She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy)

by Michael Foster

  ‘He is not taken, you foolish woman!’ Celios said angrily. ‘Open your eyes. We all must make sacrifices in these days of turmoil. Go home and be patient.’

  With that, some younger maidservants helped the desperate woman away. Celios’ attendant patted his clothes back into place and had to tuck his ruffled shirt back into his pants.

  ‘Who is that man?’ Samuel asked of Goodfellow.

  ‘I understand it is Sir Ferse. He has been assigned to take care of Master Celios, while our seer struggles with his...difficulties.’

  ‘Sir Ferse? But why would a Lord of the court be relegated to such subservient duties?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Goodfellow responded. ‘There are so many strange things happening these days, I have given up asking questions.’

  ‘That sounds like good sense. I think I shall do the same,’ Samuel said and they pushed their way out of the room and set about to find their lunch.

  It was mid-morning of the second day after the Empress’ ultimatum and Samuel was once again resting in his tower room high above the city. He had been feeling glum since the loss of Master Glim and was content to remain alone with his thoughts in his room, while the palace pondered its fate. He had just been peering out the window, lured by some disturbance far below, when Goodfellow burst in without a pause, bearing bad news.

  ‘The Empress has vanished!’ he declared.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Samuel asked at once.

  ‘She retired to her chambers yesterday evening and that was the last that was seen of her. She and her son have both disappeared.’

  Samuel was beyond belief. ‘How could she disappear? She must be in the palace somewhere.’

  ‘She’s not in the palace. They’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘Did they look in the dungeons?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Everywhere,’ Goodfellow replied. ‘They’ve scoured the palace with hounds already and there is not a scent of her to be found.’

  ‘Magic?’

  ‘Nothing. Not a spell in sight. It looks like the palace was somehow infiltrated and she was bundled away, along with Leopold. General Ruardin is having a fit and is going through the palace staff like a wildfire. So far, no one seems to have seen anything and no one else is missing.’

  Samuel drew his cloak from the wall. ‘Then let’s go and see if we can help. Things just keep getting worse and worse, don’t they?’

  The palace was, indeed, in a frenzy as they made through the halls. Guards were present at every intersection and doorway, scrutinising everyone who passed. They even stopped the two magicians, asking their names and checking them against a list, which in itself was a sign of the extreme situation.

  When they finally tracked down Grand Master Anthem, he was in a small meeting room with General Ruardin and Chancellor Donovan. Several other scribes were sitting in front of a bundle of papers, furiously sorting and scribbling on the piles before them. The door was open, and messengers and soldiers were filing in and out, making reports and receiving instructions. It seemed they had quickly established a plan of operation and the three men were busy with maps of the city, making marks here and there as they received reports. Either, the three of them had agreed to cooperate for the sake of the Empress, or they were stubbornly competing to command the search—Samuel was not sure.

  ‘We just heard,’ said Samuel. ‘Is there something we can do?’

  ‘Not just yet,’ Anthem replied, ‘but it’s good you came. Wait here for instructions. I’m sure we will have use for you shortly. We have the whole city to scour, but we need to prepare for the fact that the Empress and young Leopold may already be beyond the walls.’

  ‘You don’t think they could have been murdered, do you?’ Goodfellow asked and General Ruardin almost speared him with a pointed stare.

  ‘We haven’t come to that conclusion yet. Everything points to a kidnapping, as there has been neither blood found nor body recovered.’

  Just then, one of the captains from the Royal Guard came whispering into Chancellor Donovan’s ear. As the soldier rushed back out, Donovan turned to them all with a look of concern. ‘They’ve just found something in the harbour.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ruardin asked.

  ‘A ship, a monstrous ship beyond anything our harbour-men have ever seen.’

  ‘Where did it come from?’ Anthem asked the man.

  ‘No one knows,’ Donovan replied. ‘It seems it must have come into the harbour overnight. Everyone has been asked to keep their distance until we can send someone to investigate. Apparently, the ship has floated into the harbour by chance, although such a thing seems remarkable. Its sails are gone and it’s in quite a state, from what I have just been told. The harbour-men are calling it a ghost ship. They are requesting the aid of the Order, just in case. At a time like this, it seems almost certainly connected with the kidnapping. At the very least, we cannot discount the fact until it has been investigated.’

  Grand Master Anthem turned his attention to Samuel and Goodfellow. ‘Do you remember me saying you may be needed?’

  Coursing across the harbour brought back memories of the night the Merry Widow had been stricken upon the rocks. Samuel was only thankful that it was daylight, as in his opinion the only thing worse than being at sea was being at sea at night, even if they were within the safety of the harbour.

  Grand Master Gallivan, standing alone in his magic-driven vessel, led their tiny fleet, while Samuel and the Erics were huddled in another with oarsmen driving them forward. From the moment he first sighted the monstrous vessel far ahead, an awful feeling—a dreaded foreboding—sat deep in the pit of Samuel’s stomach. As they neared, he could see the ship was as thick as five of the Empire’s greatest ships stacked side by side, and longer than seven or eight. It towered above the other vessels, as if a fortress had been somehow erected on water. Imperial ships had already been brought alongside; each looking dwarfed as they waited beside it. Each craft sat patiently—not too close to the mysterious vessel—waiting for the magicians to come.

  The longboats arrived at the side of the ship and Samuel had to crane his neck to look up at it, almost as if the walls of some floating city lay above him. A few soldiers went first, standing in their boats and throwing their hooks up over the side. It took them several attempts, for few of the men had a strong enough arm to reach the top. They scaled up and, after a few quiet moments, a number of roped ladders they had carried with them came tumbling over the side.

  The soldiers in the other longboats began scampering up, while the three magicians sat looking at each other expectantly.

  ‘Right,’ Goodfellow said nervously. ‘Who’s first?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Eric Pot added and stood, careful not to rock the boat. He put his foot onto the first rung and started to climb the treacherous wooden slats with Samuel following after him. They had said nothing to each other during the whole trip across the bay and Samuel was thankful to be out of the little boat, if only for that reason.

  Clambering over the rails and onto the deck of the ship, Samuel began to believe this truly was a ghost ship. There was no sign of any sails attached to the masts, which themselves were broken and missing great chunks. Holes and scorch marks covered the decking, as if the ship had barely survived some heated battle. Goodfellow came up behind him, adjusting his spectacles and swallowing nervously at the scene.

  Grand Master Gallivan began inspecting the decks, sending out scores of spells to investigate, while more soldiers climbed aboard. Many stood with their weapons ready, faces looking somewhat pale.

  Finally, the commanding officer for the men, Captain Riggadardian, scrambled over the side railing and began looking about without worry or hurry, patting his uniform back into place. Samuel had had little to do with the man previously. He seemed a tad too sure of himself, as Turians commonly did, but rumour had it he was a capable commander.

  ‘Report!’ Riggadardian commanded.

  ‘Nothing yet, Sir!’ one of his
men shouted back. ‘It looks abandoned and has seen extensive battle. I’d say it’s also been at sea a long time—several months at least. There are entrances to below decks fore, aft and middle, and several doors leading into the deckhouses. This thing is enormous, but it’s in terrible shape. I don’t know who built it or where it came from, but it’s seen better days.’

  ‘Magicians, what do you sense?’ the captain asked.

  Samuel and the two Erics walked over to where the captain and Gallivan stood together.

  ‘I can sense people below the deck. Not many. No magicians,’ Gallivan said, eyeing the towering structures of the ship. ‘No one above.’

  ‘Scour the rooms one by one,’ Riggadardian called aloud. ‘Leave no speck of vessel hidden.’

  Just then, a door creaked open and magicians and soldiers alike turned to see some figures stepping out onto the decks. It was a small group of men and women, emaciated and thin. They shuffled out, seven in total, heedless to the swords raised towards them, and they waited, keeping their eyes to the floor.

  ‘What is this?’ Riggadardian whispered to Gallivan beside him.

  ‘They are unarmed, Captain,’ the magician responded, ‘and obviously in no state to cause us harm.’

  ‘Any more of them?’ the tight-bearded captain asked.

  Gallivan cocked his head slightly to the side, scanning the ship for signs of life. ‘Plenty of rats and lice, but no other people below decks. Nothing else of note that I can detect. Still, send your men down to look around. There may be clues as to what has happened here.’

  Samuel could feel this was true, but there was also something else. Somewhere, deep inside the ship, he could feel that something was present, something heavy with magic, but somehow hidden from his senses. He knew he should make some mention of it, but Gallivan and the others did not seem to feel it. He thought it could be his own paranoia, for it was not so much magic he could sense—more like something...missing.

  ‘Then the Empress is not here,’ Riggadardian said, with disappointment. He recovered his composure and sent his men scrambling away to look into every nook and cranny on board the vessel. He approached the sorry group that had come crawling from beneath the decks. They looked as if they had barely survived some recent and harrowing calamity.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked firmly. ‘Where are you from?’

  None of them responded. They continued staring down at the deck, a mixed cluster of men and women, dressed in tattered rags. Their hair was matted and their skin was filthy. Riggadardian’s men eyed the group warily and stood no closer to them than need be.

  ‘Open your mouths!’ one of the soldiers bellowed, gesturing with his sword from afar, but the people remained quiet and motionless.

  ‘Grand Master Gallivan,’ the captain implored over his shoulder and the magician stepped up beside him. The two of them faced the emaciated survivors. ‘What on earth can you make of this?’

  ‘It seems evident that this ship is not within Turian or Garten capabilities. I have never seen or heard of anything remotely like it. I surmise that this ship and these people are not from Amandia and must be from some distant land we have not yet explored. And, from appearances, I’d say they’ve come a long way and are within days of perishing. This ship seems beyond navigation, wouldn’t you say?’

  Riggadardian nodded with sureness. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it, but, with no sails and no capacity for oars or any other method of propulsion that I can see, it could have been floating around for any amount of time, although, it seems incredible that they somehow entered the harbour without being caught upon the rocks. There seems to be more than just luck involved. It would take many more than these few survivors to manage a vessel of this size. I can only guess the crew have all perished.’

  ‘I agree. Normally I would suggest magic has been at work here, but none of this lot is capable. Let me have a closer look at them.’

  Gallivan stepped towards the nearest survivor and held out his open palms to her. Gently, he put his hand to her chin and raised her face so he could look into her eyes. The woman was young, still in her late teens, and she made no effort to resist. In the light, it became evident her skin was not entirely filthy, but was deeply tanned and her eyes were angled, in the manner of the Western Isles.

  ‘Give them food and water immediately, Captain,’ Gallivan instructed. ‘I’d guess there’s none left aboard this ship, judging from the state they’re in. We can find a method to communicate with them later. Wherever they are from, it seems quite certain they are not involved with the loss of the Empress. Such a task is well beyond them in this condition. Keep guards on them while we search the rest of the ship, but I feel they are of little threat to us. Send word back to the palace. The search must continue elsewhere.’

  Riggadardian agreed and called for rations and water to be brought over from one of the Turian vessels. The cluster of survivors remained still, but they occasionally glanced up to follow the movements around them.

  ‘Grand Master Gallivan,’ Samuel beckoned, while the others were investigating the curiosities of the ship, ‘I feel there is something else on this ship.’

  ‘Oh?’ the raven-haired magician responded with interest. ‘I feel nothing out of the ordinary. What do you sense?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s something here, below us. It’s there, but not there. It’s difficult to describe.’

  ‘Perhaps something deliberately hidden?’ Gallivan mused. ‘I feel nothing, but I trust your senses, Lord Samuel. Take some guards and see what you can find.’

  The Erics had climbed up onto one of the great deckhouses and were peering about, so Samuel started tentatively into the doorway from where the survivors had emerged, peeking into the strangely designed interior. Soldiers were moving about hurriedly and had already gone in before him, but he still felt as if he was entering into a beast’s lair. As he stepped over the high threshold and into the ship, he could not help but notice one of the male survivors tracking him subtly with his narrow eyes.

  The cavernous ship was filled with narrow passages and rooms and it immediately became apparent that searching its entirety would take considerable time. He peered into some of the rooms and saw scraps of furniture here and there, but otherwise the insides of vessel had been gutted. It seemed as if portions of the walls had at one time been stuck with papers or decorations, but even these had been stripped away, leaving behind only scraps of paper backing. Small windows in the outermost walls let in sufficient light but, as he progressed further into the ship, its passageways further darkened.

  He fiddled with the ancient relic in his pocket, wishing that it was reliable enough to cast some light unto the scene. Instead, he was forced to ask one of Riggadardian’s men for a lantern and he held it out nervously before him, wishing its radiance could banish away the shadows and his feeling of dread.

  He squeezed past the soldiers as he met them, twisting round curling stairways and delving deeper into the ship until even the busy footsteps above him sounded far and muffled, and there was only the gurgling of water against the hull of the ship to keep him company. He thought about turning around and summoning some of Riggadardian’s men to accompany him, but his magician’s curiosity now had the better of him, and he continued on; drawn down deeper into the bowels of the plundered vessel by the strange feeling in his stomach that there was something here, waiting to be discovered.

  Turning one corner, Samuel found himself in a long corridor that must have run along the centre of the ship. It was a strange passage, for it had no doors or branches along its length, and was marked only at the end by a single, closed door. There were no portholes to grant him light and he judged that he must be well beneath the water level, somewhere between the cargo holds and ballast spaces at the very bottom of the craft. Any further down and he guessed he would be stepping over the giant curved ribs that gave such vessels their strength—assuming, of course, that this ship had been built similarly to the Imperial desig
ns he was familiar with.

  Unlike those Imperial ships, however, this vessel barely moved with the waves that harassed it outside, splashing and bubbling far above. It sat in the water as steady as a rock, perhaps due to some fact of its design, or perhaps merely because of its massive size. Despite this, he felt unsteady and had to reach out to the wall for support. At first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, but then he realised there was something wrong with the ship or his senses. The passageway seemed to be pulsing and the sensation grew by the moment, contorting and twisting like a swallowing gullet, as if trying to draw him down towards the far door.

  He tried to shake the vision from his eyes, but it would not be banished. Samuel could only hold up his lantern and take leaden steps along the passage. The thought of turning and fleeing threatened to overwhelm him, but somehow he kept on going; one step at a time along the churning corridor until, finally, he found himself standing just before the door at its end, sweating and trembling.

  The air seemed to be humming like wasps around his ears and he felt, as he slowly reached his quivering hand out towards the latch, that at any moment the portal would burst open and devour him. Somehow, despite the fact his magician’s senses told him nothing was there, he was convinced that sitting on the other side of the door was something terrible and massive, like a lurking creature from one of his nightmares, guarding its precious hoard. The desire to scream and run away almost overcame him, but he dared not turn his back to the door lest something should creep out after him. He could not remember experiencing such fear in his life and it had him shaking and trembling, as if with a fever, and the lantern was rattling wildly in his hand—he had to keep his fist clutched as tight as he could to keep it from leaping free. His blood was roaring in his ears and his heart sounded like a booming drum.

  Then, as his finger finally met the icy brass latch, the strangeness ceased and all was again still and quiet. The tension and dread that had saturated the air fell away and Samuel found himself looking all around with bewilderment. There he was, standing at the end of a perfectly normal passage, although cold and wet with sweat. He felt foolish, hardly able to imagine what had caused his fear, for there was no hint as to anything that could have elicited such feelings. Still, he looked behind him, hoping someone else would appear at the end of the corridor to lend him their company.