The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (53 page)

Samuel flung sizzling spheres of fury onto the brigands—clusters of intense magic that were filled with his anger and burned with murderous heat.

The first brigand barely had time to stand as a jet of raging magic flew directly into his face and he fell onto his back, screaming and kicking at first, but quickly silent.

The second thief had a golden ring through his nose and a face of scars and he snarled as he leapt at Samuel with a curved knife. Samuel barely noticed that mage-fire had begun dancing on his skin and the leaves around his feet had begun to smoulder. The brigand neared at a snail’s pace, as if clambering through molasses and, all the while, Samuel’s focus was on the knife, stinking and dripping with the death of Mrs Luke. Samuel lashed out with his fist using all his might and there was a flash of magic as he struck the man in the chest. Bones and organs flew out through a sudden, gaping hole in the man’s back and his spine slumped down like a tail dangling behind him. Blood and fluids boiled to vapour around Samuel’s extended fist and, as he drew his hand back to look at it wondrously, the brigand fell into a ruined heap. Samuel could distantly feel that the muscles in his face were taught and stiff, as if stuck in a wide-eyed grimace that he could not control and he later remembered how wonderful the feeling had been, how tight his cheeks had felt—locked into an idiotic smile.

Samuel turned his attention to the remainder of the horrified men. Two had found their swords and were charging at him, yelling in their guttural gibberish, as the other men fled into the trees. Samuel was again filled with such a rage as he could not contain and he forced the energy to manifest around him. A storm of magic burst from his palms like knots of lightning and threw the two swordsmen from their legs, setting them thrashing frantically on the ground. They writhed and kicked even though they were already dead, their hair scorched, their skin smoking and crackling.

The fifth man was dashing for all he was worth as spells came flying after him. He died as a knot of hissing power collided with a nearby tree, causing it to explode like a box full of fireworks. His body flew through the air, riddled with countless splinters and pieces of wood, and wrapped itself around the trunk of another tree with unnatural suppleness.

The final brigand was now well away into the woods on spry legs. Samuel could not see him for all the trees and bushes, but he could see the man’s very life, burning with desperate fear, darting away like a lantern in the night.

The fact that the brigand had dared to run so far, that he had even thought it possible to escape, filled Samuel with outrage. There was a sound coming from his mouth like a howl, but he seemed to have no control over it. He was anger incarnate, hate on two legs, and no one would escape his vengeance.

A white heat erupted from Samuel’s body, making him stagger back as it bridged from the ether into the physical world and flashed towards the brigand in a great scything arc. Every tree and shrub and bush in that direction was suddenly hewn off at shoulder height, leaving the brigand’s body stumbling away as his head tumbled to the leafy, forest floor.

As leaves fluttered down, other trees groaned and cracked and a thunderous clatter began as great trunks and branches cracked and fell all around. Some leaned to one side, creaking and threatening to fall from their severed stumps, whilst others boomed to the ground beside them. As the leaves and bark and dust began to settle, it was evident that a great clearing had been made in the middle of the woods, as if by the stroke of some furious god.

The brigand’s body lay several paces past his head, pumping its vital life-blood onto the dirt in a growing scarlet pool.

Samuel’s chest heaved with burning effort, and stinging sweat poured into his eyes. He surveyed the scene around him numbly, his wild eyes darting back and forth in search of others. Only then did he realise he was laughing like a madman and he had to struggle to close his wide-opened mouth, pushing it physically shut with his magic-sheathed hand.

When he realised there was no one left to kill, his breathing began to slow from its frenetic pace. The sweet feeling of magic and bloody revenge subsided and Samuel’s legs buckled beneath him. He dropped to his knees and began sobbing as a sudden sorrow and horror filled him. It was as if his magic had given him such wonderful ecstasy, but now a terrible emptiness was left behind in the space it had made. He continued to wail and sob, hunched into a ball, clutching himself in his arms and writhing in the dirt for what seemed like hours. Overcome by the emotions within him, he could do nothing but howl and cry until the feelings were finally vented.

After some time, dazed and somewhat confused, Samuel pulled himself up from the leafy floor and staggered towards his horse. Void of feeling, he climbed onto Jess and turned for home, feeling utterly exhausted. All he could do was lean forward in the saddle and hope that Jess knew what to do. He did not know how he had summoned such power. Such magic had been previously unknown to him—beyond even his imagination. Such things had never been spoken of within the Order. His spells had cast themselves at the beckoning of his thoughts and emotions, fuelled with a strength that had made them unholy weapons, driven by his anger and thirst for blood. He felt not a pang of guilt or sorrow for the deaths of the dark-skinned brigands. In fact, he was relieved they were now dead. He could not bring himself to forget the sight of Mr and Mrs Luke dead in their own home. The image of their lifeless bodies filled his mind the whole way home as his body cooled and stiffened upon the saddle.

The young magician sat on the rocky hilltop, watching the dry land below. He had told Simpson and his wife what had occurred and they had both wept deeply. The Lukes were old friends and it was an awful tragedy. He did not tell anyone how violently he had avenged the Lukes’ murder, or how much he had enjoyed doing it. Slaughtering the bandits had been a milestone for him. It had forced him to a new level of power he had not even dreamt of, yet it also introduced him to a side of himself he did not know, a dark and horrible side that revelled in bloody destruction. He should have shown some restraint in killing the men, but he had enjoyed it far too much. He knew he should feel some guilt or some kind of revulsion at his actions, but he simply could not.

People would be horrified when they found the bodies. Perhaps they would come to question him and he had no idea how he could possibly answer them.

Samuel looked to the clear blue sky and felt for moisture.

‘Rain,’ he commanded, whispering to himself. High above in the cloudless sky Samuel could feel something was stirring. A change had come.

A calling from below caught his attention and Samuel came scuttling down the dusty slope in response. When he arrived at the house he found a horse tied outside with the Imperial colours of blue and gold adorning its saddlery.

‘Come inside, Samuel,’ Mrs Down beckoned to him. ‘There’s a soldier here from Gilgarry—one of the Count’s men to see you.’

The uniformed man was waiting at the table. A long, sheathed sword hung from his hip and dangled to the floor. He was already sipping at a cup of Mrs Down’s tanabil tea, with his riding cap sitting neatly on his lap, and he seemed quite comfortable.

‘Oh, Samuel, is it?’ he asked. He did not bother to stand or introduce himself or dabble with any niceties. ‘I’m glad I’ve found you.’ And he took another hot sip before placing his cup back onto the table. Samuel sat down calmly opposite him and waited for the man to continue. ‘My men and I were sent up to pursue those thieves back into the wilderness,’ the soldier began,’ but it turns out we are no longer needed. It’s been said that you are responsible for their deaths.’

‘That’s true,’ Samuel confirmed with a nod.

‘That’s really quite a remarkable feat,’ the soldier continued. ‘Are you a swordsman of some description? Ex-militia?’

‘No,’ Samuel stated simply.

‘Really?’ the man continued with astonishment. ‘Then you have to be the luckiest man alive. It’s astounding that you managed those men all by yourself. I’d be very keen to hear the details. They were a rough lot—savages come from across the mountains, by the look of them. The animals had been at them by the time we came to their camp, of course, and made a nasty mess, but we’re sure they’re the same fellows who’ve been making mischief for a time. We occasionally have to harry a highwayman or two, but this lot were really digging in. They’d been clearing the woods and cutting timbers for some time, readying to build some form of fortification by the look of it, though I can’t imagine why. Did you see or hear anything of use?’

‘Not at all,’ Samuel answered flatly. ‘I found them and killed them. I wasn’t interested in hearing what they had to say after what they’d done.’

‘Well, I can understand that,’ the soldier commented. ‘Then, if there’s nothing to learn here, I may as well be off. It seems you’ve become quite the hero around here,’ he said, standing and stepping towards the door, popping his hat back upon his head and wriggling it tightly into place. ‘The Count will probably send his thanks. Good day. Good day, Madam,’ he added, tipping the edge of his hat to Mrs Down. He then turned his attention out the door and scrutinised the dark sky. ‘Well, it looks like it’s going to rain after all. I’d better hurry.’

He mounted his horse and sent it cantering down the path as the first drops began to fall.

Mrs Down stepped outside and cried with joy as the cool drops splashed upon her face. ‘Oh, Samuel!’ she called out. ‘Can you believe it? It’s raining!’ And she turned and spun like a maid at a dance, laughing with delight. Tears rans down her cheeks and joined with the rain as it splashed her upturned face

It had not been hard, after all. What could be read could also be written. The hard part was in the learning how; yet experience, experiment and determination were always the keys to learning a new skill, or so Master Glim had always told him. Some skills were difficult to master, yet others, such as this, proved relatively simple in the end, merely requiring just the right approach. That was the trick. Everything is easy once you know how.

The rain continued to grow heavier until it became a real downpour, falling in solid, roaring sheets. Simpson came in with his walking stick, wet to his britches and with a childlike smile on his face. He patted Samuel fondly on the shoulder and banged his pipe firmly on the table edge to knock out the water. It was the first time in many a summer that the drought had broken and every family in the region would be celebrating. The dams and streams would fill quickly if the rain persisted for a few more hours and the fields and pastures would burst with sudden new growth. Such a windfall would pass to even the most humble family in the district.

It was still raining the next morning, but reduced to a soft patter. Samuel went and sat atop the hill, grateful for the cooling rain on his skin, and watched the distant lightning approaching from afar. Low rumbles of thunder grumbled and echoed periodically amongst the hills. He could feel another day’s light rain following behind this one and the sense of each impending lightning bolt sent shivers down his spine. Immense energy gathered amongst the clouds high above, until it reached an intensity that the sky could no longer contain. A silver bolt would then condense and flash from the sky to the earth—incredible power released in the briefest instant—and the process would begin all over again. The volumes of energy at work were inconceivable. Human flesh and bone would turn to cinders trying to contain it. Its mere presence, even so far away, was invigorating to Samuel, making his skin tight with goosebumps.

Samuel stood and began moving through his summoning stances as the sky flashed all around him.

Samuel and Leila lay side by side on the bank of the Tricklebrook, taking advantage of the fine weather. The sun was warm, the sky clear and the grass long and fresh from all the recent rains. Samuel pushed the last piece of bread into his mouth and chewed as he felt Leila’s warm head resting upon his chest.

‘Father will discover us, eventually,’ Leila said unexpectedly.

Samuel thought a moment before making his response. ‘Then perhaps it is time we told him.’

‘I don’t know if I can do that.’

Samuel stroked her long, dark hair. ‘Then we will do what we can when the moment arrives. What if I asked for our marriage?’

‘He would send me away, I know it,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘He will make me marry one of those horrible old men in Gilgarry.’

‘Then we will have to marry in secret.’

Her face and eyes and soul were so beautiful. Samuel wished his entire existence could be spent like that, in her arms. Not for the first time, he contemplated staying with her and forgetting the troubles of the Order. The rest of the world seemed truly far away now and the threat of war and the troubles of the Empire could not touch his paradise in this tiny corner of the land—he had not even had a thought of Master Ash for months on end. For the first time in his life, he felt truly wonderfully comfortable. There, with her in his arms, it truly felt like coming home at last.

It was some months later when Samuel discovered a stranger’s horse tied outside the Down house and he recognised it immediately as belonging to the soldier who had called previously. The man was waiting inside, sitting patiently while Mrs Down sewed.

‘Ah, Samuel!’ the man called, standing. ‘I was beginning to think I might wait all day.’

‘You could have left a message with Mrs Down here,’ Samuel mentioned darkly, but the man seemed oblivious to his tone.