The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Foster

  Leopold followed, finding an enclosed storage area, with a wet stone floor and a ramp that pushed out into the water. Small boats, oars, piles of rope and various boating equipment lay around the walls.

  Several guards in blue and gold trimmed armour were waiting: young men, not much older than Leopold. They stood valiantly, with the air of warriors. Leopold had no doubt they would use their swords if so commanded, making him feel nervous.

  ‘Welcome, companions of the magician,’ hailed one flatly. He did not sound welcoming and he did not acknowledge the magician directly.

  Samuel watched idly while Salu struggled to climb. Toby noticed them waiting and scrambled across the boat, jumping inside.

  Counter to Leopold’s first impression, the guards proved not entirely courageous. One of them trembled and could not avert his eyes from the magician. The others were not so obvious, yet their subtle mannerisms betrayed their fear—glances towards the doorway—and none of them stood closer to the man than necessary. When he stepped nearer, one stumbled in his hurry to retreat.

  They called for helpers, and four civilians soon appeared. They pushed the ramp out with a splash into the water and dragged the boat into the storage room.

  ‘The casket goes in my room,’ Samuel told a guard. Leopold had no doubt he had singled out that particular man on purpose; he was the one who fidgeted the most. The magician raised one finger before the fellow’s face in warning, and the guard locked his horrified gaze onto the finger as if it were a scorpion set to leap upon his face. ‘Not a scratch,’ he warned, and the guard nodded vigorously. ‘Don’t open it,’ he added, and in reply the guard shook his head until it rattled.

  The men lingered, staring at the black casket, terrified. None of them wanted to be the first to near it, fearing what may leap out, that it might burst into flames upon contact. They looked to each other, hoping someone would dare be first.

  Lord Samuel was confident they would see to his wishes, and strode away without hesitation. He knew his way and Leopold hurried after him, scurrying to keep up with the magician’s pace. The noise of Salu’s stick striking the stones sounded as the old man followed with his own doddering gait. Presumably, Toby came with him; the magician displayed no sign of caring.

  They traversed passageways and stairs crafted into the stone walls of the keep. Anyone they met or who crossed their path took flight on sight of the magician’s dark robes—soldiers, servants, maids and pageboys. Fear of the magician knew no restriction, and sounds of dismay followed each one fleeing down the halls.

  They arrived at a large furnished chamber. An officer with wings of grey in his short, ruffled hair waited for them in the room. Aged leather armour was strapped across his chest, ready for battle, and a straight-edged sword was strung in its scabbard at his hip. He had numerous scars on his face, one splitting an eyebrow and continuing up into his hairline; he had seen a lifetime of war.

  As he regarded Lord Samuel, he showed none of the fright that had the other folk terrified. He seemed actually pleased to see the magician. For Leopold, it was a strange and unexpected turn.

  ‘Samuel,’ the man said. ‘You return.’

  ‘Captain Orrell,’ the magician replied in greeting.

  ‘And you bring company,’ the captain added, looking to Leopold, just as Salu and Toby wandered into the room. ‘Who do you have with you? An old beggar draped in rags, a boy with a foolish grin and a young man who has never been far from his mother’s teat. You amaze me with your antics, Magician.’ He sniffed the air loudly. ‘And one of them is in desperate need of soap and scrubbing.’

  Samuel waved his hand nonchalantly before the three to introduce them. ‘Correct on all counts, Captain. This old fool is Salu, brother of Grand Master Anthem and as you know, said to be amongst the greatest magicians of all time; although he has not proved to be much use in his current state. He struggles to put his shoes on unaided, and his personal hygiene is highly questionable. He is giving off that vengeful stench you detected. The child is his witless companion. Together they form almost a functioning unit. Almost. And surely you remember young Leopold. It would be poor form of me to speak bluntly of him in company, but suffice to say your summation of him was not far from the mark.’

  Captain Orrell’s eyes grew wider on hearing Leopold’s name, but he was a man not easily taken unawares and he regained his composure immediately. ‘Gods, Samuel, this will bring some hope to the men. How did you manage to find him?’

  ‘I did not bring him here to please your men, Captain. Leopold was no longer safe where he was, so I brought him with me—at his father’s request.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Orrell asked suspiciously.

  ‘I made a promise to the father to protect the son. I am keeping that promise.’

  Leopold had the feeling that not all was being said, for Captain Orrell looked between him and the magician several times, digesting Lord Samuel’s words.

  ‘Very well,’ the captain decided, coming to terms with the matter. ‘I suppose you have known where he and his mother have been all these years—and you never thought to tell me.’

  ‘I thought of it,’ the magician replied, correcting the fellow’s assumption.

  The scowl on the captain’s face deepened. ‘I hope you will be more honest with me in future, Samuel. I am taking a great risk in welcoming you here. My men considered revolt when they heard of your approach. I find it hard to keep my faith in you when you neglect to tell me so much.’

  ‘I neglect nothing, Captain,’ Lord Samuel informed the man.

  Captain Orrell closed his eyes and breathed deeply. ‘So what will you do now?’ he asked expectantly.

  ‘I will do as I promised and keep him with me. Beyond that, my plans remain the same.’

  ‘So you will take Leopold with you to Cintar while you battle the witch? That is madness.’

  ‘He is safer with me than anywhere. If you want to help me protect him, then you and your men could come with us.’

  The captain looked hesitant. ‘I thought you were going to say that. We’ve tried before, as have others. You know—you were there. There are no secret ways through the gates of Cintar and the walls are impenetrable. All previous attempts have met with total defeat and able men are growing scarce. We simply cannot afford another loss. It will be our last.’

  ‘Walls mean nothing to me. I am more powerful than before. I have already defeated one of the three. The time of the Ancient Ones is ending; I will see to that. I can penetrate Rei’s armies and face her directly. I need you and your men to support me and watch over Leopold. Once I am done, clean up the mess and the city is yours. When I take care of the witch, her minions will lose their focus and her beasts will be banished.’

  ‘Are you so sure? If we commit to this we risk everything.’

  The magician nodded. ‘I have doubled my strength. This time, I will not falter.’

  ‘That’s good,’ the captain told him with a wry smile, ‘because we have called for the fleet to be readied. They should be here with the dawn. And with the Emperor at our lead, the men will fight to double their capacity. Hopefully, when they see him it will counter their fears of you. You know they speak of retaking Cintar first, and burning you second?’ he added with a smile. ‘I let them keep that slender hope; it gives them the fortitude to go on. I trust you remember the location of your room? No one would use it after you last came, so it remains untouched. I will organise lodgings for our new guests. Now if you don’t mind, I have much to do.’ The man nodded towards Leopold before leaving the room. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said in parting.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ Leopold repeated questioningly, looking to the magician. ‘Why did he call me that?’

  ‘Because the last Turian Emperor was your father, Leopold,’ Samuel told him, ‘and the sons of emperors usually inherit their fathers’ empires. Given that, Your Majesty is one such title commonly used to address said emperors.’

  Leopold took a few moments to accomm
odate the information, until his mind focussed upon the obvious. ‘I am an emperor?’

  ‘Yes, Leopold. You are. You are the Emperor: the Emperor of Turia, as was your father before you ... as I have strived to make painstakingly clear.’

  His father had told him many times of the duties and responsibilities of the Emperor, labouring over the function of each official in the Imperial court, but never hinting at this. It was all so clear now. The man had been preparing him, covertly training him in what he knew would one day come. All the lessons from his mother, dreadful at the time, now made sense. Obviously they planned all along for Leopold to one day return and inherit the throne.

  What a marvellous revelation! Leopold danced with joy; not because he was elated to have the power or wealth that such a title would bring—those thoughts existed but were quickly pushed aside. What excited him was something even better. If he was Emperor, then everyone in the Empire was subservient to him, and even Lord Samuel had to follow his word without question.

  ‘But—but—but,’ he stammered, relishing the thought. ‘But that means you must do what I say! You must listen to me. You must call me Your Majesty and I can call you whatever I want.’ He was excited. At last! To have sway over the man.

  The magician smiled—a self-satisfied and knowing smile—and as soon as Leopold saw it, he knew that somehow his victory had been lost. His jubilation fell as Samuel explained.

  ‘I will call you Leopold and you will call me Lord Samuel,’ the black-cloaked man reminded him. ‘That is what we agreed, until such time as our bond has ended. I will command and you will obey. We made this covenant only earlier this same day, and I would not dare break my word to you, or let you break yours to me, Leopold.’ He stressed the final word, making it plain that an Emperor or Your Majesty would never precede it.

  ‘What … but … wait!’ Leopold floundered. ‘You knew this would happen!’ he spat out angrily. ‘You—you tricked me!’

  ‘Then let it be another lesson for you, Leopold. Never agree to anything if you don’t know what you are agreeing to.’ With that, he had done smiling, and the pleasure vanished from his face quickly, a candle flame snuffed upon the wick. His cloak swirling, he departed from the room.

  ‘If you please, Your Majesty,’ someone said at Leopold’s side. ‘We will show you to your room.’

  It was one of the captain’s men, but Leopold was too furious and too frustrated to hear the words. When he finally calmed enough to follow the beckoning soldier, he was sure old Salu was grinning, eyes squeezed tight in silent mirth.

  ****

  Leopold was granted his own room on the top floor. Surprisingly, guards had been set outside his doorway.

  ‘Can we help you, Your Majesty?’ one of them asked upon him opening the door to peek outside.

  Leopold shook his head and retreated into his room. Evidently, the Emperor was a captive.

  He received an evening meal, and a large tub in the corner was filled with buckets of steaming water brought in by dozens of sweating maids and houseboys. Soaking in the scented water soothed the soreness in his bones, but could not douse the sorrow in his heart. His father was dead: the world had changed in the space of day.

  The old maids wanted to stay and tend to him, talking excitedly about his presence, but he chased them away to have some peace. He picked at the various clothes they had left for him, but decided to slip back into the same familiar, faded shirt and weatherworn trousers he arrived in. He hoped someone might bring him the bag his mother packed for him, for it contained a set of clean clothes from home, but there was no sign of it.

  The quiet of the room became uncomfortable, reinforcing Leopold’s unhappiness at all that had occurred. The revelation of being Emperor could not console him for the loss of his father, or being taken from his mother.

  He decided a change of location might help his mood. He was not about to be caged. Slipping on the simple shoes his mother had made for him, he sought a way to venture outside.

  Sliding out the window and along the ledge was easy, making him question the effectiveness of his supposed security. Anyone intending to harm him could just as easily sneak inside—assuming they were as adventurous and nimble as he.

  He stretched his leg across the short gap to the neighbouring building and clambered down the latticework towards the hallway passage he had spied from his room. From there he stole inside, free to wander unhindered. No one had noticed his entry, and when he passed people in the hall—servants and finely garbed women and children—they gave him no mind. The occasional guard passed him by. Judging from this, they did not fear newcomers wandering their halls.

  He followed the brightly lit passageways, peering into various rooms. The place was cluttered. Store rooms overflowed and objects were piled one atop another. Furniture and equipment were strewn across floors; paintings and sculptures stacked haphazardly. Everything was hoarded away as if awaiting a time to be put back into use, but for now, it only gathered dust.

  In one room hung a great portrait, a grand leader in a jacket and tight fitting pants, with a tall, decorated hat. The artist had captured the man perfectly, for he seemed entirely lifelike, ready to leap from the frame. He looked menacing, a savage glint in his eye. Despite that, the fellow retained a regal air; a king or lord of some description. Judging from the size of the painting and the fact it had been selected over the others to be displayed, he was someone of importance. Leopold did not recognise him, but his attention was repeatedly drawn to those eyes. They reminded him of someone—of his father, he realised—but there the similarity ended.

  He browsed through more of the paintings that leant against the wall; all featured the same man. In some he was alone, in others different women stood by his side—dressed regally with crowns and magnificent jewellery. As Leopold flicked through the portraits, one caught his eye. He stopped, jamming his hand in to prevent the picture from flipping past. What he saw overwhelmed him, and his mind struggled to explain.

  In this particular depiction the woman standing beside the royal gentleman was his mother. She stood close to the man, white-gloved hands clasped in front. She looked much younger, but her features were unmistakable.

  Leopold gazed over the painting, wondering how she had come to be there with the strange man. She looked so young and the fellow so old. Was it her father perhaps or some other relative? If Leopold’s father was indeed the Emperor, then it made sense that his mother was once an empress. But a substantial problem remained: why were there no pictures of his father?

  The only one who might know the answer was Samuel. Leopold grimaced as he realised he would have to ask the magician.

  He moved on, re-entering the passage and following it around the girth of the building. It ended at a large sitting room, elegantly decorated with large cushioned chairs and splendid rugs. Peeping through the doorway, he found it inhabited by half a dozen aristocratic looking women, passing their time in conversation and handcraft while their children played at their feet.

  ‘Can I help you, young sir?’

  The voice startled him.

  A young woman was standing behind Leopold in the hall, dressed in a striking blue gown, tight fitting at her waist and puffy about her bust and shoulders, accentuating her hourglass figure. Her long brown hair was impressively braided and coiled upon her head. She was a few years older and Leopold felt immediately nervous to answer, caught in the act of sneaking about as he was.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I must have wandered the wrong way.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I have never seen you in Seakeep before.’

  ‘I just arrived,’ he said.

  The woman looked down the passage and Leopold thought she may be about to call the guards. Instead, she turned back to him. ‘Evidently. Your clothes smell like a fish market, and I know of no fish markets remaining—in these parts at least. What is your name?’

  Leopold took offence
at her comment, but looking at himself, dressed in his worn old clothes encrusted with salt, he probably did stink as she said, despite his recent bath. ‘I am Leopold,’ he told her. ‘Leopold Green.’

  ‘Leopold?’ she said, musing on his name. ‘Well, don’t linger outside our door, young Mister Green. Come in and chat with me. It’s not often we receive visitors.’

  He did not know what to do as she swept past him, trailing the hem of her skirts upon the rug-covered floor. Hesitantly, he followed the radiant woman into the room. She sat on a padded chair away from the others, placing her feet flat on the floor and neatening her dress upon her lap.

  ‘Come. Sit,’ she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her, and Leopold did as he was told. ‘I am Lady Chatrise,’ she told him. ‘Daughter of Empress Carolyn.’ She took note of Leopold’s lack of recognition, and went on. ‘Goodness. You seem to have found your way into the Royal quarters and evidently you have no idea who we are. Are you supposed to be here?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied nervously.

  ‘Then I assume you are to join the battle for Cintar?’ she asked and he nodded quickly. ‘I think it is very brave of you. There is very little common decency left in the world, so it is noble of you to sally into battle. You don’t look like you could hold a sword,’ she added, scrutinising his lean form.

  Leopold was speechless, but thankfully something caught Lady Chatrise’s interest and her consternation changed into an assuming smile.

  ‘Did you happen to arrive today, in the company of that blasted scourge Lord Samuel?’ she asked.

  To this, Leopold nodded. He was not a child by any measure, and yet he felt overwhelmed by this well-spoken and beautiful woman.

  She laughed at his response, and quietened her voice when some of the other women looked over.