The Young Magician tlt-1

by Michael Foster

  The Count came out in the finest of garments as Samuel dropped from Jess and handed her reins to a freckle-faced maid who had appeared at his leg. She seemed to know animals well enough and so Samuel let her lead Jess away to be watered and tended to.

  ‘Mr Samuel, so I assume,’ the Count greeted enthusiastically. He took Samuel’s hand and shook it vigorously.

  ‘Samuel, please,’ Samuel returned, as politely as he could.

  ‘Ah, wonderful!’ the Count exclaimed. ‘You must come in. I’m so glad you could make it. Hillard will take care of you while I finish arranging the banquet. Hillard!’ he called out through the doors behind him. ‘Hillard!’ A middle-aged man trotted out, short of breath, to stand beside the Count. ‘Ask Hillard for anything you need until tonight’s banquet is ready. Perhaps he could show you around the grounds or organise some quick hunting in the valley for you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Samuel said. ‘I think I’ll just rest.’

  ‘Very well,’ Rudderford responded. ‘Then I will see you for dinner. Please make yourself comfortable.’

  With that, the Count disappeared back into his manor.

  ‘You sound like you’re from the capital,’ Hillard stated as he led Samuel in after the Count.

  ‘That’s right, but I was born in Marlen,’ Samuel responded.

  ‘Oh, really? I have a great aunt in Hayston. Lovely place.’

  ‘I haven’t been there,’ Samuel stated casually. At least this Hillard seemed more genuine in tone than his employer.

  ‘What brings you so far from home? Do you have family in Gilgarry?’

  ‘Not really…but there is one man I was supposed to meet some time ago-a friend of a friend, really. He’s name is Cervantes.’

  ‘Cervantes? Then you’re in luck. He visits regularly. I would even expect him to appear at dinner tonight.’

  ‘That’s fortunate,’ Samuel said. ‘I shall finally get to meet him.’

  Hillard led Samuel through the overly decorated rooms and halls to a small, yet comfortable, guestroom near the back of the building. Samuel immediately pulled off his boots and lay back on the bed, feeling the tension ease out of his muscles.

  ‘If you need me, please ring the bell,’ Hillard instructed, gesturing to a small hand bell resting on the bedside drawer. ‘The Count has one in every room-so I may never have a moment’s rest,’ he added with a smile and he pulled the door shut behind him with a soft click.

  The room had great blue, velvet curtains and a lavish, timber desk with drawers. A large, oval mirror stood angled in its stand, reflecting one portion of the room. Samuel pointed a spell and the mirror tilted straight. Content with that, he closed his eyes and prepared for a short nap.

  He was called to the banquet room as the light through the window was waning. He had only awoken shortly before and had been poking through the drawers in the room out of boredom-they were filled with scarves and lace blouses and not much of interest. Hillard took him to the banquet room, where the table was already occupied by a number of men and their wives. They appeared to be a mix of local nobles, friends and relatives of the Count and they were all heavily engaged in drinking. The room was a picture of opulence-lined and decorated with all manner of expensive works of art. Carvings and paintings adorned the walls while bright cloth banners streamed and intertwined beneath the great ceiling.

  ‘At last! Join us!’ Rudderford called, somewhat drunkenly and Samuel took a seat next to another jolly and ruddy-faced man.

  Samuel accepted a mug of wine and, sipping tentatively, found it spicy but not too unpleasant. He was introduced to all at the table and they each took it in turn to ask him question after question, which he tried to answer as tactfully as he could. They asked all sorts of nonsense about his political beliefs and his choice of tailors and which merchants he preferred, none of which he had any idea about, until he mentioned his milk and they all proclaimed how Lenham milk was the finest in all Tindal and how they had such trouble getting enough of it. Then, there was perhaps an hour of gossiping and rumouring and weightless tales, all of which Samuel tried to take as little part in as possible however they goaded him. Finally, the food was carried out by a plethora of nimble-footed servants.

  ‘It is my pleasure,’ Rudderford slurred, using his wife’s shoulder to help him up, ‘to announce our guest of honour.’

  Samuel stood and waved his hand modestly to the cheers from the drunken table as they clanged their mugs together and swallowed their wine. As he stood, he suddenly realised he had drunk more wine than he realised, for his legs were somewhat unsteady beneath him. He had failed to notice the servants topping up his cup after every time he had taken a sip.

  ‘Who is he again?’ an older, overweight man called from the end of the table. ‘What does he do?’

  ‘I am Samuel, Sir,’ Samuel explained, his lips feeling a little thick.

  The man looked to his neighbours, still obviously confused, until Count Rudderford clarified the situation. ‘He disposed of those dreadful brigands in the hills.’

  ‘Good show then!’ the older man called out. ‘Damned brigands! That will teach them!’

  Just then, a musician strode out before the table and began plucking some kind of exotic stringed instrument that he placed on his lap, accompanying it with a song. He had a pleasant voice and so Samuel turned to watch him. The man was singing the ballad of a local hero and Samuel found the tune quite pleasant. As the musician played on, the main doors at the end of the dining hall opened and another man, whom Samuel knew all too well, walked in. Samuel’s face felt frozen with shock and he wished he could think of some way to hide, but he was bolted to the spot and could only stare in disbelief.

  ‘Ah, here is Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called and the music stopped as all heads turned to watch the newcomer stride in and take a vacant seat at the far end of the table.

  Samuel’s dreadful surprise was well founded, for he most definitely knew the man. It was Master Ash. He looked somewhat weather-beaten and dishevelled, with his hair grown into a tangled scruff and with a chin full of grey-tainted stubble, but it was most certainly the same man.

  He began methodically filling his plate with slices of meat and, when he noticed Samuel, he slowed for the briefest instant, a smile creeping onto his face.

  ‘I see the hero of the hour has arrived,’ Master Ash spoke out.

  ‘What’s that?’ Rudderford called out. ‘Do you know each other?’

  ‘Oh, not at all,’ Master Ash declared, ‘but this young champion sticks out like a sore thumb, compared to you lot of useless inebriates.’

  ‘Wonderful, Cervantes!’ Rudderford roared drunkenly, gnawing on a ham bone.

  ‘So you managed to kill a mob of brigands I hear,’ Ash called out to Samuel. ‘What a fine job. How many was it? Ten? Twenty?’

  ‘Just six,’ Samuel replied. ‘But your face seems familiar. Have we ever met before?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Ash said sourly. ‘I would have remembered.’

  Samuel almost believed that Ash truly did not recognise him, for the man’s attention was focussed squarely on his meal as he cut at it and shovelled it into his mouth with vigour. He may not have remembered Samuel, but for Samuel there was no mistaking that distinctive aura-somehow strange and misplaced. Even without such unique energy, Samuel could never fail to recognise the man, for his visage was burned into Samuel’s memory like the face of his own mother screaming on the night she was killed. Samuel just could not believe that he had met Ash here, on the farthest edge of the Empire. Furthermore, he could not believe that Soddan had failed to mention that Ash was, in fact, Mr Cervantes. It seemed too far-fetched to be any kind of coincidence.

  ‘And how goes your work today, Mr Cervantes?’ Rudderford asked, leaning over and grabbing at some roast potatoes with his hands.

  Ash grew a thin-lipped smile as he looked to the Count. ‘A minor obstruction,’ he replied. ‘Nothing we could not overcome.’

  ‘So, th
e men are at work once more?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ash said. ‘I can be most persuasive when I want to. I think it must be my strikingly handsome features.’ At this, the gathering guffawed heartily.

  ‘What exactly is your business, Mr Cervantes?’ Samuel asked, calling over the lingering snorts and chuckles.

  ‘I am a collector of fine goods and treasures-a merchant of sorts, if you will,’ Ash replied smugly.

  ‘Mr Cervantes has been digging holes all over the countryside for the last year or two and it seems he’s finally found what he’s been looking for, so it is a dual cause for celebration,’ Rudderford said.

  ‘Oh?’ Samuel remarked with interest. ‘What was it that he found?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rudderford said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I couldn’t really care less. I’m only here to maintain order for the Emperor and keep all these savages from killing each other.’

  ‘It is a precious artefact,’ Ash said with confidence. ‘It shall bring me a small fortune in the bazaars of Cintar.’

  ‘I would be greatly interested to see such a treasure.’ Samuel stated. ‘I’m interested in such things myself.’ Whatever Ash was doing here, it was surely rotten.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ash said dispassionately and bit into the flesh at the end of his fork. ‘I’m far too busy to conduct tours for every vagrant that comes wandering along. Perhaps another time.’

  At that moment, more music began and a troupe of musicians came striding into the room, playing a merry tune as the zither player retired. A lady and a fellow in fine green hosiery skipped after them and danced around the chamber. Rudderford and his guests seemed very pleased. Ash did not. He now kept his eyes set squarely on Samuel as he chewed through his meal.

  Halfway through the entertainment, Ash stood quietly and came over, putting his long hand firmly on Samuel’s shoulder. ‘I’ve met you before, haven’t I?’ he whispered into Samuel’s ear, before leaning even closer so that their skin was almost touching. ‘I am on a mission for the Order, so keep your mouth shut and forget you saw me. This is secret business.’

  ‘The Order?’ Samuel said. ‘Perhaps I could help you then?’

  ‘No. My work is nearly complete and I don’t want any young fools taking the credit for my efforts.’

  ‘Very well then,’ Samuel conceded. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

  Ash patted Samuel firmly on the shoulder as he departed. He gave an unconvincing smile and returned to his place for the rest of the performance, watching the dancers prancing around and waving a leg of chicken in time.

  The guests were all falling further and further into their cups and so Samuel announced he would be retiring while he had the chance. Rudderford objected, but finally, after Samuel had insisted several times, the Count summoned Hillard to lead Samuel back to his room. Ash ignored him as he left, seemingly captivated by the performers as they all cavorted around the table.

  Samuel awoke early and had a simple breakfast, supplied by a chatty servingwoman, alone in his room. He went outside, bracing himself against the bitter wind, and roused the stablehand-a boy this time-who soon had Jess readied. He was still shocked to have come across Ash here in Gilgarry. He only wished he had killed the man on sight, but he had been too surprised and full of wine to even think about it. And he could not even guess why Soddan would have sent the magician here. Soddan had told Samuel to meet with Cervantes for assistance, but surely he had known of Samuel’s hate for the man. Was this some kind of reward for Samuel or some kind of trap? He was utterly confused.

  ‘Do you know of Mr Cervantes and his work?’ Samuel asked of the stable boy.

  ‘Aye, Sir,’ he nodded. ‘He’s got men out by his campsite near the vale. My pa’s doing some work for him, digging holes and the like.’

  ‘Which way would it be then?’

  ‘That way, sire,’ the boy pointed. ‘Down the way to Willow Vale. You canno’ miss it. It’s near the ruins of the old keep. The field is full of great big ’oles and there’s tents and shovels and whatnots.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Samuel said and began down the dusty track, following the directions the boy had given him, curious to see what Ash was up to.

  After a short ride, the campsite became visible in a field to the side of the road, overlooked by some decaying ruins on the hillside. Samuel rode down the crumbling and broken path toward the site and dismounted. Men were rousing themselves slowly from tents and warming their frozen hands over the stirred embers of last night’s fires. Others were arriving by horse and foot and it was evident that work would be beginning again soon. The field was, indeed, pockmarked with diggings of various dimensions. Wisps of frost inhabited them and clung to the hollows. All but one such hole seemed to have been abandoned, for it still had buckets and shovels and ropes and all manner of tools lying around its circumference.

  Samuel wandered over to the raised edge of what was some form of digging, and discovered it to be a well-constructed shaft of about twenty strides across. The sides had been reinforced with boards to keep them from falling in. Peering down, Samuel could see a large object protruding from the earth at the bottom. It was still half-buried, seemingly partly encased in stone. From what he could see, the thing was circular, like a great coin of some kind, and had some lines marking its face, but they were too difficult to see clearly from this angle and the thing was covered with scraps of mud. Samuel enhanced his sight, but the artefact seemed to have no magical properties at all.

  Samuel looked towards the camp and noticed a few men gesturing and looking towards him, so he started casually back towards Jess. He remounted the eager animal and set her away at a trot before he could be questioned.

  So, it seemed that Ash was intent on retrieving this buried object. Whatever it was, it was obviously of considerable value for Ash and the Circle to have been searching for it for so intently and for so long. There was something about it that sparked a faint memory, and Samuel’s magician’s instincts took control of him. He was sure there was something about the object in his notes and the thought of discovering some ancient relic had him so excited as to temporarily set aside his revenge of Ash. The thing was still trapped firmly in stone and would not be going anywhere for a while at least. Samuel guessed he would have time to do some research before returning to finally kill the man who had slain his family. The thought had him spurring Jess on with excitement.

  Samuel was home by midday. He could hear Mrs Down pottering around inside as he removed Jess’ saddle and laid it across one of the round wooden beams beside the house. Jess whinnied and Samuel stroked the soft sheen on her neck and whispered to her reassuringly as she slurped from the water trough eagerly. The sun had warmed enough to dispel the morning chill and the crickets were chirping in unison all around. High on the hill, animals were milling around in small groups, as they liked to do. A faint, cracking noise echoed up from one of the far and misty valleys, where someone was felling great giants of trees to make way for more pasture.

  The door creaked as Samuel stepped inside and Mrs Down looked up from her new spinning wheel. Her hands busily stretched out the wool on her lap as it was pulled into a long strand and wound around the large bobbin. Her foot was in an ever-pumping motion, sending the smooth wheel around and around for hours on end.

  ‘Samuel!’ she exclaimed. ‘How was it with the Count?’

  ‘Fine,’ Samuel returned with a smile. ‘I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I see to something.’ He went immediately to his old satchel that hung in the corner. He drew out his wallet of notes and scrawlings and began to quickly search through the pages. There was something familiar about that artefact, and Samuel was sure he had seen it before, perhaps in some tome within the Great Library. He hoped he had possessed the sense to make a note of it at the time. ‘Is Simpson up on the hill?’

  ‘Of course he is,’ she answered, pulling off the swollen bobbin and replacing it with another.

  It was there, the object, scribbled on the tattered
corner of a page-a rounded tablet bearing a six-pointed star, fatter in the middle and thinner at the edge. Samuel could not be sure, but it looked to be the same thing that Ash had found. He quickly read his notations that circled the drawing. He had found a few passages on it long before in the book of Garrum. The Argum Stone, it was called in the Old Tongue. From the little that Samuel had recorded, it seemed to be some relic from the Age of the Ancients. He had jotted a note confirming that the relic was a seal-stone-only a locking piece for another item that it could provide or reveal. Without having a way to unlock the Argum Stone, the true power within it was dormant and useless.

  ‘What makes you look so grim, Samuel?’ Mrs Down asked.

  ‘I have to return to Gilgarry tomorrow,’ he replied.

  ‘You enjoyed it that much, then?’

  ‘On the contrary. It’s a dreadful place, but there is something I must attend to.’

  ‘Very well, then. Why don’t you go see your young lady friend? That should cheer you up.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Samuel agreed.

  He left shortly. Normally, he would have been grinning from ear to ear at the thought of seeing Leila, but today, a feeling of dread was hanging over him like an ill omen.

  Fortunately, Leila’s father was not at home and so, with a giggle from Leila, they went outside for a walk together, darting between the homes and following the narrow, muddy paths between each wall.

  ‘How was your visit with the Count, Samuel?’ she asked as they strolled down toward the river.

  ‘He and his court are just a bunch of old drunkards,’ Samuel declared.

  ‘Of course,’ she affirmed, shaking her head at his ignorance. ‘All the nobles are. What else do they have to do, but count their money and drink themselves silly? Why do you think I don't want to marry any of them?’