‘I heard he convinced the Emperor that he could do wonders with the School of Magic,’ Goodfellow revealed. ‘There were few magicians back then and most of them were too feeble to be of much use. His idea was to revitalise the school and begin finding and training students from a very young age. The Lions were each offered the position first, but none of them would take it so Grand Master Anthem was the only remaining choice.’
‘There’s something else suspicious that people have been talking about,’ Eric said. ‘It seems no one has seen the Lions since Anthem departed. It’s said they have been sent out to retrieve him, that the Emperor wants to be sure he never returns to Garteny…alive.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Samuel said. ‘They are his closest friends. Why would they do such a thing?’
‘Because they’re patriots. They’re Turians and they support the Empire with all their hearts—not like us. We’re from all the tiny nations that the Empire has conquered at some point, so we don’t exactly have any innate love for it, but most of those born here in Turia would throw themselves from a cliff at the Emperor’s command. They’re just plain crazy.’
‘It just seems so strange,’ Samuel noted sourly.
‘Life’s like that, Samuel,’ Eric called with a smug grin. ‘Get used to it.’ He threw another small stone into the air and, this time, propelled it with a spell of Moving, so that it flew out towards the city with a resounding crack.
‘Whether it’s true or not, we’re still stuck with Dividian as principal,’ Goodfellow stated.
Eric was just spelling another stone into flight, but Goodfellow negated it with a spell of his own, and the stone fell dead onto the grass. Eric made a look of great disappointment.
‘That could hit someone on the head, Eric,’ Goodfellow pointed out. Eric shrugged his shoulders and started gathering up another handful of small white stones from around his feet.
‘So what do we do?’ Samuel asked. ‘Do we keep going to class?’
‘Of course!’ Eric replied, squatting as he picked from his choice of stones. ‘What else would we do?’
‘It just seems that if we keep going to class, then Jarrod and the Council will have won.’
‘I have to agree with Samuel,’ said Goodfellow. ‘Sending magicians to war seems incongruous in the face of everything we’ve been taught. I thought we were supposed to help people, not kill them.’
‘Supposedly,’ Samuel said. ‘But I guess our ideals and reality are two different things. This is the Empire and I suppose what the Emperor wishes happens.’
‘Well, let’s just go to class and see how things unfold,’ Eric suggested. ‘I don’t really see that we have any choice at the moment.’
Samuel nodded. ‘You’re right—unless we leave the Order, but then where would we go? At least while we stay with the Order, we have a chance to set things right.’
‘And what about you, Samuel?’ Eric asked. ‘Are you still planning to kill Master Ash or have you come to your senses?’
Samuel kept looking at the grass by his feet. ‘Of course I’ll kill him. What else would you suggest?’
‘You know we both believe you, Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, ‘but you have to remember that you shouldn’t pay so much heed to your dreams. You were feverish and delirious, remember?’
‘I realise that,’ Samuel responded darkly, ‘but I’m sure it was him. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am.’
‘Your family was killed a long time ago, Samuel, and, as you explained, it all happened very quickly. It’s a lot to risk on just a dream.’
Samuel was quiet for a few moments, continuing to gaze at his feet. ‘There are times in your life when something happens—something so terrible—that, even if you see it for just an instant, it will be forever burned in your mind. Nothing you do can remove it, and you will relive it over and over again in terrible clarity, and each time, you feel sick to your stomach. I doubt that even by killing Ash I can take that terrible memory away—of my father being clubbed to death, my family being beaten and killed and my mother screaming at me to run while she was being stabbed to death. I can only hope that eventually these images will fade and I can sleep peacefully again. The one expectation I have in life is to avenge them by finding their murderers.’
Eric abandoned his stones and came to sit cross-legged with his friends, slapping the dust from his hands onto his trousers. ‘If you do kill him, then you will be executed yourself. Do you realise that? You have no way to prove that he did anything.’
Samuel nodded. ‘I know.’
‘You could at least poison him, or pay someone to do it for you,’ Eric suggested. ‘At least that way you won’t be throwing your life away.’
Samuel nodded again. ‘I will think about it.’
‘Why do you think he killed them, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked genuinely. ‘I mean, why would he kill your family? You said you family wasn’t rich or powerful at all. They were only farmers.’
‘That’s right,’ Samuel answered, picking some grass and throwing it to the wind. ‘We just had fruit and a few chickens. I’ve thought about it many times and I can’t understand at all why anyone would have wanted them dead.’
‘Perhaps some secret business of the Order?’ Eric proposed.
Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t think they were magicians—they didn’t wear magicians’ clothes. Everyone has said how Ash is working for Lord Jarrod, and how Lord Jarrod is always scheming after something, so I’m thinking that it was some conspiracy of his. Perhaps there was a mistake in identity, or they thought we had some hidden gold. I really don’t know.’
‘Perhaps if you do kill Ash, it will cause an inconvenience for Lord Jarrod, so at least you can think of it as a service for the Order,’ Eric said.
Samuel laughed at this. ‘Yes. Perhaps I can.’ After a moment he noticed that the apprentices on the hillside had all begun to move back to the city. ‘It’s getting late. I didn’t realise I was so hungry.’ With that he stood and began slapping the grass from his trousers.
Goodfellow stretched his arms wide with a yawn, before standing and doing the same. ‘Now you mention it, I’m starving.’
Eric leapt up after them and they began trotting back down the hillside towards the great, grey metropolis that was the city of Cintar.
Samuel awoke to a dark figure standing at the end of his bed.
‘Again, you do not disappoint me, Samuel. I have been here only moments and you already detect my presence.’
Samuel sat up with a start and threw some mage-lights up to the ceiling. It was the secretive magician who had surprised him before, late one night in the Great Library.
‘I have been watching you, Samuel, and it is time you joined me.’ Samuel looked to his roommates, who all appeared fast asleep. A spell hovered across them like a blanket of shimmering mist. ‘They will not wake, Samuel.’
‘Who are you?’ Samuel asked.
‘Again, that does not matter. It seems things are not going well within the Order. Anthem was a good man. A little foolish, but I suppose his heart was in the right place. Surely you can see now how infantile these people are. I am beyond such bickering and trivial pursuit of power. Join me, Samuel and leave the petty Order.’
‘Are you with the Circle of Eyes?’
The man nodded solemnly. ‘That is a name of convenience we sometimes use, Samuel, but do not judge me from the company I sometimes keep out of necessity. I have a little project that would keep you busy for a while and I’m sure you would enjoy it. In exchange, I will teach you such secrets of magic that these fools will never know.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m still not interested. I don’t care for whatever it is you think I want. I’m happy with the Order, despite its shortcomings.’
The man stepped forward to the balcony and leaned over to observe the floor below. ‘Why do you insist on frustrating me, Samuel?’ he asked. ‘I could make your life very uncomfortable. I’m showing you far more tolerance than I
should, out of pure respect for your potential. If you decide you would rather be my enemy, you will surely regret it.’
Samuel slipped out from his bed and stood, feeling his bare feet on the smooth, timber floor. The man turned slowly to face him, keeping his back against the handrail.
‘I don’t enjoy your tone,’ Samuel told him. ‘I do not doubt you have great power, but you cannot change the way I feel. I do not want your help. I have become what I am through my own efforts, not from the tiresome lectures of these bores. They are useful for the most trivial of matters—I know that—but while they still pose some use to me, I will stay. I understand what you are telling me and, frankly, I do not care. I will make my own fate.’
Samuel could see a smile appear on the man’s face in the dim light.
‘So you have developed some spine. I am pleased. However, I must let you know that you have little choice. Many dark things are moving in the world, Samuel, things that your Order of Magicians knows nothing about. The Order is a nursery for children and a plaything of the Empire. They will use you to meet their own ends until you are of no further use—and then they will throw you away like an unwanted rag. All magicians of real consequence join the Circle, for we are the only power that can keep this world from harm. Their bickering, their politicking and even their wars are of no consequence compared to the responsibilities we soon must face.’ The man then sighed. ‘Very well, there is still some time. Remain here for now if you insist, but it will only make your schooling more difficult later. I will return for you in due course.’
As before, he vanished, but this time Samuel was prepared. He had learned much of concealment spells since their last meeting, both in his classes and through his own experimentation. He could see the man’s aura as he stepped carefully down the stairs, using a second spell to muffle his steps. Samuel prepared a spell of his own and flung it out onto the stairway. The concealed magician reappeared as he stepped onto the last stair. He paused, but did not look back.
‘Very good, young Samuel! You will make me proud!’
With that, he stepped down onto the floor and went out through the door, closing it softly behind. The spell that hovered all through the dormitory flickered from existence and, at once, Eric Pot began snoring—loudly.
Samuel stood at the top of the stairway for several minutes, pondering on what he should do; then he returned to his bed, extinguished his lights and tried to go back to sleep. This man was obviously powerful, but Samuel did not trust him. If anything at all the man had said was true, time would surely tell.
The week dragged on as speculation as to the next principal continued. Grand Master Anthem had not returned, and most were sure that, under the circumstances, he most likely would not. Most hoped for Master Glim to fill the position, but Master Glim was adamant that he would not take it even if offered and he would say precious little else about the matter. It came as a dreadful surprise to all when word spread that Master Dividian would become principal, with Master Sanctus filling his old position as Keeper of Records.
‘I can’t believe it!’ Samuel exclaimed. ‘They must be mad! Dividian is an idiot.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ said Goodfellow, ‘so we had better start getting used to it.’
‘It’s Lord Jarrod,’ Samuel stated. ‘I bet he is responsible. I mean, why would anyone appoint such a fool as principal?’
‘I don’t know why you two won’t give the old goat a chance. Dividian is no one’s favourite, but he’s not as bad as some of the others.’
Samuel only returned a glowering stare to his friend.
‘Perhaps they’re friends,’ Goodfellow offered. ‘That kind of thing goes on all the time.’
‘I doubt it,’ Samuel said. ‘Who could be friends with him? It’s more likely that Dividian is being rewarded for something. I’d bet my best boots that Dividian has been helping Lord Jarrod, gathering evidence against the Grand Master and poisoning the Magicians’ Council against him. In return, Dividian gets to run the School of Magic.’
‘It’s possible,’ Goodfellow agreed, ‘but there’s not much we can do about it.’
‘I think you two are reading too much from this,’ Eric said. ‘He’s probably only trying to make the best of a difficult situation. Who else could run the school in such a pinch?’
The other two continued to ignore him.
‘What about the Archmage?’ Samuel asked. ‘Doesn’t he even care what happens to the Order?’
‘He’s seldom seen, so I hear,’ Goodfellow responded. ‘He stays in his room and seems to take little interest in the Order these days.’
Samuel shook his head with disgust. No one seemed to like what was happening, but it seemed they had little choice.
Several new Masters appeared at the school in the following days—Master Jacobs, Master Nottingsworth and Master Frayold. They were humourless and impatient men, brought in at the request of Master Dividian.
Many of their old teachers were sent out to scour the Empire for new apprentices. Even some of the old Masters, formerly spending their days in the library or sitting about the school grounds in debate, were sent into the city and neighbouring towns to look for acceptable new students. Workman appeared with tools and materials and they began building many new dormitories.
Master Glim and old Master Sanctus were the only two of their old teachers to remain and they continued to instruct the students about the Old Tongue. All other theory classes were replaced by the three new teachers. Master Sanctus droned on in his usual way, rarely looking up from his notes as the Adept scribbled and whispered before him—he barely seemed to notice that anything unusual was happening in the school at all.
Master Dividian would periodically summon some of the Adept individually. He had called Goodfellow once or twice and Eric Pot on numerous occasions, but Samuel was disappointed that his name had not been requested even once.
‘What do you do together?’ Samuel asked of his friends on one occasion.
Goodfellow shrugged. ‘Not much, he asks to see a few spells and then gives some feedback.’
‘I told you to give him a chance,’ Eric stated and Samuel had to throw his friend a look of sheer disbelief. ‘I’ve been getting the odd bit of advice from him since I first started here and, when he’s in a good mood, he’s very different to the Dividian we are used to. He gave me some new ideas and I have a great new spell I think you will both be impressed by—when it’s finished, of course. Some of his suggestions are quite ingenious.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Goodfellow replied. ‘He did offer me a few ideas, but nothing I hadn’t already thought about.’
Samuel left the conversation at that. He certainly had no love for Master Dividian, but he could not help but feel a little disappointed that almost everyone in the dormitory had been called up by the old man, except him.
Master Glim had become quiet and spoke little of recent matters, even to Samuel. He only stated that it was better for everyone if he did not disturb the waters any further. Samuel and his friends continued to study and learn, but, without Grand Master Anthem, it was as if the heart of the School of Magic had somehow been torn right out.
It was a murky and godless day when Samuel found himself striding through the city streets towards the central markets. It was soon to be Master Kelvin’s birthday and Samuel had a mind to send him a selection of spices from the western isles, so that Cook could make him some of his favourite dishes. The Spice Islands were far. Hardy, ocean-going vessels that could make the trip in short time were rare, so it caused quite a commotion whenever a shipment arrived, with everyone clambering for their share. Fortunately, Samuel would not have to queue up with the common folk and could have his pick of any shipment.
The streets were remarkably empty, for there was a constant threat of rain and the wind was icy sharp and howling mad, tugging at Samuel’s dark cloak like an obstinate beggar. A few dark-skinned merchants sat idly beside their enormous wicker baskets, eyeing the emp
ty street with disdain and holding onto their goods with each blustery squall.
Samuel was just hurrying along, lost in his own thoughts, when he became aware of another magician nearby—several, in fact. He turned on the spot, just in time to have a group of men fall upon him, throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him.
‘What the...’ Samuel began to shout, when a damp rag was thrust into his face and a wretched, overpowering vapour filled his lungs and began burning its way into his nose and down his throat. He began coughing at once and the world spun around him. He struggled to find his legs, but they were jelly beneath him. Something was thrown over him, and everything became completely black. Rough hands lifted him, while voices barked commands in hushed tones. He was tossed and juggled once more and then all he could feel was a jostling from side to side as the darkness all around crept deeper and deeper into his mind.
Samuel awoke, his hands clutching his head. His throat was red raw and his brain felt like it had taken a stiff beating with a blunt stick. On top of that, his mouth was full of the taste of something vile and the air smelled of the same—like some burnt, pungent herb. He lay still for a while, moaning to himself, because there was literally nothing else he could do. It was surprisingly difficult to gather his thoughts and even moving his tongue was difficult.
Stinging sunlight suddenly washed over him and Samuel covered his eyes with his hands as well as he could. He could not help but give out a yelp as he struggled to be out of the blinding light.
‘Good morning, Samuel!’ a chirpy voice called out. Even more sunlight flooded in as another curtain was drawn open. ‘I must apologise for your treatment, but it was necessary to get your attention. I fear we used somewhat too much Eldinswurt. It’s dreadfully expensive and quite difficult to obtain. It’s much better than Scour Spice though; doesn't give you such awful diarrhoea. I hope you don’t feel too put out.’
Samuel groaned in response. He was slowly getting used to the light, but the man’s chirpy voice was somehow even more painful.
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 30
