The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Foster

  ‘Was that what all their sorcerers look like?’ Leopold asked.

  ‘It is,’ Phoenix replied from behind. ‘They each dress in that manner. It is difficult to tell one from the other, much like you pale northern ghosts.’

  Samuel grunted with displeasure and Leopold realised he was liking the moody Koian woman more and more all the time.

  ‘He was a magician of little consequence,’ Samuel added, ‘but still I could not subvert his mind to let us pass. It was strangely difficult just to glean his most superficial thoughts.’

  ‘Perhaps you are getting rusty in your old age, Magician,’ Leopold suggested.

  ‘Watch your tongue, boy!’ Samuel retorted with a foul glance. ‘Do not forget our pact so easily. Just because you are growing comfortable with your role of Emperor does not mean you are too precious to haul over my knee and spank.’ Leopold could do nothing but accept the scolding and once done, the magician’s tone changed altogether, full of contemplation. ‘It is his bracelet I am worried about. Did you see it?’

  Leopold shook his head.

  ‘All sorcerers wear them,’ Phoenix noted, listening in.

  Samuel accepted the information with a nod. ‘It is a relic from the time of the Ancients. I have not seen its kind before. Curious. A defensive device perhaps, or a tool for communication. I will have to do something about that.’

  Leopold nodded, as if he understood what the magician was implying.

  They moved along cautiously, scanning the crowds for danger. The hubbub that filled the air was unintelligible—as with any crowd—but the occasional word flew free into Leopold’s ear; individual syllables bereft of context.

  It made him wonder how they appeared, disguised as Eudans. Looking at his own palm, the skin was unchanged. He had an urge to find a mirror.

  They continued along the hectic streets, pushing through the masses until they came to be outside a large stadium. A commotion was issuing from inside.

  ‘Slavers,’ Phoenix mentioned, looking fierce. ‘The auction has just begun.’

  They passed by the cacophony at the gates, bustled from every direction, and kept on towards the palace.

  There was no sign of Pradmet’s abode from where they stood. It was not a mighty construction such as the palace of Cintar. Its grounds were large, but the Koians kept their buildings to two or three storeys at most, with an occasional pagoda rising four or five storeys. Without magic to aid them, the Koians had never developed the same architectural accomplishments as the Amandians. Added to that, the years of warring and a lack of interest in upkeep on the part of the Eudans had resulted in much of the beauty of the city being destroyed.

  A cough sounded from one of the Koian women, alerting them, and Leopold looked ahead. Three olive-skinned Koian men stood in the middle of the street, narrow-eyed, bare chested and rippling with muscles. They were not slaves, for they stood confidently, dominantly, observing the passing crowd with suspicion. Behind them, two sorcerers lingered, heads shaved and tattooed, with identical dress to the first one they had seen. Matching bracelets adorned their wrists.

  ‘Stay calm, Leopold,’ Samuel whispered, slowing to be beside him. ‘No need to stare,’ and Leopold immediately averted his eyes, snapping his gaze to the ground.

  One of the Koians tracked their approach, watching them with ferociousness on his face—not at all calm like his two companions.

  Thankfully, they passed unhindered and turned right along the next street, leaving the intersection and its guardians behind.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Leopold asked with relief.

  ‘Koian warriors,’ Samuel said. ‘Very fast and powerful fighters.’

  ‘Traitors!’ hissed Lady Wind.

  ‘They keep watch for their masters,’ Phoenix said, and spat onto the dirty street. ‘The worthless dogs are not worthy of our pity. See how fat and spoiled they have become!’

  ‘And the sorcerers, Samuel. Did you see them? They had bracelets, too!’

  ‘Yes, Leopold. I saw. Calm down.’

  They came to a high, white wall and followed its mazelike twistings along a narrow street. The alley opened up to an open square that marked the palace entrance. A bridge crossed a narrow canal dug into the street. A wide gateway waited across it, topped with decorative red woodwork.

  Leopold thought there should be more guards, but only a handful manned the gate. A few small groups milled about idly across the square.

  Set in the middle of the area was the petrified husk of a beast, nailed to a pole—a monster, captured and killed, a demonstration to the people that Pradmet was keeping them safe. Leopold had seen its kind before: a brutish thing, furred and horned. Many had roamed the streets of Cintar.

  ‘We’re here,’ Orrell pointed out.

  They crossed the short bridge and Samuel bade them wait while he approached a shaded pavilion and spoke to a guard. The magician gestured towards them, then the soldier called aloud. There was an echoing clank and the great gates parted. Hinges moaned as the doors scraped inwards.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Lord Samuel suggested, leading the way.

  An enormous courtyard lay within, a thousand paces square. Steps at the far side led up to the palace buildings.

  They crossed the vast, vacant space, paved with pale interlocking slabs of stone, forming giant swirls, patterns and images upon the ground. There was not a soul in sight, and perhaps that should have been the giveaway, for they were no more than twenty strides past the gates before the reinforced barriers thudded shut behind them. Spear-bearing Eudan guards streamed out from the gatehouses, pointing their weapons at the party to ensure they understood.

  Thousands of armed men poured from openings along the walls, creating a thunderous noise as they lined the courtyard. They wore elaborate chest plates and plumed helmets, spears in their hands. The racket continued until the soldiers had finished jostling into position, leaving the stairs ahead vacant.

  Orrell’s men drew their swords and readied.

  ‘Steady,’ Orrell told them, holding up a palm.

  ‘It looks like the only path left is forward,’ Lady Wind observed.

  Samuel tread boldly forward and the others hurried after him. Captain Orrell and his men eyed the armed soldiers warily. Leopold followed, pulling the women after him, although the cord in his hand was slack. He had made the mistake of tugging it tightly while traversing the city, and received baleful stares as result. Phoenix could make a face that would sour milk and give children nightmares.

  When they were halfway across the courtyard, a further stream of dark-skinned men came rushing out and lined the stairs, fully boxing them in.

  Samuel sighed aloud and glanced wearily towards Lady Wind. ‘Is all this absolutely necessary?’ he asked.

  ‘They are a people that enjoy ceremony,’ she replied. ‘I expect the one called Pradmet wants to show us his full welcome before they kill us.’

  From the foremost line of men, twenty barechested soldiers appeared, bearing swords like oversized daggers with the ends cut square, and they came running towards the party on their leather sandals, shouting and making their vicious intent apparent.

  Leopold almost panicked, but he saw that Captain Orrell and his men had not flinched. Samuel took action, striding ahead as if to greet the Eudans with a polite shake of his hand.

  ‘This is a show, Leopold,’ Captain Orrell said, slowly drawing his sword free, unconsciously adjusting its position in his hand. ‘Act well. We are being watched. Our hosts seek to determine our strengths. Now may be a good time for you to remember what swordplay you have learned. And by that I mean fight only defensively and do nothing foolish. Short, sharp actions, keeping close to me. Your enemy will not fetch water or rub your shoulders when you command them.’

  Leopold nodded, ignoring the sting in the captain’s comment, and drew his father’s sword, letting its steel glint brightly in the sun. He felt the hilt firm in his hand. The weight of the blade called the muscles in his wrist to p
lay. It no longer felt like a stranger to him, for he must have held it for a hundred hours at least, in practice or idling away the time in his cabin. This was no wooden baton, no practice stick. Its razor edge was death and dismemberment. He only wondered how he would feel the first time he pierced another man’s flesh ... and what he would do when someone parted his? Would he scream? Would he curse? Would he bravely swallow his tears? He had no idea.

  His left hand still gripped the tether that held the women. He turned to them, and only Jessicah looked afraid, watching Samuel anxiously. The others waited undaunted, unshaken, and Lady Wind looked most ferocious of all despite her aging years.

  Leopold expected Samuel to blast the Eudans to smithereens, but as the score of charging swordsmen fell upon him, the magician raised one hand and clamped hold of the nearest Eudan by the neck. His other hand snatched the sharpened end of the Eudan’s blade, while the man’s legs flailed around beneath him. The weapon snapped with a twist of Samuel’s fist. He slapped the soldier in the chest with the flat of a palm, sending the fellow tumbling backwards across the stony floor. Samuel made no attempt to catch the other men and after witnessing that, they gave the magician a wide berth, circling wide around him and heading for the others. The magician turned silently, watching.

  As they neared, Captain Orrell gave a quick shout, as if to spur a horse into a canter, and his team strode forth to meet the enemy, not hurried, but taking careful, measured steps.

  ‘Stay with me,’ Orrell said to Leopold. ‘We will protect the women.’

  The Eudans looked brutal and savage, screaming as they came, but Orrell’s well-trained men made short work of them, even outnumbered three to one as they were. Each Turian soldier was an elite, trained for years under Captain Orrell’s expert tutorage, worth five or more average men. They overwhelmed the Eudan soldiers, who found their weapons being struck from their hands, their poorly executed attacks deflected and turned back against them. They were no match for these strange other Eudans who wielded such long, pointed swords.

  Samuel stood patiently, waiting for the battle to end. The single Eudan he had thrown to the ground had foolishly regained his feet and now came running at Samuel’s back with a drawn dagger. One cracking punch to the man’s skull, sent out by the magician without looking, sent him back to the paving stones, and he stirred no further.

  ‘How did he learn our ways?’ Phoenix asked of Lady Wind, sounding none too pleased. ‘It is intolerable!’

  ‘Do not underestimate him,’ came the response. ‘He can learn many things simply from observation. He and the warrior Horse were close for a short time; time enough for the magician to learn much. The rest, he evidently taught himself.’

  ‘Horse?’ Phoenix uttered the name with awe. ‘I only ever heard the legend. What end did he meet?’

  ‘He was the last to fall, protecting our god to the end.’

  ‘Ah,’ Phoenix replied with a satisfied nodding of her head.

  With the twenty Eudans defeated and not one of the Turians bearing the slightest of scratches, the line of soldiers guarding the palace steps parted again and twenty more combatants stepped into view. These had the air of more seasoned warriors, for they approached cautiously. Some wore bronzed chestplates or held shields. They carried an assortment of weapons—spears, swords, axes and daggers.

  Orrell’s men this time stood their ground, again leaving Samuel away by himself. These new warriors presented more of a threat, and as they neared, the magician sprang to life, transitioning from a stationary, vulnerable target to a black whirlwind of punishment in the blink of an eye. He incapacitated three of the Eudans before they could react. He leapt amongst them, showering those nearest with debilitating attacks, while the others darted aside to be away from him, like scolded children fleeing a beating.

  Leopold was flabbergasted. He had no idea the magician was also a capable fighter—a weapon of fists and feet.

  ‘Why does he soften his blows?’ Phoenix asked.

  Looking closely, Leopold could see the truth in her words, the magician took great pains not to kill the men, opening his palm and slapping them, pushing them off-balance rather than killing them. Apart from the occasional split lip, there was no blood to be seen.

  In direct contrast, Orrell’s men were ripping the Eudans open with their swords, holding nothing back. Blood splattered free across the paving stones of the courtyard, flowing in scarlet rivulets, following the grooves in the stones.

  ‘I do not know,’ was Lady Wind’s hushed response.

  None of the enemy set foot near the women, and Leopold and the captain were left with their swords ready but as yet unused.

  Leopold thanked his lucky stars, for he was beginning to feel sick from his nerves and his sword hand was now shaking. The tip of his weapon felt strangely weighed down—heavier than was natural, as if a stone had been hung from the end on an invisible string—but there was nothing to blame except anxiety. All his practice now seemed to count for nought, and he kept thinking of the time with Jessicah upon the Mage Tower in Cintar, when his nerves had failed him altogether. He dreaded it happening again.

  Let me be strong, he thought to himself. Am I the Emperor or not? Whatever old gods there may be, do not let me fail. Not in front of everyone!

  As the last Eudan fell writhing to the ground, one of Orrell’s men shoved his sword in to quiet the man’s screams, and the courtyard returned to silence. Several soldiers darted forward from the front line and grabbed their wounded, watching Samuel nervously all the while, dragging their fellows back behind the wall of spears.

  For several minutes, nothing happened. The thousands of spear-bearing soldiers that lined the courtyard stood absolutely stiff and motionless, leaving Leopold wondering what was next. Orrell and his men waited patiently, scanning the enemy for any sign of further attack. As always, Samuel remained perfectly still, any hint as to his intentions hidden within his dark cowl.

  It was the sound of clapping that broke the stalemate and all eyes in the party went to the palace steps. A figure stepped into view to address them.

  ‘Wonderful!’ the man called, waving his hand towards the carnage. He wore a simple white shirt, devoid of buttons or clasps or detail of any kind, but his pants were exorbitant purple marvels, sprouting out from his waist and pulling tight again around his ankles. A plumed hat of a matching colour topped his head. It was ridiculously tall, set with peacock feathers and other spectacular plumage. ‘Come! Come, strangers, and speak with me. I will grant you an audience. Such a splendid performance demands that at the very least and I would see what has brought such capable warriors to my door.’

  That said, the man turned and was swallowed into his troops. Only his feathers remained visible, bobbing in time with his stride, until he reappeared upon the stairs.

  ‘Pradmet?’ Lady Wind asked of Phoenix and the young woman nodded firmly in response.

  Samuel strode after Pradmet without delay. The others followed, with Orrell’s team sheathing their swords and stepping over the bodies of the dead. The cord was pulled from Leopold’s hand as the women left him behind, and he scrambled after them to retrieve it, intent on maintaining his role of tether-holder.

  The guards parted and granted access to the stairs. Wide eyes on dark faces followed them as they passed. Once upon the steps, the soldiers folded in tightly behind them, their weapons clanking in time to their shuffling feet.

  The first building at the top of the stairs was a hall of pillars, lined with ponds and bridges and tiny exquisite miniature gardens.

  ‘The Harmony Chamber,’ Lady Wind told them, acting as their guide. ‘Its purpose is to quench any disruptive thoughts from those who enter, and allow only harmonious energies past this point.’

  ‘It didn’t do such a good job of keeping the Eudans out,’ Leopold noted, which attracted a foul glance from the ever-simmering Phoenix.

  ‘Come! Come!’ called Pradmet, with several guards at his side to be sure his visitors did not f
ollow too closely.

  Now they were closer, more of his features were apparent. He was shorter than average, chocolate of skin and remarkably thin, exacerbating the size of his ridiculous pants. He was in his sixties, with a host of dark blotches and spots across his weathered hide. ‘I am intrigued to see what has brought you here. You are not the first of my people to attempt my murder, of course, but you are certainly the best so far. One of you has learned the Koian way, which astounds me, and you others fight in a manner unlike any I have seen. Where did you obtain such swords? I am keen to find out who and what you are. Prithamon tells me there is much more to you than meets the eye.’

  At that, Leopold was again reminded of their Eudan disguise.

  The hall ended and they were once more in the open air. The design of the palace was of numerous, distinct buildings separated by courtyards and gardens. Such a layout allowed air to move freely into the rooms, an attempt to cater for the miserable heat.

  Ahead lay another set of stairs, ranked by grand and opulent marble carvings set on pedestals—lions and bulls and beasts of the imagination, curling winged serpents with clawed feet, and humanoid figures with bestial heads.

  These stairs were narrower than the last, allowing five abreast to ascend. At the top was another building, its entrance carved with more splendid decorations. Within the entrance, they found the rooms tall and draughty. The smell of smoke from burners was strong in the air, and the walls were stained black from their use. The Eudans displayed little interest in maintaining the place. Much of the paint was faded and many of the walls were scuffed and chipped.

  The Koians, lacking the assistance of magic, kept their constructions to simple designs. The rooms were not as impressive as the great palace of Cintar, but the Koians had done their best to counter that with artistry. Every wall and rooftop was exquisitely carved and embellished, with spires and motifs and statues in every direction.

  Again they exited into sunlight and followed a gravel path, arriving at the largest and highest building within the grounds. Judging from the thick stone walls and reinforced doors, this was the inner keep. In stark contrast to the rest of the complex, this structure was purely functional. Their host led the way inside.