The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (35 page)

‘It’s just…’ Samuel began, ‘It’s just that it felt so real. It wasn’t like a memory or a dream. It was like I was actually
there
.’

‘That was Master Celios,’ Goodfellow explained. ‘His spell was to aid you and make your thoughts more tangible.’

‘So do you think Master Sanctus will really manage to dance with all those beautiful girls, Samuel?’ Eric asked with a great grin. ‘I didn’t think he had it in him.’

Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said distantly, for he was in deep thought and had hardly heard what Eric had said. He was not at all concerned with the vision of old Master Sanctus, for his mind was on the other scene he had witnessed—the dark things over the city, the hulking forms in the streets; they filled him with dread.

‘Come on. I’m starving,’ Eric said, sniffing loudly to detect any hint of roasting dinner on the air. ‘Let’s go find something to eat.’

They continued on, but Samuel felt something strange in the distance like some form of spell, over by the wall. He forgot his dark thoughts for a moment and peered over, but nothing seemed to be there.

‘What is it?’ Goodfellow asked, stopping beside him.

Samuel enhanced his
sight
and strained to see more clearly, peering up and down the length of the wall, but he could sense nothing. ‘It’s nothing,’ he replied and they began away again. Still, he could not help the feeling that someone had been there, wrapped in spells and hiding in the shadows, watching him. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

It had been a hectic first month being one of the Adept and Samuel had been studying hard to try and come to terms with all the new lessons they were given. He barely had time to venture into the city, but what annoyed him most of all was that many of the older Adept already knew much more than he did, so he was determined to learn everything they knew as quickly as he possibly could.

Samuel and Goodfellow were rushing to class together, when they spied the weasel-faced, old Master Dividian approaching, talking with another taller magician. Samuel noticed immediately that this other man had an unusual aura around him. He could not say exactly why, but it just looked strange around the man. Samuel squinted in an effort to enhance his
sight
, but he could not reveal anything else that might explain such strangeness. As the pair of Masters passed by, Samuel gawked up at the man: a tall fellow with neat, black hair and a tiny moustache, with a touch of beard at the tip of his chin. His nose was slightly upturned and he held himself proudly, walking with an almost regal stride. His aura was strong and clean, as with most Masters, but there was something about it that was most definitely…unusual.

Samuel then realised the the man was looking back at him with one quizzical eyebrow raised.

‘Who’s that strange boy staring at me?’ Samuel heard the man ask of Dividian a moment later, but the men had moved on too far to hear any reply.

Samuel’s heart was beating faster and it took him a few moments to catch his breath.

‘Ah, Samuel?’ Goodfellow prompted. ‘Is there some problem?’

Samuel realised he had stopped walking completely and was staring at the ground by his feet. ‘Oh. What? Sorry. I was daydreaming. Who’s that with Dividian?’ Samuel asked, shaking himself back to alertness.

‘Who?’ Eric said, looking around. ‘Oh, him? That was Master Ash. He’s the assistant to Lord Jarrod of the Magicians’ Council. Haven’t you seen him before?’

Samuel shook his head slowly. There was something about the man that put his heart to unrest—not just the strange aura, but something about his look, his demeanour. ‘What does he do?’ he asked as they continued on their way towards class.

‘I guess he helps Lord Jarrod with all his duties. The councillors are always busy in the palace doing
something—
politics and gossip, so I understand. I’ve heard Lord Jarrod. He has many influential friends within the royal court and so a lot of the time he ends up getting his way. That’s why the Grand Master has been so busy lately. He’s been in there arguing with Lord Jarrod and the Council. I’ve heard they want the school to start incorporating magicians into the Turian armies, but Anthem is dead set against it.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Samuel said. ‘The whole purpose of the Order is to prevent violence and disorder, not create it.’

‘That’s not quite how Lord Jarrod and some of the councillors feel about it,’ Goodfellow continued. ‘They want us to learn more battle spells. Jarrod wants an overhaul of our whole schooling system to have us graduate much faster. They would ignore all the schoolwork and just have us practising spells all day.’

‘Things
could
move a little quicker here at times, but that just sounds ridiculous.’ Samuel said. ‘How can any of us be a magician if we don’t know why magic works or how to apply it?’

Goodfellow shook his head. ‘They just want fodder for the armies.’

Samuel whistled with disbelief. ‘It’s no wonder the Grand Master is opposing them. But why would Lord Jarrod want to do this?’

Goodfellow bobbed his shoulders. ‘Who can say?’

Samuel mulled over the matter a few moments. ‘Did you sense his magic?’ he then asked of his friend. ‘Master Ash, I mean.’

‘I didn’t sense anything unusual…but I wasn’t really looking. Why?’

‘I’ll meet you after class,’ he called, turning from Goodfellow. ‘I want to take another look. Take some notes for me!’

Eric opened his mouth to object but then decided otherwise. He shook his head and walked on alone.

Samuel caught up to Master Ash and Master Dividian just as they were entering Grand Master Anthem’s chambers by the great oak tree that thrust up from the cobbled path. He waited until after they had entered, then casually sauntered up to the door. He stood in an idle fashion, as if waiting to be called to enter. He could hear voices inside.

‘...so you say, but you should also be aware that Lord Jarrod has persuaded most of the others and the matter will be voted on next week.’ It was the new man, Master Ash, speaking.

‘I don’t care,’ Anthem stated defiantly. ‘What’s right is right. The Order should play no part in the conquests of the Emperor. We are magicians, not soldiers.’

‘But I heard you were once quite hot-blooded yourself, Grand Master,’ Master Ash could be hard to say.

‘That was different,’ Anthem defended somewhat sourly. ‘We were foolish and reckless then. Many people lost their lives. The Order has grown and is making great successes. We should not be made to repeat the mistakes of the past.’

‘You call this success? A mob of pacifists making wind and lights? What good are they? Where are all the improvements that you promised the Emperor? We have seen nothing even close and you graduate a handful of Masters each year—it’s barely of any worth.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ Anthem explained sourly. ‘True power takes time. We must be left alone to teach and conduct our research in an ordered and logical manner. I will run my school in the way that I see fit.’

‘If you cannot produce results then make way for those who can,’ Ash stated. ‘Lord Jarrod and a growing number of the other Lords are now adamant that we should abandon all this wasteful research. We may never recover the power of the old days, but we
can
use what we already know to assist the Empire. Time is growing short and the Council needs to be confident we can support the Emperor’s demands. We cannot risk disappointing him. You know that as well as anyone.’

‘I refuse to take part in such foolishness,’ Anthem vowed angrily.

‘Please, Grand Master. I am merely expressing the will of the Council. Please don’t perceive it as personal criticism.’

While Anthem grew increasingly livid, Ash’s voice remained as smooth as honey.

‘The Council to hell!’ the old man roared. ‘Tell Lord Jarrod that while I still have breath in me, I won’t be part of such idiocy. Good day!’

There was a long pause. ‘This will not bode well, Grand Master. Your past seems to be clouding your decisions. I’m sure the Council will take that into consideration, but I’m not sure how much longer you can sustain your repute. I recommend you take some time and reassess your decision— but I’m sure you will hear more on this shortly. Good day.’

Samuel scooted away and made for the sanctuary of the next small building as Ash stepped out from the Grand Master’s residence and stalked away. Samuel pondered what he had heard. He quickly set off to find the others and see if they knew any more.

Samuel was sitting on his bed, scratching his chin as he browsed the pages of his study notes. Sometimes it vexed him when he could not read his own writing, for his mind was forever one step ahead of his hand, often resulting in a chaotic scribble of ink. Perhaps one day there would be enough time to ponder all the new questions that his studies raised but, for now, the days were too short to learn as much as he wished.

A movement out the window caught Samuel’s eye. A shadowed figure had stepped from behind one of the Masters’ quarters and begun to make his way across the grounds. Samuel’s heart sank as he realised the man was all too tubby and short to be Master Ash. He was now obsessed to learn more about their talk of changing the school—and more about this strange man, Master Ash. Samuel was sure the man had some unusual spell set about him, for his aura had some quizzical facet to it that he had never seen before on any magician. He was determined to examine it more closely. Master Ash also looked awfully familiar. He kept racking his mind for some memory as to where he had seen the man, but Samuel could not remember any clue or recall anything that could be of help.

Samuel returned his gaze from the window and back to his lap, where he turned a page. Here were his recent notes on history, as droned by Master Sanctus. Samuel raised an eyebrow in curiosity, for he really could not make head nor tail of anything he had written. The words seemed almost nonsensical poetry, as if he had dozed off in class and started jotting down gibberish. Samuel shook his head at himself. He had talked shortly with the two Erics about what he had heard from the Grand Master’s room, but they knew even less than he did.

Another movement caught his eye and Samuel spied a glimpse of a tall figure just vanishing from view behind the apprentice bathhouse. Samuel damned himself for his lapse in concentration and threw his book onto his bed as he vaulted the balcony and ran down the stairs. He had to pull himself up short in the doorway, for the lofty man he had seen had paused to talk to another—Master Sveld. The tall man had his back to him, but Samuel was sure now it was Master Ash. His aura was now unmistakable.

The two soon finished their conversation and continued past each other, with Master Ash heading out through the school gates and into the city. Samuel followed, straining to keep his pace to a casual stride, for he itched to burst into a trot and follow the man more closely, but that would be far too obvious. He remembered his days in the streets of Stable Canthem, when he was as agile as a mountain goat—those days seemed so long ago now, almost as if from another life, and he was not nearly so nimble as he used to be.

Samuel spied his quarry turning right towards Endlen Street and could stand it no longer. He sprang into a dash to catch up to Master Ash, skidding to a halt just before the street branched. The old blacksmith on the corner looked up from pumping his bellows and smiled curiously. Samuel peered around the bend, where Master Ash was entering the crowded confines of East Market.

How did the man manage to walk so fast without ever looking like he’s in a hurry?
Samuel wondered and continued stealthily after the elusive magician.

As Samuel reached the edge of the crowd, the people began to part around him and give him their greetings, much to his horror, for they were doing the same around Ash, leaving a bare path between the two of them. The man only had to turn his head to see Samuel trailing so blatantly behind him and Samuel nearly choked when Ash did exactly that, looking directly back towards him.

Samuel leapt aside, bringing up his arm to hide his face, as if scratching his head.

‘What can I offer you, Lord?’ a merchant asked at his side.

Samuel realised he was standing before a basket stall. ‘I...ah,’ Samuel stuttered. ‘I would like one—’ he began, scrutinising the merchandise. ‘—of those,’ he finished and pointed to a long wicker container.

‘Very well, Young Lord,’ the merchant stated and plucked up the container, dropping it into Samuel’s arms. ‘That will only be half a crown for one of the Order.’

Samuel patted at his pockets and realised he had not a coin on him.

‘Please, allow me,’ came a voice at his side and an old woman pressed some money into the merchant’s grateful palm. ‘It’s my pleasure, Young Lord,’ she grinned at him.

‘Thank you, Madam,’ Samuel replied with relief and racked his mind for some way to thank her. She was as healthy as could be and as tough as an old goat, yet she had a number of sizable sacks tied together and leaning against her legs while she perused the basket stall. ‘Perhaps I can help take some of the load off your legs in return.’ He raised one finger and cast a spell of Lifting. At once, the sacks raised themselves from the street and began floating effortlessly by the old woman’s waist.