Samuel narrowed his eyes as he climbed, trying to ascertain the workings of such spells, but the magic was old and deep and seeped into everything, bar the most recent of additions. All he could guess was that the tower transformed the magic of those within into a subtle Lifting field, assisting them with each step. As such, only magicians would benefit from climbing the tower, which perhaps explained why this had been designated the Mage Tower. Common folk would quickly tire of dragging themselves up and down each day. Samuel immediately began wondering if the other palace towers had any similar such spells in place. The High Tower dwarfed the Mage Tower in all dimensions and, despite his current predicament, he could not help but hope to quench his sudden curiosity.
Finally, just as Samuel was guessing they must be running out of steps, Vander announced just that.
‘Stop here,’ he instructed, pausing before an ancient door. It was simple in design and, as with the rest of the tower, seemed to have been patched up and mended on numerous occasions. ‘We’ll leave you with the Archmage. Don’t try any of your nonsense with him. He won’t take any cheek, so watch your tongue lest you wish to lose it.’
‘And don’t even consider using your magic in there,’ Hathen added, raising a finger at Samuel. ‘You’ve been warned.’
With that, the hefty Hathen and the stocky Vander turned about and started back down the spiral stairs. They had no sooner disappeared from sight when the spell around Samuel vanished along with them.
Samuel waited a few moments, moving his eyes between the stairs and the door in front of him, wondering if he should attempt to escape. He could be out and back to the School of Magic, but then, he assumed that the two burly Lords would come to the same conclusion. They were probably waiting just around the corner or at the base of the tower and, in truth, he had been keen to meet with the enigmatic Archmage since he had first arrived in Cintar as a youth.
There was nothing left for him to do but enter the room. Samuel raised his hand somewhat hesitantly and knocked upon the door, feeling the firm and smooth timber against his knuckles. He could feel a magician waiting on the other side, somewhere inside the room.
‘Enter,’ a muffled voice called aloud.
Samuel turned the handle and pushed the door inwards. Revealed within was a large and rich chamber that filled the whole level of the tower, great and round. Tapestries hung from the walls and statues and carvings lay on ornate pedestals. Various thick rugs and carpets of many and varied colours covered the floor. Fine curtains fluttered and waved beside an outside balcony where the Archmage stood, leaning on the balustrade, drinking from a large goblet while he surveyed the city below. He still wore his bedclothes, worn and grubby, and he had large, furred slippers upon his feet. As he turned to face Samuel, he revealed an unshaven face and grey, matted hair, with ruddy stains like wine around his lips. The Archmage’s aura was quite strong, coursing around him boldly, but it was not nearly as impressive as Samuel imagined that the Archmage of the Order of Magicians would have.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, as Samuel took a step inside the room.
‘Archmage Ordi, I am—’
‘—Samuel. I know who you are, boy! Don’t be impertinent!’ the Archmage said impatiently. ‘I mean what do you want? Why are you causing all this fuss?’ When Samuel did not immediately reply, he sighed. ‘Well, shut the door and stop gawking. Come closer. I trust your return has some meaning. I doubt you would come back to us flippantly, without some good cause, so I’m sure there must be something behind it. Come now. This is your opportunity to clear the air.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Samuel stammered, closing the chamber door behind him and crossing the soft rugs towards the centre of the room. ‘I want to ask you a question, if I may?’
‘You may,’ the Archmage remarked, scratching at his grey-stubbled cheek. ‘But first, you must answer mine. As Archmage, I am privy to a wealth of information, but my sources sometimes leave me wanting. We magicians are a curious bunch, aren’t we? But it is our nature, after all, so I shouldn’t really be surprised. Tell me, what gives you the gall to return to Cintar? Didn’t you realise you would be caught and punished, or had the thought not crossed your mind?’
‘I have something to do here in Cintar,’ Samuel explained.
‘Hmm,’ old Ordi mused. ‘So I have heard. We can get to that later. Tell me then, why did you leave in the first place?’
‘I had to leave. I would have been killed if I’d stayed here.’
‘Killed? What makes you think that?’
‘Lord Jarrod had sent his men to murder me.’
The Archmage chuckled slightly, looking quite amused. ‘How did you come to such a fantastic conclusion? Was it that infernal Grand Master Anthem?’
‘No, it wasn’t him. He wasn’t even here when I left.’
‘Then who was it?’ the Archmage insisted, now lacking all mirth. He looked at Samuel intently.
‘I can’t say,’ Samuel replied hesitantly. ‘I mean, I don’t really know.’
Archmage Ordi paused to smile pleasantly. He took his time and let Samuel stand uncomfortably in the centre of the room while he gazed about his room. Finally, he returned his attention to Samuel with a look of fatherly patience. ‘Let me divulge the sequence of events surrounding your absence, as far as I understand them. Please, correct me if I am wrong.
‘After a string of minor behavioural matters, you commit the considerable offence of defying Master Dividian. The Council then summons you in to see what could be the root of your discontent and immediately you flee without facing your punishment. Several years later, you drag yourself back to Cintar and are caught sneaking around the streets, obviously up to no good as you take flight from authority on sight. You stand before me with all these nonsensical stories and I cannot believe you are that much of a dullard as to believe such things. There must be something you are up to? You must be working with someone? Tell me, what are you doing here? Who is whispering in your ear?’
‘That’s not correct at all,’ Samuel protested.
‘Well, it seems to be the case from all I can see. Everything you are trying to tell me is full of holes. You tell me that Lord Jarrod ordered your death, for nothing more than some rather obnoxious insubordination. You won’t follow instructions from a dignified member of the Order, yet when some mysterious stranger then tells you to flee the city, you do so without hesitation. You beeline directly for the furthest corner of our Empire, and there you just happen to meet Master Ash and, just as he is set to return triumphantly to the capital, you begin interfering with his duties. Either you are intentionally set on sabotaging the good work of the Order or someone has tricked you into it. Which is it? Do you suffer from delusions, my good boy, or are you just eternally stupid?’
‘Ash is a murderer!’ Samuel retorted, but the Archmage raised a firm palm to silence him.
‘Maybe it’s time you grew up a little, my unfortunate lad. Life is not as simple or as convenient as you may imagine. Master Ash has proved himself invaluable time and time again when the Order has truly needed him. I know he can use rather primitive methods, but he always gets the results we need. Sometimes the Order needs to do difficult things and the right men must be found to do these things. The Empire and the Order are paramount in all things, Samuel. You, on the other hand, are inconsequential, yet you choose to believe otherwise and have been causing no end of trouble. Master Ash told me of your conflict, but when you told him that someone from the Circle had sent you, what was he to think? I had already told him to protect our interests there in Tindal with all his ability. Many, many lives depended on his successful return and you dared to endanger that.’
‘Wait!’ Samuel interrupted. ‘I didn’t tell him it was someone from the Circle. He sent his men to kill me!’
‘Let me finish,’ the Archmage stated calmly. ‘When will you realise that you have been fooled, Samuel? The Circle of Eyes is devious and manipulative. They are ever full of lies and deceptions and will stop
at nothing to achieve their underhanded work. They convinced you of a conspiracy and made you think that Lord Jarrod is trying to kill you—that Master Ash killed your parents. Don’t you realise how ridiculous that sounds? They send you to the farthest reaches of the Empire, where you happen to meet Master Ash and, of course, you try to kill him to settle your unfortunate history—all as the Circle planned. They have used your ridiculous plans for revenge against you.’
‘It wasn’t like that at all!’ Samuel spat out, desperate to lend some clarity to the discussion.
‘Hold your tongue with me, boy!’ Archmage Ordi hissed. ‘You forget with whom you are speaking!’ The man then took a breath and waited a moment to settle, before continuing with a calm tone of voice once more. ‘Samuel, my boy, listen to me. I understand everything seems logical to you, but believe me for just a few moments. Please try to remember that I have a lifetime of experience with these things, while you have only just begun to learn about the ways of the world. The Circle have many ways of beguiling you—believe me. They can make lies seem like truth, fantasies seem like reality. They have used you as they use everyone and you played right into their hands, nearly at the cost of your own life. They are masters of shadow and deception. That is how they work and they have turned you into a tool of their own manipulation. They used you, Samuel, and that is the simple truth. You are not the first magician to fall victim to their insidious plots and I am certain you will not be the last. I’m sure there are probably others even now that believe the Order and Empire are full of all manner of underhanded schemes.’
‘But what about the Order and the war? Are you trying to tell me that these are actually good decisions?’
A soft groan came from the large bed that filled a good portion of the room. Samuel’s attention was momentarily distracted as he noticed two long lumps under the covers. One rolled over, revealing a swathe of long golden hair. Samuel looked away and tried his best to ignore the sight. There were much more important things to discuss.
‘Of course they are,’ the Archmage said dismissively, and sat himself on a small stool by the bed. He began stroking a short staff that had been leaning against the bed frame. Picking it up with one hand, he began absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over its shaft. ‘I know you are an Outlander, Samuel, but by now I would have assumed you would have stopped thinking like one. The Emperor is not a butcher, nor is he a madman. Quite the contrary, he is a leader and a visionary. The lands of Amandia have forever been scourged with wars and conflict; eternally locked in turmoil that has resulted in nothing but death and suffering. Finally, we are within reach of a lasting and decisive peace for all people. The Emperor has a grand and wonderful plan that will unify us all and lasting peace will finally be achieved.’
‘By creating a generation of magicians trained to kill and do battle? It’s against everything the Order stands for.’
‘Quite the opposite,’ the Archmage corrected. ‘It’s exactly what the Order is supposed to do. The Order has always been, and always will be, part of the Turian Empire and, as such, its purpose is to serve the Emperor. I know Grand Master Anthem has been filling everyone’s heads with nonsense to the contrary, but peace and prosperity will never be achieved through his misguided methods. In his greying years, I’m afraid the man has become quite dim-witted. I was so sure that he had come to view the Empire as I do, but he proved to be a true Garten at heart. I’m sure that at this very moment, he is teaching King Otgart’s men every secret we have.’
‘The Grand Master is against violence,’ Samuel stated defiantly. ‘He would never help them to invade Turia.’
‘Oh, I have no doubt you are right, my boy, for he has become quite the pacifist in his old age. He will be teaching them with all haste how to defend themselves when our great forces rain down upon their wretched cities.’
‘But that’s terrible!’ Samuel exclaimed. ‘So many people will be killed. It’s unthinkable!’
‘Samuel,’ Archmage Ordi said calmly, rising from his stool and walking over to face the young man with the aid of his long, polished staff. He looked even more frail as he leaned upon the thing, hunched over and haggard. ‘Don’t you see? We are all only servants of the Empire. This is the final wonderful stage of the Emperor’s plan to unite all Amandia as one glorious nation. The truce after the last war was only a pause—so the Emperor could refresh his troops and reinforce their numbers. Generations of warfare have left their ranks thin. Grand Master Anthem was supposed to train the Order to aid in this final phase, but we learned he was only slowing us down all the while. Instead of giving us the powerful magicians he promised, he deceived the Council with excuses and empty promises, while your heads were filled with nonsense. Meanwhile, the Gartens have been laughing in our faces. It seems they were not fooled by the Emperor’s supposed truce and have been building up vast armies of their own. Now, however, this is all moot and no amount of men on either side will decide this war. We now have in our possession the tool to wipe the Garten forces aside like bugs.’ As he spoke, he looked straight through Samuel, as if preoccupied with visions of glory.
Samuel’s mouth fell open. ‘The Argum Stone.’
The Archmage seemed pleased and refocussed his gaze on the youth before him. ‘So you do have some sense, after all.’
‘Then it’s true. It does have some great power and you’ve found a way to awaken it. You’re going to use it against the Gartens.’
‘Yes, Samuel!’ the Archmage told him passionately, ‘but we have not quite mastered its workings as yet. When we do, we will finally have a tool that will make all warfare obsolete. No one will stand against it. Walls and cities will fall asunder. Armies will be flattened and swept aside. We will conquer the Gartens easily and no one will dare revolt or plot against the Empire again. Peace will reign.’
‘But that’s terrible,’ Samuel declared, aghast. ‘How can you agree with something like this? The Emperor is just a tyrant!’
Ordi’s patience again looked strained, but he managed to remain composed. ‘Tell me, Samuel, what can you tell me about this device? What do you know about it?’
‘Almost nothing that I’m sure you do not already know. Even if I did, I would not share such things with you.’
The Archmage sighed and took another moment to survey the room. He stood straight—he would have been quite tall and athletic in his youth—and took his weight from his staff. ‘Very well. Then you are of no use to me,’ he said, showing a thin smile, more forced than genuine. ‘I was hoping you would come to your senses, but I see Anthem’s nonsense and the Circle’s deceptions have left you addle-headed. As you are, you are far too dangerous to be left to your own devices—far too dangerous. I have one last question for you, Samuel, and then our meeting will be at an end. Tell me, why do you think that Lord Jarrod wanted you killed? What did the mysterious representative of the Circle tell you to bring you under his spell?’
‘They said there was a belief that I would do something...something no other magician was capable of doing.’
‘Yes,’ Archmage Ordi said with interest, almost leaning in towards Samuel to have the answer. ‘Tell me what that was?’
‘That I would kill the Emperor.’
The Archmage’s smile return. ‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’
With that, the Archmage raised his staff and it blazed with silver-hewn magic. Instinctively, Samuel began to form a spell shield, but the power of the staff shredded his weaves to nothing and slammed into him like the weight of a toppling wall of bricks. Samuel’s breath was pulled from his lungs and his mind was overwhelmed by foreign magic, leaving him devoid of logical thought. All became black and silent and numb and deep.
Samuel awoke. He was lying on a single blanket that was spread out upon the floor. He turned his head and knew immediately that he was a prisoner, for there were bars in the small window above him. A tiny room surrounded him, with a thick, handleless door set into the wall. He climbed to his feet and examined it, but there we
re no edges to grip and there was certainly no obvious way to open it. He readied to cast a spell and was horrified to feel that he was blocked from reaching the source. This could only mean one thing. He was inside the Mage Cell—a tiny prison used to confine magicians. It had been built and laced with countless, powerful spells by the first Magicians’ Council. While within its walls, a magician could not summon at all. Samuel went cold with dread. Try as he might, his attempts to reach the source were futile.
He turned and looked out the window. The palace grounds were far below, and beyond lay the throbbing city. The open spaces of the School of Magic could just be seen to the north-east, standing out amongst the tall walls and narrow streets around it. There, his friends would be missing him by now. At least, he hoped so. He damned himself for venturing out alone into the city and only hoped someone would find a way to save him before he met some awful end.
His head still ached terribly. He had been foolish not to recognise the Staff of Elders, and its magic had overcome him instantly. The power within it had been awesome. It would take more magic than any one magician possessed to even begin to match it; perhaps even many magicians. It seemed that the Argum Stone was still holding onto its secrets, but once awoken, it meant there would be two formidable vessels of power in the land. At present, it seemed that the Archmage was the one pulling the strings, but such things could change quickly and there would surely be parties envious of such power waiting in the wings. Whoever possessed both ancient relics would be a force beyond reckoning.
A simple meal, pushed through the space beneath the door, was brought to Samuel as dusk settled. He ate some of the thick and tasteless porridge and then threw the tray into the corner with disdain. The night was long and cold and he awoke from nightmares throughout, shivering and pulling his blanket around himself tighter. He still wore his robes, with the hood pulled up around his head, but the chill air seemed to penetrate everything and his clothes were still damp from his adventures in the rain. He tried to spell himself warm, but the ether was utterly unreachable. Samuel rolled over to face the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and hoped that the dawn would come soon.
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 48