‘The Royal Guard are here!’ someone called down from the doorway.
Rimus glanced up, looking very pleased. ‘At last! Tell them they can take these traitors away.’
A golden-armoured soldier stepped through the doorway, but it was not some lowly guard as Rimus expected. It was General Ruardin, himself.
‘What’s going on here?’ he shouted out across the chamber as a host of soldiers began to file in and line the walls on either side of him. Captain Orrell came in last and stood beside the general. He looked quite flushed and he seemed anxious.
Rimus’ smile seemed to lose some of its sincerity and his lips began twitching around the edges, as if tired of their unnatural pose. ‘Thank you for coming, General!’ Rimus called up to the imposing general. ‘You’re just in time. The traitors have finally been caught. You can take them away with you now.’
Ruardin shook his head and walked part-way down the stairs. ‘I don’t think so. I understand that there is more going on here than I have been told.’ And he looked around the chamber, scrutinising the magicians there. Everyone seemed to squirm under his gaze. ‘I’m fed up with you magicians and your schemes. What’s happening here? Why wasn’t I told of this?’
‘We didn’t think you needed to know,’ Lord Irshank replied. ‘With all the events in the palace, we didn’t want to trouble you.’
‘I need to know everything!’ Ruardin boomed and every magician in the room shrank back, for the man’s presence was overpowering. ‘What gives you all the nerve to hold this ceremony without my knowledge or consent? What gives you all the right to hand out the Staff of Elders as if it were a child’s plaything?’
‘It’s Order business, General,’ the stocky Lord Vander replied defiantly.
‘There is no Order business!’ Ruardin shouted back. The veins in his temples were staring to pulse with anger. ‘Everything is Empire business! Your precious Staff of Elders belongs to the Empire, and the Empire, not the Order, chooses whom to give it to and when to give it!’
‘Excuse us, General,’ Vander peeped, but Ruardin barely heard him.
‘I want this ceremony to cease,’ Ruardin continued, ‘and I have questions for all of you-especially you, High Lord Rimus! From this point on, I am assuming you are all guilty of treason until the Empress is found and some questions can be answered.’
Rimus surprised the room by laughing out loud and all eyes turned to him with disbelief. Few people would dare scoff in the general’s presence.
‘You old goat!’ Rimus said. His grin now looked evil and quite out of place, somehow not suited to his face. Samuel sensed a change in his attitude. Even his voice seemed different, somehow awfully familiar. ‘I couldn’t care less about your Empress or your pathetic Empire. All I have ever wanted is power-and now I have it! You see, the ceremony has already finished and with this, the Staff of Elders, in my hands, no one-least of all you, General-can stop me.’
‘What!’ Ruardin roared out, putting his hand to the hilt of his sword.
Lord Vander looked highly confused. ‘What do you mean, High Lord Rimus? What are you talking about?’
‘Prepare for the end!’ Rimus called out, as if his words were enough to strike everyone down. He began to lift the Staff of Elders, intent on wielding its power, but a knife flew across the room in an instant, past Rimus and biting into the wall behind him. Samuel looked up and saw that Captain Orrell was standing primed, having thrown the narrow blade himself from far across the room.
Rimus reached up to his neck, where the skin was sliced from front to back. A thin, red line traced around across his throat and a gush of bright fluid burst out, jetting blood across the floor. Rimus dabbed at the wound with his hand and then looked at his bloodied fingers with disbelief written on his face. The room was silent. All were waiting with their mouths hanging open, for the wound was surely mortal.
‘Gods!’ someone cried out.
‘They’ve killed him!’ gasped another.
Strangely, the blood stopped flowing after that first gush and Rimus’ horror became a look of amusement. ‘Oh, no,’ he said calmly. ‘You can’t kill me quite so easily. I haven’t been around so long without learning a few tricks of my own.’
Rimus then reached up and scratched at the wound on his neck and, much to everyone’s surprise, he dug his nail into the flesh and pulled away a large piece of his own throat. Instead of howling in pain, Rimus only smiled more as his face began to sag and fall away in chunks. Everyone was aghast as the flesh seemed to fall from Rimus’ face as if he had, for some reason, literally begun to fall apart.
Slowly, Samuel realised what was happening. Rimus’ hands went to his face and clawed away the dissolving flesh and skin and muck. Recognisable beneath the dripping, wax-like skin was the face of Ash. He stretched his arms back and laughed as he shook the sticky remnants of the other man’s guise from himself.
‘By the gods, Ash!’ Vander cried out. ‘What have you done!’ The stocky man darted in deceivingly quickly and put both hands on the Staff of Elders. Ash was taken by surprise and they both began to tussle over the long staff.
‘Give me that!’ Vander commanded. He was stronger than the taller man had expected and looked about to tear the Staff from Ash’s grip.
‘Damn you, you horrid little dwarf!’ Ash swore out loud.
With that, Ash drew a small vial from his pocket and slapped it so it broke against Lord Vander’s head. Vander began to scream at once. He let go of the Staff and began reeling around and clutching at his face, screeching all the while. His skin peeled back and his blood began boiling out from eyes and ears. The other councillors stepped away in fear as Lord Vander’s body fell smoking and lifeless to the ground. Even General Ruardin stood full of trepidation at the sight.
The congregation leapt to its feet as Ash laughed and drew another tiny vial from his pocket. With glee, he then tossed it up into the fleeing crowd. Panic erupted all around as the glass shattered onto a bench-back, splashing the hissing and smoking fluid all around. The room was turned to anarchy as suddenly everyone was up and scrambling to escape. They clambered over everything and each other to get up and away, and magicians began shouting and pushing up the aisle, throwing the Royal Guards aside in their haste to get out the door.
Ash only laughed again as muck continued to drop away from under his clothes. He drew out another vial and whispered into it. A white beam flashed out and turned a fleeing magician to thrashing screaming flames while those around him leapt aside, desperate to be away from the inferno.
General Ruardin had been pushed to the floor and was struggling to stand, while the councillors were all too aghast to do much of anything.
‘Come to me, fools, or be damned!’ Ash declared ferociously. ‘Now is not the time to be yellow-bellied. It’s kill or be killed!’
The barrel-chested Lord Hathen was the first to move. He shook the fear from himself and scurried to Ash’s side, eyeing the chaotic scene around him with open-mouthed apprehension. The two mysterious cloaked figures also came forward to stand by Ash and had their shields in place to stop any further attacks upon their master.
Lord Irshank stood stunned and full of bewilderment. ‘Hathen!’ he cried. ‘What are you doing?’ but the other man only scowled back at him.
‘Irshank!’ Ash declared. ‘You’re a fool! It’s too late now. You’ve been helping me all along whether you knew it or not! They’ll never believe you. Kill these fools and I will give you everything I promised. Back out now and they will have your head hanging from the palace walls, I swear to you!’
Irshank looked absolutely aghast. He glanced about at his fellows in total disbelief. Finally, he climbed up to stand beside Lord Hathen, looking quite forsaken.
‘Destroy them!’ Ash cried out, retreating behind his loyal servants. He still pulled at the last shreds of matter that clung to his face, flicking them away like stubborn leaches. Fluid and ooze dripped from his sleeves and slapped onto the floor. He carried the Staff
of Elders away and vanished back behind the curtains, leaving a trail of muck behind him.
At that, spells began to fly out into the fleeing crowd, but Master Glim threw a shield spell into place. Lomar joined his spells with Master Glim’s and together they struggled to stop the volley of spells that pummelled them.
‘Well?’ Master Glim said to Samuel, and Samuel threw a spell up beside his teacher’s. The two Erics quickly followed suit.
‘What’s happening here?’ Ruardin called out, having pushed through the fleeing magicians to stand behind Samuel and his friends. People were still pushing their way out, but it would take some time yet before the room was emptied.
‘We’re trying to save everyone’s lives, General,’ Master Glim told him. ‘I recommend you and your men leave at once. This room may not be here much longer!’
‘Are you serious, man?’ Ruardin asked in disbelief.
Just then, a spell penetrated their shields and struck one of Ruardin’s Royal Guards as he was taking cover behind the benches. The man screamed and burst into dust and bones.
‘Yes, General,’ Master Glim replied adamantly. ‘I’m serious. There’s nothing you or your men can do now.’ A bench beside Master Glim suddenly vanished, exploding up into the ceiling.
‘Very well, Master Glim,’ Ruardin said worriedly. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘Don’t worry, General. Just take your men and wait downstairs. Catch anyone that comes out of the tower. If they don’t stop, kill them. And if anyone but us comes out with the Staff of Elders…be prepared.’
Ruardin nodded gravely. ‘I understand,’ he said, and began to back up the aisle as fast as someone of his proportion possibly could. The magicians had all managed to escape and, with one gesture from the general, the soldiers hastened out also, leaping over bench-backs and up the aisle. Captain Orrell was the last to leave, backing out of the chamber with concern engraved deeply on his face.
‘Eric!’ Master Glim called out with some difficulty.
‘Yes?’ Eric Pot answered beside Samuel.
‘Not you!’ their teacher growled. ‘The other one!’
‘Oh, yes?’ Goodfellow responded, daring to open one of his eyes.
‘I want you to go out and help the general. Send his men to find the Lions as fast as you can. Ash may have sent them somewhere during the ceremony. He obviously didn’t want them here, lest they interfere. Find them and get them here as fast as you can. Our lives may depend on it.’
‘Yes, Master Glim,’ Goodfellow said and hurried away, looking over his shoulder as spells kept shattering against their shields. He was at the doorway and away in moments.
‘What are we going to do?’ Samuel asked. ‘We can’t keep this up forever. They’re pulling our spells to pieces!’
‘Don’t…worry,’ Master Glim responded with some difficulty. ‘We just need a little…more…time.’ Just then, a spell came sizzling toward them and Master Glim matched it with one of his own. ‘There!’ he cried with joy. ‘Got it!’ The two spells hung in the air, locked together.
Another spell came forward and Master Glim guessed correctly once more. His timing was impeccable and, again, he locked the spell in place. The air buzzed with another spell and this time Lomar had it.
‘Well done!’ Master Glim shouted.
More and more spells came at them and Master Glim and Lomar caught as many as they could, until a knot of spells began to form above them. Finally, Samuel realised what they were doing. It was the Magicians’ Game. Irshank, Hathen and the two unknown magicians also realised what was happening, and they desperately began trying to match Lomar and Master Glim’s counter-spells, for Samuel’s friends had the advantage to begin with. The game had begun, and each side kept frantically throwing out spells to catch the other’s. Whoever gained enough foothold in the game would have control over the combined power of all the spells above. The energy trapped therein was growing and, when either side fell too far behind, the total sum could be used upon them. All the while, they continued sending spells to check each other’s defences. It was a cunning and complicated game of wit.
Samuel saw a spell coming and shot up a counter-spell of his own. His aim was true and the two magics locked in place.
‘No, Samuel!’ Master Glim told him. ‘You can’t help! You and Eric must go after Ash.’
Samuel nodded, and stood to leave, but a spell flying forth had him ducking back down behind the seat in front of him. If he and Eric left, Master Glim and Lomar would be outclassed and outnumbered by the four master magicians below. The game would not last long.
Just then, a flurry of spells came pouring down from the doorway in volumes. It was old Master Sanctus who had joined the fray, hobbling down the carpeted steps with magic pouring from his sleeves like streams of billowing ribbons. There was a smile set on his face, like a mirthful boy, and he began trapping spells left, right and centre, throwing fake spells and trap spells all over to keep his opponents busy.
‘Hurrah!’ Lomar yelled with glee.
‘Go now!’ Master Glim commanded. ‘We can last here!’
‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked.
‘Go!’
Samuel and Eric stood and raced back up the stairs. Spells flew at their heels, but Master Glim protected them as they went, catching each spell and adding it into the game. They made through the doorway and out into the abandoned hall, leaving the hiss and flashing of magic behind them.
‘Where are we going?’ Eric asked as they sprinted for the main stairway.
‘Where Ash is going,’ Samuel replied. ‘For the Argum Stone. I’m guessing he needs the Staff to finish awakening the thing. Once he does that, he could be unstoppable.’
‘But what is going on, Samuel?’ Eric asked. ‘What has been happening? Where is Rimus?’
‘I don’t know,’ Samuel replied, jumping up the first flight of stairs. ‘Probably dead.’
They made it up into the tower proper and ran down the hall to the next stairway. The place seemed completely deserted. Perhaps General Ruardin had cleared it upon Master Glim’s warning or perhaps everyone had simply run on sight of the other fleeing magicians. They went up many levels and Samuel’s legs started burning before long and he could barely keep up the pace. He found himself quickly wishing this tower had the same climbing spells set in it as the smaller Mage Tower.
Crossing another hall, they turned a corner to find three men waiting on the stairs. They had swords ready in their hands and looked ready to kill. Samuel assessed them in an instant-they were mercenaries. Samuel and Eric stopped, labouring for breath and eyeing the men warily.
‘Turn back. To come this way means your death,’ one man told them plainly and without flourish. He had a strange lilting accent that meant he was definitely not Turian. Samuel took him as the leader.
‘Let us pass!’ Samuel ordered, his chest still heaving.
The man shook his head slowly. ‘Lullander!’ he called and a plain-clothed magician scuttled down the stairs from behind him, already preparing a spell.
The leader signalled and the other two mercenaries darted forward at the same time, brandishing their weapons. Samuel immediately cast a spell and froze them in their places.
The leader swore and stepped back defensively, unsure. ‘Lullander!’ he called out again in frustration. ‘Don’t just stand there like a fool! Do something!’
At that, the magician threw down a spell. Samuel diverted it easily with a spell of his own, but in that instant, the mercenary leader had taken his opportunity, springing forwards, quick as lightning. Equal doses of surprise and pain hit Samuel as the man’s fist collided with his cheek. Eric yelled out in pain beside him and Samuel only recovered his senses in time to see the mercenary leader dance backwards, drawing his sword, slick and glistening from Eric’s belly. Eric fell onto the carpet, howling aloud and clutching at his stomach as his blood poured free.
‘Eric!’ Samuel cried, but a flash of magic caught his attention as
the magician, Lullander, spelled again. It was the same spell as before-a simple binding spell that could potentially stop some vital function of the victim. Samuel had already surmised that Lullander was a pitiful excuse for a magician and he had no trouble deflecting the spell again. And this time, he threw one of his own back at the mage for good measure. Lullander managed to catch Samuel’s spell with one of his own spell shields, but it left the man looking quite shaken.
‘What are you doing, Lullander!’ the mercenary shouted to his comrade. ‘You really are a good-for-nothing!’
‘Blast!’ the magician replied. ‘He’s too strong!’
With that, Lullander began backing up the stairs and then turned and fled.
‘Damn you, coward!’ the mercenary shouted after him. He then turned and faced Samuel. ‘Well, Magician. You have bested us all. If Lullander cannot defeat you, I will not risk my neck for this kind of venture. You can pass.’ With that, he gave another flourish and a short bow.
Samuel was unsure and readied a spell to fling at the man.
‘Your friend seems mortally wounded. Perhaps you should see to him before he loses any more of his blood. Don’t waste your time on me if you want him to live.’
‘This isn’t a trick?’ Samuel asked warily.
‘No,’ the man replied and dropped his sword onto the carpeted stairs. ‘It’s only money. I don’t know what these magicians have been up to, but it’s clear they are not on the winning side. I will gladly be out of here while you go and find whatever fate awaits you upstairs. I apologise for the inconvenience.’
With that, he stepped neatly past Samuel and strode down the hall. Samuel was certainly not bothered to chase him-Ruardin’s men would catch him downstairs-and he dropped to Eric’s side.
‘It really hurts!’ Eric said, clutching at his gushing wound. His entire front was bathed in blood and Samuel guessed from the rate of it, the injury was serious.
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