The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (97 page)

With that, her ladies helped her up and she and her entourage filed from the room with General Ruardin striding out beside her.

The various nobles and ministers each took the opportunity to introduce themselves to Samuel, for it seemed he had developed quite a reputation after felling Ash. They were all smiles as they shook his hand and offered their congratulations and assurances of support. Slowly they left the room, followed by the remaining officials, until Lomar, Master Glim and Samuel were left alone, standing beside the long table.

‘Well,’ Master Glim said. ‘That went well.’

‘Yes,’ Lomar agreed.

‘What does the Grand Master think of this,’ Samuel asked.

‘Well, we haven’t exactly had time to tell him,’ Master Glim explained. ‘But if we prepare him enough, and tell it the right way, just maybe he won’t lose his temper and explode.’

‘I doubt it,’ Lomar added with a grin. ‘I think he will have a fit either way.’

‘Perhaps, but I believe I heard mention of a celebration,’ Master Glim said.

‘Preparation is well under way,’ Lomar informed with a smug smile. ‘Tonight, the Empress will take her vows and choose her ministers. Mourning for the late Emperor shall end and then there will be a great celebration. The entire city will herald the beginning of a new era and the palace grounds will host the greatest event of recent times.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ Samuel said. And, indeed, it was.

That evening, as magicians’ spells coloured the night sky, Samuel stood with his closest friends—Grand Master Anthem, Lomar, Master Glim, Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow—and marvelled at the crackling explosions and lights that sounded above them. The Imperial Engineers had prepared a host of rockets and they whistled up above the city to explode and shower the city with shimmering embers. The sounds and smells made the rockets as thrilling as any magician’s efforts. Several magicians were trying to outdo the display and had set the sky afire with all manner of glittering and streaking spells that crossed and hung in the sky.

The palace grounds were covered in tents, pavilions, ribbons and decorations, with music and singing coming from every corner. Soldiers, ministers and courtiers alike rubbed shoulders and clinked their cups together with merriment. With so many men present, serving girls, maids and ladies of the court were precious commodities and all barely had a breath to spare as partner after partner swung them around to the joyful melodies.

Empress Lillith had strictly forbidden any magician to appear in his robes or any form of black on this occasion, marking them as too dark and sombre, and so the younger men of the Order had gone out of their way to wear as brightly, and ridiculously coloured threads as they could find. Never before had such bright reds, blues, yellows and greens been seen in such stripes, circles and swirls! It seemed that years of monotony had resulted in the most colourful burst of imagination that each magician could muster, and they did it well.

Many of the older magicians could not break their age-old habits and gathered on the border of the celebration, still in their drab magicians’ robes, but nonetheless smiling and tapping their toes. The Empress declared that they should at least have a coloured ribbon around their waists, and they each submitted to that with only a slight grumbling.

Eric danced with as many young ladies as he could, but Samuel noticed he had settled for one particularly fair lass while the night was young.

‘I see young Eric still has a little fire left in him,’ Lomar mentioned to Samuel as they watched the pair embrace. ‘I wonder how young Master Goodfellow is faring?’

Samuel glanced around and found his other friend talking to a group of young apprentices, deep in conversation. ‘He’s never been one for romance. He’s always been logical and precise, so I’m not sure he will even notice the change when it comes upon him.’

‘And what about you, Samuel? Will you make the most of your youth while you still can?’

‘No,’ Samuel replied forlornly. ‘That’s not for me. I think that part of my life has finished. I thought I would feel better once I killed Ash, but I don’t. Strangely, I still love Leila as much as ever, even though I know she is gone. I still think about her every moment, even now.’

Lomar nodded. ‘Perhaps time will help to heal your sorrow. I can’t know what you must be feeling, but I can advise that you do your best to think about the future and forget your woes. Life must go on and heavy days lie ahead. We have much left to do.’

‘Of course, you’re right,’ Samuel said to his friend.

‘Go on, have a dance,’ Lomar urged. ‘You’re too young to give in to bitterness just yet.’

Samuel nodded and took a few breaths in preparation, for he felt his friend was quite right. He latched onto the hand of a passing young lady, who was red-faced and panting, and dragged her back into the dance from which she had just barely escaped. His melancholy began to shed with each moment as he lost himself in the merriment and shook loose his woes. He spun, danced and laughed with the young lady, and each step felt lighter than the last. He could barely believe he had done it. He had finally killed Ash—the man who had stood by and watched as his men had murdered Samuel’s entire family; the monster who had killed Leila; the man who had filled his nightmares for all these years. Finally, Samuel realised he
did
feel better. A weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders and he felt the ghosts of his past could finally be at peace.

‘We did it!’ Samuel cried out with joy, as Grand Master Anthem came into view, skipping past him with a maiden on either arm. ‘He’s gone!’

The old Grand Master looked equally happy and carried on merrily by. ‘I know, lad! I know! Wonderful, isn’t it! After all these years, we’ve done it!’ But perhaps the old man was thinking about something else altogether.

After all the dancing, Samuel finally had to stop and catch his breath and he let his partner stagger off to rest. Despite his merriment, an uneasiness still nagged at him. His magic had not yet returned and he was beginning to think that something within him may have been damaged beyond repair.

Forget all that
, he finally told himself, feeling the reassuring presence of the ancient ring tucked firmly into his pocket. With this, he could destroy a mountain if he chose to.
Tonight is for celebration!

‘Come on, lad!’ cried old Master Sanctus, swinging past Samuel with a young lass in his arms. ‘What have you got to be so sour about? Kick up your heels!’

Samuel could not help but laugh at the sight and, with that, the old magician cackled with glee and continued spinning off through the crowd. All the while, the girl was giggling herself to tears in his wiry, old arms and making a great show of trying to escape him.

A moment had barely passed before Samuel’s hand was grabbed by another flushed-cheeked young lady and he, too, was pulled away to rejoin the dance, lost in the music, laughter and fun.

The entire city celebrated that night, and the music and singing and the booms of rockets floated over the great city walls and echoed far out into the waiting harbour. Flashes of light lit up the bobbing wave-tops as each rocket burst into bloom above the palace. The resulting pops and crackles, muted by the distance, took their time ambling out over the battered rocks—still cluttered with the broken splinters of the Merry Widow from years before. The sea might have fallen back into complete darkness between those explosions, if not for the constant, many-coloured glows of magic emanating from the city. From here, the docks and the city walls and the palace towers themselves seemed to be shining jewels set into the blackness, surrounded by the lilting music that rose and fell as it twirled upon the wind. For the time being at least, Cintar was a beacon in the void, separated from the dark of night by little more than mirth, and the gentle caress of the magicians’ lights.

End of Part One

The story is continued in
She Who Has No Name

EPILOGUE

A SET OF patient eyes watched the wind blowing across the desert, as it picked at the lips of the dunes and made spiralling vortexes of sand that twisted in the air. At times like this, the white dunes seemed to form a great and seething, waterless sea. By the moonlight, it was nothing short of breathtaking; but such beauty was deceiving. Only the hardy Kateb could stand the extremes of the great desert—endless sand and a blazing sun by day, freezing cold and howling winds by night. Few of the Paatin people now wandered its depths, for she, Alahativa, had led them from their pitiful nomadic origins in the desert into an age of prosperity and riches. She had turned them from stragglers and nomads that wandered bleakly from waterhole to waterhole, to founders of the great oasis cities, where they had prospered and grown into the greatest and most advanced of societies.

Now, however, the sands were at her walls. The desert had begun to creep east once more and it was a sign from the gods. She had been complacent for far too long. It was coming to the time of
Ajaspah
, when the ancient prophecies had foretold that her people would rise like an ocean of blood and fire, and they would flood across the sands like a tide, washing over into the fertile lands to the west. Her people had grown in number and very soon it would be beyond her ability to provide for them, and all she had worked to create would fall in upon itself. To the west lay her salvation, for the lands there could provide for her children forever more. She would never have to worry about the unreliable rains or the looming sands again. She would be able to watch her people live in plenty and, finally, allow herself to grow old in peace.

There was only one small problem. These rich lands were already occupied by primitive peoples, to say the least—simple barbarians with no idea of the treasures they possessed—who destroyed their own lands day by day with their incessant warring.

Soon would be the perfect time in which to strike. She smiled again beneath her dark veil, as she had when she had first heard the news. Times were troubled in far-off Turia and that was perfect for her. It seems there had been much disturbance recently within their pathetic empire. The Emperor had been murdered and his youngest wife now held power, and she had little experience with such matters of state. The Archmage had also been killed and the Staff of Elders, the pinnacle of their might, had been destroyed. Added to that, the savages in the bitter north looked set to invade the south and take advantage of the Empire’s turmoil—an example she was set to follow.

It was perfect timing. After they had all spread themselves thin and worn themselves out, she would conquer their lands and make them all her slaves.

She turned from the tiled balcony and returned through the shimmering veils to her chambers. Her servants lined the walls and she waved for one to approach. The servant waited, head bowed. His well-muscled torso shone with the scented oils he wore and it pleased her to look upon him. Still, she had developed a penchant for the lighter skin of the westerners. She reminded herself to send another raiding party to bring back more slaves. The last one had never returned—insolent fools. They had probably allowed themselves to be captured or killed and such failure was unforgivable. Whoever had trained them would be punished.

‘Bring me Utik’cah,’ she commanded, softly. The sound of her own voice, rich and youthful, was a pleasure to her.

The servant turned and left quickly, scarcely looking up to see where he was going. She barely had time to begin her bathing, dropping her clothes and stepping into the warm, scented waters, before Utik’cah appeared before her. He wore his enormous wide scimitar at his hip, as always. The sight of it annoyed her, but Utik’cah would not abandon it. It was a shame that he was such a useful general, or she would have enjoyed having him tortured.

‘How may I serve you, wondrous
Alahativa
?’ he said, kneeling beside the great bath, eyes set on the floor.

She smiled, as her servants rubbed her body with the soft sponges that were carried all the way from the great ocean that she had never seen.

‘Ready another ten thousand men to go west,’ she said slowly, watching her long, slender arms glisten with soap and water. ‘Send another thirty
jidanti
and three
sitt’i
. I want our first staging post ready before the waning of the next moon. Keep them hidden, keep them secret. Bring me all you learn.’

Utik’cah nodded abruptly. She knew it was a difficult task to force their creatures of war across the soft sands of the desert, but Utik’cah was expected to go to any means to accomplish the task. ‘It shall be as you have said.’

She signalled for him to leave with a wave of her hand and he did so at once, leaving her to sit in her bath and smile contentedly up at the ceiling. She would soon own all the riches and wealth of the west and her empire would know no bounds. Pity to any fools who tried to stand in her way, for her armies would sweep across the land until they had reached the jewelled city of Cintar itself.

There was only one thing that remained to trouble her. Her spies reported that the magicians of the west had found a new champion, a celebrated magician who was rumoured to be above all others. She would use caution with him, for she never underestimated an opponent. She would tell her spies to follow this man and discover all they could. She would learn his strengths, his weaknesses and his secrets and then she would have him brought before her in chains. She would not let anything stand in the way of her conquest, least of all this magician called
Samuel
.