She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (2 page)

The Plight of the Empire

Something was coming.  From across a vast ocean of separation it came—clawing its way towards him—and
,
inch by inch, moment by moment, it was steadily drawing nearer.  Samuel could feel its presence weighing down upon the pattern of existence like a fat and swollen spider lurking at the centre of its sticky web.  The power of the thing was intimidating, frightening, threatening; as if it could consume the world—yet he was compelled to look towards it
,
despite his own good sense, as surely as if someone had grabbed his face and turned it towards the blinding sun.  If he were a normal man
,
he would have been terrified, but he was a magician and
,
as such, he was gripped by a terrible fascination.  He could not imagine anything capable of possessing such power
,
such mind-boggling potency.  Somehow, he knew that its arrival was imminent and also, whatever it was, it was coming with one distinct purpose in mind—to find him.

He had been having this dream almost every night since he had slain the man called Ash.  Ash, who had infiltrated the Order of Magicians, who had slain Samuel’s family and who had stolen
nearly
enough power to ruin the world. 
Ash
had been transformed into some kind of hideous god as they had struggled together, each wielding immense power, but
,
of the two of them, only Samuel had survived. 

While Ash had been a common man coming to terms with his god-like state, Samuel had been developing and refining his own powers all his life.  Finally, Samuel’s experience and knowledge of magic had proven victorious and Ash had been destroyed.  The whole city had been witness to their great battle of magic atop the High Tower—a battle that had almost split the heavens in the process—and
,
through his victory
,
Samuel had become a champion within the Order of Magicians, placing him almost akin to the legendary Lions of Cintar. 

The Saviour of Cintar
, some now called him.  It felt a hollow title, for he had not been facing Ash out of any noble or valiant cause.  It was only his desire for revenge that had driven him onto that windy tower top
,
and it was only his hatred for the one who had continually escaped and frustrated him that had forced him to persevere.  In the end, Samuel had satiated his thirst for revenge, but a void had taken its place. 
He had been exalted to the status of a Lord for his efforts.
Yet n
ow he was without purpose and was finding it difficult to be so revered by an Empire that he had little love for in return. 

That had been two years ago and the continent of Amandia had been transformed in the time since; it had fallen into a war that had left the once-great Empire tattered and trembling. 
It
had been saved from decimation at the hands of Ash, but with the Archmage and Emperor both dead and with the Staff of Elders, magical icon of the Order, destroyed, the Turian Empire had received a staggering blow. 

The Order of Magicians had been forced into action in a desperate attempt to keep the Empire from collapsing altogether, following the very path of violence it had struggled to avoid for decades.  With the forces of Garteny pouring down from the north, the magicians of the Empire had been left with no choice but to offer up their skills for warfare.  If they had not, the war might already have been over, for the Garten armies had been cutting swaths of destruction across the Turian Empire.  Its forces were skilled and readied from generations of preparation, having long been planning for an attack that had never arrived from the Empire.

After untold years of expansion, after almost conquering all the civilised lands of Amandia, Turia itself is now in the unthinkable position of impending collapse.  The once-unbreakable Empire is now on its knees.  Its last remaining armies and a few spread-thin magicians are all that are keeping the Gartens at bay and these days mark the final great clashes of Garten against Turian. 

Fortunately, those few remaining magicians are some of the most powerful the world has seen, with Samuel and his two closest friends considered chief among them—but the Order has no wish to sacrifice its greatest symbol of power.  Much to his disgust, Samuel has been kept far from the front lines; relegated to giving speeches to the troops or making token displays of magic, before being ordered away back to safety before the true conflict began.

Since the war with the north had been renewed, Samuel had been sent out from Cintar many times to rally the spirits of the men, but not once had he seen direct combat with the enemy.  While all he craved was the opportunity to
launch
himself
o
nto the Gartens and unleash his greatest spells, he had been allowed nothing of the sort; kept on a leash by the Magicians’ Council’s strictest commands; ushered away at the first sign of foreign forces. 

Even the Erics, his two closest friends, had seen their share of battle, with Eric Pot being a veteran of a score of conflicts, while Samuel had seen none of it.  Perhaps it was for the best.  With the ancient relic that he had wrestled from Ash, the Argum Stone, on his finger, he had access to unspeakable power, but it was a power he was yet to master; wild and brutish; slippery and deceiving.  The battle with Ash had left him shaken and unable to access his own magic and so the ring, kept secret from all, was the only thing that kept him a magician.

‘
Come to me, Samuel
,’ came a voice though the dream, distracting him from such thoughts of war and Leila appeared before his eyes, just as he remembered her.  She was wearing the same clothes as on the day they had first met
:
a pale summer dress and slippers, with a comb in her hair.  She looked as beautiful and fragile as she did then—and he missed her deeply.  Just the thought of her had him flailing towards an escapable pit of sorrow.

‘
Why are you keeping me waiting?
’ she asked
,
with a pout on her lips.  Her face seemed to glow in every detail.  Her smile was so pure and perfect.  He still loved her with all his heart and
,
after such dreams as this, he found it difficult to accept that she was dead
,
another victim of Ash’s ruthless crusade for power. 

Other magicians could not feel love or hate or any of the strongest emotions, for using magic had a toll on the heart that could not be reversed, yet Samuel was still cursed with these feelings and he had little control over them.

Sometimes, he would wish that he could remain forever in this dream world, casting off the truths of reality for the sweet embrace of his fantasy; but morning always came and morning ruined everything.  No matter how he tried to keep his eyes locked tightly shut,
or
how hard he tried to stop himself from waking, daylight would surely force its way under his eyelids.  Then, his heart would be gripped by a suffocating sadness and he would become entombed in bitter regret.

‘
So you’ll keep me waiting once again?
’ he imagined her asking, as she caressed his cheek with a gentle finger.  ‘
Don’t worry.  Morning comes and I must leave you to your affairs.  But the day passes ever so quickly.  We can be together when night falls once again.  You can dream of me forever, until one day you find a way to bring us together.  I’m sure you can find a way.  If anyone can, it will be you.
’

With that, Samuel could no longer ignore the sounds of the day that were competing for his attention, and he opened his eyes with great reluctance.  He had been hoping the noises were part of his imagination, but unfortunately, that was not the case.  Eric Pot was standing over him and looking down at him with a mix of urgency and annoyance.  It seemed that all the shouting and carrying-on he had been doing his best to ignore were, unfortunately, very real.

‘I said
get up
, Samuel!’ the neat magician repeated, dressed in his resplendent
,
black Order cloak.  ‘Quit your dreaming.  Captain Adell says we’re leaving as soon as we can.’

It took Samuel those few moments to recall where he was.  They had been camped outside the town of Rampeny for three weeks, preparing the town’s defences.  The men had been digging, building, fortifying and so forth, while Samuel had been dutifully reciting the patriotic speeches that had been
drafted for
him by the Council. 

It struck him as quite ironic that neither he nor the Erics were true Turians, for all three had been born in the outer nations—territories that had themselves been conquered by the Empire long ago.  Still, it no longer bothered him as much as it once did.  Their true allegiance was to the Order of Magicians and, in turn, to all the people of Amandia, whether they be Garten or Turian or other.  They would do their best to end the war and
usher in a
long-sought time of peace.  It was a worthy goal, but
,
quite ironically, it seemed that an awful lot of bloodshed was required to reach it. 

The Order had been created as little more than a tool for the late Emperor, and all hopes had been that
it
would be free from
political
manipulation after his demise.  Unfortunately, little had changed since the man’s death and their splendid ambitions just did not seem to be materialising.  So it was that they had been sent to Rampeny, and Samuel found himself wondering, once more, how the land had fallen into such a sorry state.

Two days ago
,
the enemy had neared sooner than anyone had predicted and the Turian defence had gone forth in response, setting the earth to tremble as they marched by.  Samuel had not been allowed to leave the camp, but he had heard enough of the reports to know that the hills beyond the valley were a scene of total slaughter, and his magician’s senses only reinforced this.  Casualties had been enormous for both sides, but the defence had so far prevailed. 

The news after that had been grim.  Unfortunately, the initial assault upon them had only been the beginning.  The Turian defenders had steadily been whittled away
,
day by day, hour by hour
,
as more Gartens had arrived.  Captain Adell’s company of men was not supposed to face such odds on its own, but the soldiers were doing their best in the situation, desperately awaiting their reinforcements from the capital.  The magicians had been doing what they could to help, taking turns maintaining an illusion of a larger Turian force entrenched around the town.  It was perhaps only this that had kept the Gartens from committing themselves entirely, but it seemed even the usefulness of this ruse had ended.  Reports indicated a massive army was approaching from the north and its arrival would signal the inevitable demise of the little border town.

Eric had begun gathering up his clothes and stuffing them into his pack
,
while Samuel still struggled to wake himself and find his feet.

‘Forget packing,’ Eric Goodfellow declared, sweeping inside the tent.  He looked decidedly worried, blinking behind his eyeglasses.  ‘I think we’re going to fall back and abandon the town right now.’  He swallowed hard.  ‘Everything has gone to hell during the night and we’re making an immediate retreat.  Captain Adell is almost down to his last man.’

Samuel considered the situation and was about to capitulate, when some unknown compulsion in the back of his mind made itself known.  He was sick of running; he was sick of hiding behind the skirts of the Order.  He had vast power at his beck
and call
.  This time, he would stand his ground.  ‘No.  We can’t turn tail and let the Gartens run havoc where they will.  It’s time we stopped sitting on our hands and did something useful.  I’m tired of retreating every time there’s a hint of danger.  More innocent lives will be lost if the Gartens continue their push into Turia.  Let’s show them what we can do.’