The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Foster

  He need not have bothered, for they did not go anywhere.

  ‘Damn!’ the magician swore.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The Great Spell will not form. They were expecting this also. Damn it! I cannot get us away.’

  ‘Then what shall we do?’ Leopold asked with alarm, for it seemed as if the situation was beyond control.

  ‘Take her, Leopold. Get Jessicah back to the ship. I can act freely once she is gone, but I dare not risk hurting her.’

  Leopold looked at the woman. ‘How am I supposed to do that?’

  ‘Carry her!’ the magician roared. ‘Put her over your shoulder and run! I’ve given you the path.’ He glared towards the broken wall beside them.

  Leopold shook his head. ‘I can’t run with her! They’ll catch me.’

  ‘You do it!’ Samuel bellowed and Leopold winced at the noise.

  The scene was chaos around them, with men still clambering to be at them with their swords and spears, and sorcerers throwing their spells from above. Leopold realised the hopelessness of it all. Perhaps he could still escape, but the others were as good as dead already. Rei’s words echoed in his ear—this was his chance to see Samuel dead. He had no time to deliberate. He took a backwards step, edging towards the breach in the wall and his escape.

  ‘Leopold!’ Samuel said, glaring towards him. ‘What are you doing? Come here and pick her up as I told you!’

  Leopold shook his head. ‘You should have acted when you had the chance. Now look what you’ve done! They don’t deserve this,’ he said, gesturing to Jessicah and the others on the floor, ‘but you do. This is what you get for being a devil, Magician!’

  ‘Leopold!’ Samuel roared again, in pain. ‘The voices have started. My demons have awoken. We cannot delay!’

  There was a craving in Samuel’s eyes, a look of needing, of hunger, and Leopold felt terrified, dreading what would happen if he neared the man.

  He eats souls, Rei had warned him.

  Leopold backed into the fresh air, with yellow mist pouring out around his feet, seemingly following him, stubbornly clinging to his boots. Eudan soldiers were approaching from his left, still far away but closing towards him.

  Inside, Samuel was picking up Jessicah. He took a step, labouring as if against chains that bound him to the floor. He stumbled and fell to one knee, with the woman still in his arms. He gazed at Leopold with utter contempt.

  Leopold wondered if he had made the right choice, but it was too late now. Samuel should never have led them into such a situation or underestimated their opponents. Let the consequences fall on his head.

  He prepared to run and Samuel’s last pained call held him in his tracks.

  ‘Leopold!’ the magician called, gently laying Jessicah onto the floor by his knees, placing her head upon Captain Orrell’s chest. He kept his eyes locked directly on Leopold as he commenced taking in great breaths of air, pulling the acrid gas deep into his lungs. ‘I forgive you, Leopold, but you had better come back. I’m counting on you to save us. Do what is right, Leopold! You are the Emperor!’

  They were his last, choking words.

  Leopold was forced to run, for the Eudan soldiers were nearly upon him. He turned and saw Samuel far away, kneeling in his black robes, with figures all about him, pummelling him until he fell, many of them succumbing to the gas themselves as they struck. Finally, the figure of the magician toppled over and vanished as the soldiers crowded around him, punching and stabbing.

  Leopold was off again across the grounds and through the buildings, falling through the final crumbling hole that led out into the city street. He turned right and staggered alongside the outer wall, fearful at first that his disguise was gone and people in the street would recognise him as a stranger, but none of the Eudans gave him any more than a glance as he jogged along.

  He found his way back the way they had come, out of the city and along the highway. Finally, and with relief, he came to the bridge where they had hidden their boats. Without a pause, exhausted, he trudged into the murky waters, glad to put Bodhi, The Heavenly City, behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Heavenly City

  FROM THE RELATIVE safety of the marsh, Leopold heard the rush of guards thumping along the bridge. He stayed hidden, buried inside the stiff branches of one of the trees that thrived in this stagnant, brackish quagmire. Waiting for the cover of darkness, he dared not move towards the boats lest he bring attention to himself.

  He presumed the sorcerers were busy in the palace and was thankful for that. Like Samuel, they could have found him if they wished, but one young man did not compare to the prize they had already won—the greatest of magicians in the world. Whether they had killed Samuel or captured him, Leopold did not presently know or care. His only thoughts were of making his escape, of getting back to the Farstride. After that ... he did not know.

  He waited the long hours until night, barely daring to move except to relieve one cramped part of himself or another, letting the blood flow as best as he could. He lowered himself chest deep into the water, and waded the short distance to where the boats were stowed; at least, to where he thought they were stowed, for the small island of mud he had been observing all the while turned out to be empty. Looking closely, he realised it was not the right place at all. With only the strange call of night birds to fill the air, he swore softly. From clump to clump he searched, peering about in the dark for their boats.

  The stars were tiny, brilliant pinpricks of light washed across the sky, countless specks of broken glass spilled upon a midnight blanket. The moon had not yet risen, making it difficult for him to find anything in the darkness. Thankfully, the stars reflecting upon the tranquil water helped him discern water from mud, sea from land.

  At last he spied the nose of a vessel jutting from the shadows, and he pushed towards it feeling much relieved. He tossed the leafy covering aside and pulled the craft into the water, climbing aboard. The mud sucked at his waterlogged boots, threatening to pull them off, at last releasing him with a loud squelch. Exhausted from the effort, Leopold hauled himself onto a wooden seat and breathed a sigh of relief.

  With the air so hot and muggy he was in no danger of freezing to death. It was only the clouds of buzzing mosquitos that caused concern. They threatened to drown him with their bodies, pouring down his throat if he inhaled at the wrong time, sending him into a coughing fit. He soon learned that their high-pitched humming gave them away and he made sure to hold his breath when the noise announced their approach.

  Manning the oars alone, he pointed the vessel out to the sea. It was no easy task in the dark and he kept snagging the longboat on sticks and branches, and seated backwards as he was to row, he was constantly forced to turn his head to see where he was headed. Finally, the cluttered marsh grew thinner, marking the start of the inlet and the sea.

  Now his task again became difficult. There would be no problem navigating between the islands; he just had no idea which way to go. He had not paid attention on the outward journey, presuming Samuel or the Koian women would do the job of guiding them home. Frustrated, he set off towards the nearest shadow of land, planning to scour the islands one by one until he found the ship.

  It took several hours and his arms were aching from the strain, but finally he found a glimpse of hope. A glint of light flashed far ahead and Leopold steered towards it. As he made around a piece of rocky ground, the Farstride came into view, glowing brightly with her many rows of lights in the cabins and many lanterns lit along the decks. It was strange, he thought, that the boat should be so illuminated. It did nothing to maintain secrecy.

  What he saw next answered such questions: circled around the Farstride, each tiny by comparison, were a half-dozen other vessels.

  ‘Damnation!’ Leopold swore.

  He halted his rowing and listened intently, letting his boat drift along by its own accord. There was no sound of conflict, so he imagined the Eudans had already overpowered the whole crew
. He took off his boots and shirt—all of them stained brown with sludge—and slipped deftly from the side of his boat and into the water.

  If he was to make claim of possessing one sure talent it was swimming. Seventeen years of living on a little rock in the middle of the sea had taught him how to dart about in the water as nimbly as a fish.

  His sword dragged uncomfortably at his side as he swam, but he was not about to leave it behind. He stealthily passed the waiting Eudan vessels, making barely a sound, breathing in long, slow, controlled efforts. He could hear Eudans talking and moving about on the vessels, their boots clomping on the decks, confirming that all was not well upon the Farstride. He would have dearly loved to be proven incorrect—that allies had come from nowhere to join their efforts—but alas, it was not so.

  Why is nothing ever easy? he thought, then scorned himself for adopting the magician’s words.

  He bumped into something floating in the water and stopped, unsure. At first he thought a stuffed sack had been thrown overboard. Nearby, there were more of them. One of them had something pale hanging out of it, and with terrible realisation he saw it was a face, the eyes open and lifeless. They were bodies. The dark shadows of other such corpses floated around him, undulating slowly with the gentle rise and fall of the sea. There were hundreds of them. Some were dark-skinned Eudans, others fair Amandians. Leopold recognised some of the faces of Captain Orrell’s soldiers. Many others wore the sailors’ garb of Captain Merryweather’s crew.

  Leopold avoided the bodies where possible and pushed their bobbing corpses aside when he could not, prodding them with his fingertips. It was disturbing to see their lifeless faces staring, many still screaming in silence, many whom he knew and had bantered with amongst the sails. The violence committed to many was obscene, with parts of heads cleft away, eyes gouged out, entrails hanging. Fingers and clumps of skin and flesh were floating freely of their own accord. It made him want to be out of the water as quickly as possible, for he could already smell the blood. The ocean was thick with it, staining his skin red as if bathed in wine. It repulsed him, but there was nothing he could do except forge on.

  He reached one of the mighty chains that bowed out into the sea and scaled it, link by enormous link. He hung on with slippery hands and pushed himself up with bare, wet feet. The segments were so heavy they barely moved under his weight and luckily each one was nearly half as big as himself, providing the perfect scaffolding to ascend.

  Nearly to the top, he peered down at the waiting Eudan boats. He was in shadow, but the danger remained of being seen by Eudan guards. Carefully, but quickly as he dare, he continued shimmying upwards.

  The chain disappeared into its housing and Leopold clambered after it into the pitch darkness. Working from memory, he dragged himself around the mighty winch apparatus within, panting, straining in the tight confines—imagining his gruesome death if the device activated with him inside it—until he found a crack of light that marked the service hatch. He waited, and upon hearing nothing after the space of many breaths, he edged the door open and peeked outside.

  The tiny room, hardly bigger than a pantry, was empty and the light he saw was coming through the slats of the door opposite. He slid out onto the floor as supple as a snake and stood lightly, quietly, for there were noises coming from the next room.

  He could hear men talking on the other side, and he could tell from the way their voices played in his ear that they were Eudan. It was another sign that Lord Samuel had not yet perished or given in to his demons, for it was said that when any magician dies his magic dies with him. Leopold hoped his Eudan disguise was still also serving its purpose.

  He stood there, barechested and barefooted, dripping on the floor, waiting for the men to depart. It was the only exit, save venturing back down the chain—and there was little point in doing that. There was nowhere else to go, and he would have little chance surviving in the Eudan countryside. Liberating the ship was his only hope.

  After some time, the Eudans stomped out of the room. Leopold waited patiently for several more minutes to be sure none remained. When he was confident, he ventured from his hiding place, creeping silently.

  Three doors marked this next chamber. The smallest, little more than a hatch, was the one through which he had just come. Another led upwards towards the deck. He turned his attention to the third. He was sure any surviving Turians would be kept in the hold. He eased the door open a crack and was surprised when it was pulled abruptly from his grasp.

  A Koian male, tanned of skin and narrow eyed, muscled and thick, glared at him with thinly veiled contempt. Leopold was sure this must be another of the superhuman warriors they met in the palace. This one wore a tight, green shirt that had smudges of blood rubbed into it. His muscles bulged under the cloth. He was a monster of a man.

  Leopold was wondering whether or not to run, when the Koian spoke.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said, deep and gruff in tone, using the Eudan language rather than his own.

  Leopold shut his mouth and fought to find some sense. ‘Ah. How goes everything?’ he asked, trying to match the aggressive tone.

  The Koian grunted. ‘No trouble from the prisoners.’ Other such warriors stood behind him at other doors along the passageway and a couple turned their heads to see.

  ‘Ah. Right then,’ Leopold replied and stepped back, letting the man shut the door behind him.

  He wished there was a little latch or lock that he could push shut, to put some additional obstacle between him and the guards, but there was none. He knew it would be pointless, for these men could easily kick down such flimsy barriers, but it would serve to make him feel better.

  Leopold turned his mind to what to do next. With no better ideas, he decided to get to his room and see if Salu and Toby were all right, to assess what he was facing. From there he could plan further. With this passageway blocked, the only route left to him was across the main deck. With a sigh he accepted his fate. He could not wait here; the other guards could return at any moment. If he was to live or die, this would be the deciding moment. He could lie on the ground and cry—accepting his failure and awaiting death—or he could meet his fate valiantly—well, slightly valiantly, given he had left his companions in the palace for dead.

  He opened the remaining door and climbed the short stairs that led outside. There, he stood boldly in the entranceway. The main deck was covered with black-skinned Eudan soldiers and, above the fo’c’sle, a Eudan sorcerer was perched high on the yard, overseeing the ship from his towering vantage point. He seemed to be unmoving, like a sentinel chiselled from wood and affixed to the mast. How typical for sorcerers to be like magicians—always hovering about watching others and doing very little themselves. He only hoped this sorcerer remained as such.

  Some of the nearer Eudans noticed Leopold in the doorway and accepted him as one of their own, turning away after noting his presence. How Samuel’s disguise spell worked, Leopold had no idea, but he was thankful for it. It gave him a fleeting pang of guilt for abandoning the magician. He had made no secret of the fact that he would eventually have his revenge, and all the fool Samuel for not preparing better. Still, a tiny part of him could not help but wish he had done things differently. Perhaps he would not be in this current mess at all.

  He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Done was done. The man had made a misery of Leopold’s life since the day they met. If only the infernal magician had not been so magnanimous in defeat! Why had he been so forgiving? Why could he not have cursed Leopold and screamed aloud at his treachery? That would have made him feel better, but the magician’s closing words turned a screw of guilt further into him, deeper and deeper the more he thought of it.

  Gathering his courage, Leopold sauntered casually across the deck, keeping close to the wall of the aftcastle, threading through the soldiers and heading for the opposite entrance. Blood stains covered the timber decking and he was conscious of its stickiness beneath his feet, although he dare not avoid
it for fear of drawing attention to himself. He could hear the squelch, squelch, squelch of it parting with his skin.

  He reached the opposite side of the ship and climbed the stairs to the second level. He knew enough not to look over his shoulder, so he kept moving into the ship, until he was safely within the sanctuary of the passageway. Eudan guards waited there also, talking softly of mundane pleasures, and he stepped past them without issue, focussing on the task of walking intently and with purpose.

  Once in the internal hallways of the aftcastle there were very few guards. He made it to his cabin without incident and entered directly. The first sight to greet him was Salu and Toby, alive and well. The old man had his back to the door, looking out a window, while Toby was playing up on the bunk.

  Salu nodded his head solemnly upon Leopold’s entrance, while Toby whooped and started kicking his legs against the ceiling with excitement.

  ‘Come on!’ Leopold told them. ‘Let’s go. I’ll get you out of here.’

  But Salu hobbled over and clasped one hand around Leopold’s arm—that grip as tight as iron—and spoke. ‘Where is Samuel?’ he asked with his husky old voice. It seemed he was in the mood to be communicative.

  ‘Taken prisoner by the leader of the Eudans—or perhaps dead,’ Leopold told him and old Salu was surprised. His eyes opened enough to give a glimpse of his pale pupils, before once again receding beneath heavy eyelids. ‘Everyone has been captured. I was the only one to escape.’

  Salu grunted. ‘He is not dead.’

  He picked up his stick from beside his bed and took a shuffling step towards the door, forcing Leopold to step aside lest the old man walk right over him.

  ‘Where are you going, you silly old fool? Be careful!’ he said, careful not to raise his voice. ‘You’ll be cut down by the first guard you meet!’

  Salu said nothing and kept going out into the hallway, while Toby jumped all the way down from the bunk and hurried after him.