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 prote
ct 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. H
is 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.
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 44