The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy)

by Foster, Michael

  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 sho
re, 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, i
t 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.’