The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy)

by Foster, Michael

  ‘He’s just a boy, but he could be the one everyone is searching for—here, with us!’ the first voice stated.

  ‘Yes, yes. You may be right,’ mused the second—a thin and whiny voice. ‘At the very least, it deserves further investigation. I will begin searching the ancient manuscripts and you keep an eye on him. Tell me of anything you learn—any clue or hint at all.’

  ‘Of course, but what should we say to him in the meantime?’

  ‘Nothing. Watch him. It’s too early to be sure. He shows all the signs of great power, but we could be mistaken.’

  ‘Perhaps I can try to guide him to our cause.’

  ‘Very well, but take great care. I’m sure he has been noticed already, and others will be seeking to sway him. It is fortunate we found him first. We don’t want to lose another one to their side, at least not until we learn what makes him so special.’

  ‘It could be nothing—a simple curiosity.’

  ‘Or it could be something. He plays with the makings of a Great Spell as if it were trivial. Such a spell could prove pivotal—for either side—and at this, such a crucial time. We just cannot afford to take chances.’

  A moment’s silence.

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ the voice sounded almost optimistic.

  ‘Very well. I will trust you with the task. Do whatever it takes to earn his trust.’ The second speaker finished.

  ‘I shall,’ the initial speaker finished gruffly and Samuel was sure he had heard this person before, somewhere in the real world beyond such haze-ridden dreams.

  Some days, Samuel found it harder to use magic than others. The teachers said this was normal, as a certain frame of mind was needed to use magic, but it frustrated Samuel greatly. At times, casting a spell was as easy as taking a breath, and these times were exhilarating. As more months passed, the bunkhouse became a constant display of various magic feats, with each boy practising the skills that best suited him. Samuel would lean against the balcony banister and watch closely. He had the advantage of being able to see the weaves of magic they made, and quickly learned how to read every flow and turn of power. The weaker boys’ magic was composed of thin and wispy strings of energy, which wavered and shuddered, barely able to hold together long enough to form a spell. Strong spells were rich with tendrils of energy, and the magic flowed smooth and sure.

  It was a simple matter for Samuel to copy the simple spells, for he merely had to summon some magic and bend the weaves to match whatever spell he desired. More complex spells, however, were another matter. There were far too many weaves and flows to remember, and by the time he finished placing the final parts of the spell, the first parts had already dissipated. It proved difficult to copy such spells, but Samuel kept trying every day. Each success gave him only a moment’s satisfaction before he began again on something even more difficult—and each failure filled him with frustration and rage.

  Whenever Grand Master Anthem returned to visit them, they would all show off their greatest feats, but Samuel was disheartened by the man, and would only show him his simplest effort. The old man seemed to sense Samuel’s mood and soon stopped asking to see his spells. He seemed kind-hearted enough, however, and liked to talk about all manner of things, but Samuel could never shake the feeling the old man was playing with him, asking him questions that seemed innocent enough, but were set to bait and test him—what for, he could not even begin to guess.

  Each student had his daily chores to do around the school. Samuel supposed it was to teach them humility or something—he did not care, for he enjoyed the time to himself so he could contemplate his spells. Sometimes, they had to do digging or something very difficult and dirty, but most of the time, it was just a matter of some simple cleaning and sweeping. Samuel, however, enjoyed working in the stable most. He tried to swap his chores with the other boys whenever he could and the other boys generally accepted the trade readily. They could not understand why Samuel liked to work in the dusty stables so much. Samuel, however, felt entirely comfortable there. The smell of the hay and chaff and leather and all the other distinct fragrances somehow made him feel at home.

  The long hours attending to the horses and equipment passed quickly and there was only the occasional hurried arrival or departure of one Master or another. It was a perfect place to practise his spells. These days he was experimenting with spells of Moving and Lifting. He had no problem lifting smallish objects and could even spell himself to be as light as a feather—if only for brief moments. Doing so, he could leap quite far and land very lightly, touching the earth with barely a sound. The spell required much exertion and took some time to prepare. Any time he lost concentration the spell would fail and Samuel would drop suddenly out of the air to land on his backside. He kept such spells to himself, for he felt he was progressing much better than any of the other boys and he did not want them to learn his secrets. Any time someone asked to see what he was practising, he would show some mage-lights, or some simple illusion to keep them happy. They would usually nod and say ‘what a fine spell’ and be content with that.

  ‘What of the boy?’ the thin voice asked. Samuel had not been disturbed for some time, but tonight his dreams were once again interrupted by impatient voices.

  ‘He goes well. Every day I feel he is stronger, but he keeps much to himself for some reason I cannot guess. He has few friends, but they are well skilled. It is a good sign.’

  Again, that gruff voice seemed familiar to him.

  ‘We should look into his past—his family, everything. Everything about him seems genuine, but it could be another ruse. Tread carefully with your investigations. If we raise our heads now, we could lose them.’

  ‘I will keep that in mind,’ the gruff speaker noted.

  ‘What from the library?’

  ‘Nothing more than we already know. Perhaps the arrival of the boy is a good sign. With him, we may not need any more of the books. Perhaps he has a role to play.’

  The thin-voiced speaker was not so sure. ‘Perhaps, but we will continue on our current course nonetheless. I’m sure the Council also know about him by now, but they have said nothing. They will be watching him closely and I will need to divert their enquiries as best I can. I feel many threads focussing on this one boy.’ Then the voice took on hushed tones. ‘Quiet! I feel a spell!’

  With that, the voices ended.

  One warm yet cloudy day, it was announced that the apprentices had been working hard and performing well, so from now on they would be permitted to enter the city during daylight hours. They were reminded to be on their best behaviour at all times. The Adept were always venturing outside the school walls and many apprentices saw it as a chance to catch up with the older students and see what interesting things waited in the city.

  Many boys went out into the city every afternoon from that time on, but Samuel preferred to stay at school and practise his spells. Each day the two Erics would come looking for him and urge him to go out with them. He would refuse, saying that he had too much study to do and they would laugh and leave him be. It was obvious to Samuel that when anyone began to wander the city, their studies suffered and he had no wish to slow down his learning by any amount at all. Eventually, however, the Erics convinced him that such experience was a necessity for good magic and then his curiosity got the better of him and the lure of the city drew Samuel out through the school gates with a childish grin.

  The streets of Cintar were like a rabbit’s warren—all twisting and turning, so that Samuel would have become hopelessly lost if not for the aid of his friends.

  ‘Aren’t you glad you finally came with us?’ Eric Pot asked and Samuel laughed and nodded.

  ‘Yes, yes. The city is indeed as wonderful as you said,’ he had to admit. There was always a sense of some undiscovered excitement around every corner, for there were so many people and things to see, the likes of which Samuel could never have imagined. Although he was away from his studies, Samuel had to confess that there was also much to learn in
the city.

  They explored the markets, bazaars and stores and talked with the merchants and people they met. The city folk always spoke with them respectfully and always offered to give them some goods without charge. If it was food, they gratefully accepted and the three of them often feasted on strange foreign fruits and edible things they had never before seen or tasted. Some were strange and unpalatable, while other things were delicious and exquisite.

  One morning, all the classes were cancelled due to a sudden important meeting of the Masters, and so Samuel, Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow took the chance to explore the tent markets in the city’s eastern district. Here, a vast square had once been, but now the sky was hidden by tents and pavilions that pushed up tightly against each other. Poles, from which all colours and manner of cloths hung to form tents and covers, towered into the sky. Pegs were hammered into the ground and ropes stretched from them in every direction to hold the great poles in place. Every rope was adorned with flags, banners and streamers, giving the place a fantastic air. Delicious smells collected within the tents, steaming out of all the simmering and bubbling pots as people cooked all manner of exotic meals. Leathers and bowls and endless assortments of decorative items were being touted all around, each one cheaper and more useful than the last. It was such a marvellous place that Samuel could stay lost there for hours on end every day and still find new things and corners to explore.

  He was examining a collection of carved figurines, depicting monsters and heroes with swords held high in victory, when a voice sounded immediately beside him.

  ‘Excuse me, young man.’

  Samuel turned and looked up at the curious figure beside him. It was a rather tall man, pale of skin and pointed of nose. Most striking of all were the spotlessly clean white robes he wore, for they were quite out of place in such a city. The magical aura around him proclaimed him to be a magician of some description, yet, in such white clothing, he was clearly not of the Order.

  ‘You are relatively new to the Order, I presume,’ the man asked with an arched eyebrow.

  ‘Why, yes,’ Samuel replied, quite unsure of this strange man.

  ‘Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Balthazar, First of the Union of Modern Magicians.’

  Samuel was still equally unsure. ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ he said and offered the man his hand. It was not something that magicians often did, being aloof as they were, but Samuel thought manners were manners, after all. The man looked at Samuel’s hand quizzically and then shook it tightly with both of his own.

  ‘Ah,’ he began. ‘I thought I would welcome you to Cintar, young Master. It’s the first time I’ve seen you in the city. So tell me, are you enjoying your time with the Order of Magicians?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Samuel informed him, ‘but I’m not a Master. I’m only an apprentice.’

  ‘No matter, no matter,’ said the man, flapping one hand dismissively. ‘Titles are a thing of mere formality. In the Union of Modern Magicians, all men are equal!’ Samuel eyed the man squarely. He had the feeling he was about to be sold something. ‘Have you ever thought about joining another institution of magic?’

  ‘No,’ Samuel replied, now doubting the man’s intentions entirely. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Tell me. What is your name?’ He now had a beaming smile, baring teeth.

  ‘Samuel,’ he said. ‘But I’m not really interested in leaving the School of Magic.’

  Balthazar smiled even more. ‘Fine! Fine! But take your time to think it over. Any time you are even interested in dropping in for a chat, you can find us just near the library on Dovetail Street.’

  Balthazar then seemed to notice something over Samuel’s shoulder. ‘I will speak with you again some day,’ he said with some urgency and rushed away into the crowd with a flurry of white cloth.

  ‘Who was that?’ Eric asked as he and Goodfellow returned.

  ‘He said his name was Balthazar,’ Samuel explained. ‘He said he wants me to join the Union of Modern Magicians.’

  Eric laughed. ‘They’re a bunch of lunatics, Samuel.’

  ‘Yes,’ Goodfellow agreed. ‘I’d stay well away from them, if I were you. Perhaps you should tell Master Glim.’

  Samuel shrugged. ‘He seems harmless enough. A little quirky, perhaps. What have you there?’ Samuel asked, noticing the bundle in Eric’s arms.

  ‘It’s a delicacy from my home. I was surprised to find it here. There’s a merchant here from Reve who is actually a second cousin of mine.’

  ‘So what is it?’ Samuel asked, peering into the wrapping.

  ‘Pigs’ ears,’ Eric announced and Samuel stepped back. ‘They’re delicious. You soak them in oils and spice and then fry them up in a nice hot pan.’ He smacked his lips with his tongue.

  ‘That’s disgusting!’ Samuel proclaimed.

  ‘Don’t criticise it until you’ve tried it, Samuel.’

  ‘I’ve tried it, Samuel,’ Goodfellow informed him. ‘And you’re right. It’s disgusting. I’d rather chew off the soles of my shoes.’

  Eric shook his head at them with disappointment and they made their way back to the school. ‘You two just don’t know what’s good for you!’ he declared with a cheeky grin.

  Days always passed quickly in the School of Magic. Samuel lost all track of time and measured it instead by his spells and accomplishments. The seasons turned and days became cold, then warm and cold once again. Occasionally, he outgrew or outwore one set of clothes or shoes or another, but apart from that, his days were consumed by his complete passion for magic. Very little changed in the school; each day was defined by a typical routine that Samuel regarded as just perfect. Whenever he overheard his classmates complaining of the repetitiveness or boredom, he would quietly shake his head. He gained few friends by not agreeing, but he didn’t care.

  Tulan Goodwin visited the school occasionally and he was always astounded by Samuel’s progress. He had been to the Burning Oak on occasion and passed on Master Kelvin’s best wishes to Samuel. Samuel learned how a new stablehand had been found at the inn. His name was Fennian, and Samuel chuckled when he heard this, for it was the quiet boy that had been working for Mr Joshua. It seemed Mr Joshua had managed to insert a new spy into the Burning Oak after all. Samuel had no idea how Mr Joshua benefited from knowing the goings-on of the Order, but he guessed the man must have some way to turn a profit from all the information he gathered in Stable Canthem.

  As Samuel was chatting with Tulan, he began to notice something curious about the man’s magical aura and, as he nodded and followed along in idle conversation, he squinted his eyes and peered more closely at the fine shroud of weaves that curled around Tulan. They were particular to the man—unique, Samuel realised, but Tulan’s aura also had some similarities with other magicians with skills of divination. With a little practice, Samuel guessed he would be able to tell the capabilities of a magician just by looking at him. He could already tell the purpose of simple spells just by observing them and could even tell who the caster was if he knew them well enough. His sight was a great advantage to him in this way, as he only had to look at magic to know its properties. Others had to rely on the feeling of the spell and it took them much longer to do anything. At first, he had thought perhaps he would meet others in the School of Magic with the same curious ability as he, but so far, no one else seemed to be gifted with his magician’s sight. He kept the secret tightly to himself.

  When Samuel was not practising or studying and had no chores to perform, he would lean against the balcony by his cot on the upper floor and watch the other apprentices practise their spells below. He would open himself to the source and let his magic fill him. It was a thrilling sensation and he would try to hold onto such feelings for as long as he could. Then he felt truly alive, as if every sense in his body was multiplied and excited. Best of all, it seemed that nobody was any the wiser and he felt satisfaction in the fact that he could manipulate such power right beneath all their noses.

  Eventua
lly, though, he would tire and have to separate himself from the source once more. Each time, he could channel a little more than before. Every day, he felt he was getting stronger and stronger. It only disappointed him that he could not hold his power indefinitely. There just seemed to be no way around the limitations of the body and it frustrated him no end, for he felt that there was more and more magic within him just waiting to be released. Somehow, he would find a way...

  Occasionally, Master Glim would organise a few hours of sport for the boys, stating how, despite the fact that they were apprentice magicians, they were still just boys and needed to play boys’ games. They played football—it was a little different to the way they played kick-ball in Marlen. The school grounds were not so large that they could run without constraint, but they could always manage to have a decent game without breaking too many of the large, ornate vases that decorated many of the walkways or colliding with any of the passing old Masters. The Adept played little, but occasionally one or two would join the game and seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone when they did. It was a refreshing break from study, but Samuel had not played such games since he had left Stable Canthem and he quickly ran out of breath while the others were just getting started. Goodfellow, too, had little patience for games, not being very good at them, and spent most of the time strolling about, adjusting his spectacles and watching the others race past him.

  Eric Pot was just the opposite. He danced around the ball and the other players as if they did not exist and could kick the ball as far as he wanted and exactly where he wanted it—without even a hint of magic. Samuel had tried spelling the ball, but the others had immediately caught on when the ball had started zooming along on its own. They chastised him with a friendly wrestle—but when some fifteen or so growing lads are all leaping on top of you for a ‘friendly wrestle’, it can be pretty uncomfortable, and Samuel quickly learned his lesson.