekers and the Order are two separate things.’

  ‘They are. The Truthseekers do not serve Rei. They are mere people—people who decided to rid the world of magicians. They are what remains of the Circle of Eyes, a group of thieves and assassins that once ruled the world from the shadows. After the Darkening, they realised they had been misled and now work to cleanse the world of magic, if that is at all possible.’

  ‘Then why do people fear them?’

  ‘Because they are ruthless and will stop at nothing. People once hid and defended the magicians, but the Truthseekers burned them out. There may still be a few magicians hiding in Amandia or other parts of the world, and new magicians are born every day, but people have learned to fear magic. I have heard of mothers throwing their children into the snow at the first sign of talent.’

  ‘That is terrible,’ Leopold declared.

  ‘It is,’ Samuel agreed, ‘but it is a reality. If they do not, the Truthseekers will come to perform their sworn duty.’

  ‘You side with the Truthseekers?’ Leopold asked with repulsion.

  ‘I understand them. Magic no longer has a place in this world. It attracts devils. I, too, am a relic—out of time and place. Once this is done, once I have saved my son, I would happily see an end to magic.’

  ‘That would be the end of you, too, Lord Samuel,’ Leopold stated, hopeful in his tone.

  ‘Then so be it.’

  ‘And where is this lost son you mention?’

  ‘I do not know. Who he is, is more important than where he is. He is Lin, the Demon King, intent on consuming mankind, as he has at the end of every Age for time unknown.’

  ‘Why would you want to save such a creature?’

  ‘Because, like your father, I believe no one is beyond hope. If your father had faith that a fallen magician such as me can still retain some good, then I can have faith that my son—once nothing more than a young man—can return to being a man once again.’

  ‘Yet your name is synonymous with suffering. You have destroyed whole cities and armies, and you profess to causing the great cataclysm of the Darkening.’

  ‘All true,’ Samuel admitted.

  ‘So … why? How can you sit here and tell me you have any good intent when you are a self-confessed blight upon the world?’

  ‘A matter of perspective ... we do what we need to do. I cannot justify my actions to you. In my place you would have done the same.’

  Young Leopold scoffed, insulted by the suggestion. ‘I would not!’

  The magician shrugged. ‘Then your father wasted his life and I am wasting my time in protecting you.’

  Leopold was outraged. ‘How dare you talk of him that way!’

  The magician looked to Leopold with interest, finding amusement in the youth’s reactions. ‘Long ago, a misguided youth shattered the skin between worlds and allowed dark spirits to cross over. He became infused with evil, his three disciples also. It began a never-ending cycle, the master returning to devour the population, the Ancient Ones left behind to monitor his flock. Your father was one of those devils, a servant of the Demon King, dutifully slaughtering the masses again and again over countless eons. Now I possess your father’s strength, I am one step closer to victory.’

  Leopold could hold his temper no longer. He launched from his seat and set upon the magician, knocking him onto his back, and there Leopold pummelled the man’s face with his fists with all his fury.

  ‘You lie!’ he screeched. ‘Damn you back to hell! I’ll kill you!’ he shrieked through gritted teeth.

  Lord Samuel lay flat, unharmed, looking blankly at the boy while Leopold’s arms became leaden and he laboured to remain upright, exhausted from his efforts.

  The magician took the beating without flinching until Leopold could not go on. Infuriated, he staggered away from Lord Samuel, collapsing onto his seat and covering his face in his grazed and bleeding hands, weeping upon his feet.

  ‘Why?’ he whimpered. ‘Why have you done this? Why did you come to our island? Why is this happening to me?’

  He heard the magician climb to his feet and after a while, sniffing and wiping his eyes, Leopold dared look up—to find Lord Samuel gazing straight back at him.

  ‘I hope you have that out of your system,’ the magician told him. ‘I cannot be harmed and you cannot escape, no matter how much you wish for it. You are obliged to me. As I made a promise to your parents, you have made a binding oath to me—and we have a job to do. The sooner we do it, the sooner you can be home.’

  Leopold put his back to the fiend and, with a start, found Toby standing right before him. The young fool was looking at him intently, a cat watching a twitching leaf in the wind.

  ‘What do you want?’ Leopold asked angrily, sniffing once more.

  The boy looked at him cheekily. ‘Tooby,’ he said happily, as if his mangled name was the answer to all their problems.

  Leopold was surprised to
hear the boy utter his first word, however, his melancholy quickly returned. He had no care if the boy spoke or not.

  He shut his mind to them all and spent the following hours looking quietly out to sea.

  ****

  Light was falling and the sun was hidden behind overlapping veils of pink and orange clouds low to the west, when the dark shape of buildings hugging the coastline came into view. Leopold steered towards them at the magician’s instruction, doing what he was told without comment or objection. He wanted to get them to land, so he could be away from the man.

  Their destination revealed a fortified settlement, built upon a rocky island. Sheer walls climbed from the water’s edge. A narrow causeway extended to the mainland, barely above the waves. From the way the rocks glistened, Leopold guessed the roadway would be underwater each high tide. Boats moved around the island and lights glowed in the windows, suggesting life in the place. Silhouettes strode the battlements, pointing towards them on noticing their approach.

  ‘Why has this town not yet fallen?’ Leopold asked. ‘I thought few settlements prevailed on the mainland?’

  ‘This is Seakeep. Many soldiers who fled the old Empire banded together and came here—what’s left of them. They protect and shelter any civilians who they find, or send them on to other safe havens farther away. There are no magicians here to attract the Truthseekers, and the soldiers do a good job of keeping out the minions of Cintar. It would take Rei herself to root them out, and it is only a matter of time until she does. They know that, too—which is why they’re letting us in.’

  Figures, bows readied in their hands, watched them from the crenellations upon the walls. Some tracked their passage, arrows poised for flight. It seemed Lord Samuel was tolerated, although not entirely welcomed.

  At the magician’s instruction, Leopold brought them against the chiselled rocks, and tied their vessel to one of many rings set into the stone, beside a large doorway. They waited several minutes, then the doors opened inward and a short rope was slung out from the resulting opening in the wall. Samuel climbed spryly.