She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (62 page)

The wizard turned towards him and their gazes locked.  The Paatin pushed his fists forwards toward Samuel and the same offensive spell burst forth.  Samuel had little choice but to maintain his current path and he met the attack at full stride. 

Strangely enough, and luckily enough, his magic chose that moment to return and it sprang from him almost instinctively, sounding a familiar click in his head as it erupted from his skin.  Magical weaves intercepted the Paatin spell, shunting it aside.  The floor to his right, where the wayward spell struck, gushed upwards like a geyser and Samuel had to raise his hand to keep the sand from his eyes. 

The world seemed
to have
greater detail—not the time-slowing effect that he had sometimes felt in moments of true affinity with his magic—but
,
as his magic saturated his senses, he could feel everything around him with more clarity and in greater detail.  He could see the tiny
,
irregular spikes on individual grains of sand as they each rained back down to earth.  He could see the po
ck
-marked and sweat-beaded skin on the Paatin wizard’s face fold and gather together as the man narrowed his eyes, looking to Samuel with discontent.  As individual droplets were brought together, rivulets
ran
down his face.

Another spell of sparks and fire came from the wizard and Samuel skidded to a halt.  The torrent enveloped him, but his own magic was now at hand, and he grasped the Paatin spell and took it for his own.  The flames and lightning encircled him furiously, roaring and flashing, and Samuel turned the spell around and sent it back from where it had come, peeling it from his body and sending it towards the Paatin.  The wizard, in turn, strengthened his protective spells to take the blow and disappeared amongst the maelstrom as it surrounded him.

Samuel began summoning some power for his own offence, and it came to him without delay, naturally and vibrantly.  It seemed as if all was going well and he was confident of destroying the man before him, when a pop sounded in his ear and his connection with the ether vanished, taking all the magic he had gathered with it.  As quick as the moment had come, it had gone
,
and Samuel was once again left standing powerless. 

Not content to hope his luck would return, Samuel leapt into action and bound
ed
forwards once more.  The Paatin spell had ended and
with his hand,
the man was swatting away the smoke that hugged him.  When he saw Samuel closing in, he summoned another spell; but Samuel was now only four strides away and already leaping with all his might. 

They collided at full speed, knocking the wind out of them both.  The wizard fell beneath him and Samuel recovered first, landing blows to the desert-man’s face as hard as he could.  He could now hear Eric yelling out in pain behind him, but Samuel continued pummelling the man beneath him, slamming his fists into the bloodied face over and over.  He clawed his fingers around the man’s neck and squeezed tightly, until the wizard’s face turned blue and his tongue came lolling out of his frothing mouth.  Only when he was sure the man was dead, did Samuel get up and stumble back towards his stricken friend.

Eric lay alive, but bloodied and half-buried in sand.

‘Here we are again, Samuel,’ Eric groaned.  ‘Me, down and injured, and you winning the day.  I’m really getting tired of this.’

‘I didn’t win the day, Eric.  You did.  You evened the odds and all I did was take the honours.  I wouldn’t have stood a chance by myself.’

Many of Eric’s bones were broken and the internal damage was terrible.  Samuel knelt beside his friend and tried to call more power, desperate for spells of healing, but once again his magic had subsided and would not come.

‘Well?’ Samuel yelled up to the crowd, where he assumed the Desert Queen would be, lurking amongst the sea of on-lookers.  ‘Were you entertained?  We won!  Now get down here and save him!’

He was surprised when a flurry of magic arced down from the stands and Alahativa sailed down beside him, supported on a bed of spells.  The crowd began singing and calling out her praises.  It was the first time he had seen her use her power and he could see the magic springing from the ring on her finger and flooding within her.  Unlike his own experiences, the magic was well regulated and she obviously was having no difficulty in summoning exactly the amount of power she desired.

‘Very well, Samuel,’ she said, looking pleased.  ‘You have earned a stay of execution for now.  I am disappointed that you still defy my will to see your full power, but you have met my request to see some magic, so I must admit that you have
satisfied
our agreement.  Perhaps it is my fault for not arranging a suitable challenge.  Still, you will live.  Don’t worry about your friend.  We will care for him,’ and she threw a spell onto Eric that immediately eased his pain.  Already, healers—male and female—had burst from the doors and hustled over to carry him away.

With that, Alahativa sailed back up to her seat on effortless spells, leaving Samuel alone, looking towards the beckoning figure of Utik’cah in the distant doorway.  Eric was injured, but he would live.  It was not so bad, for he believed the Queen’s healers would care for Eric as she had promised and that meant he was free of participating in these accursed tests for now.  Also, Samuel had watched the witch’s spells and he smiled as he recited them back in his mind, heading for the dim doorway beneath the crowds.  In its stubborn way, his magic had returned, and that was enough to complete his feeling of victory.  If it could be done once, it could be done again.

Samuel was left to rest after the battle, but late in the afternoon Utik’cah arrived, bearing news that he had again been summoned into the presence of his Queen.  Wordlessly, he led Samuel through the palace, but this time they followed a new route that lead down through the peacock
-
inhabited and meticulously pruned gardens.

‘Where are we going?’ Samuel asked.

‘I will show you,’ was the response.

Wishing to test his recovered powers, Samuel hoped he would be able to enter the man’s mind and glean some indication of Utik’cah’s intentions, but it seemed his magic was still being evasive.  As he followed his dark-skinned Paatin guide, he found his mind unsettled, more focussed on their destination and he was forced to give up, admitting to himself that he had already achieved enough of a milestone for today.

Skipping down a long set of steep, white-stone, squared stairs, they made their way down to where the river coursed down from the mountain.  A large barge lay waiting there, docked beside an ornate stone jetty
.
S
erving girls waited, throwing petals as they arrived, and burly guards stood watching, with their mighty blades hefted upon their shoulders.  The barge itself was more like a floating room from the palace than a ship, covered in rugs and furnishings and with attentive servants
clustering around
. 

Alahativa sat inside the raised pavilion and she beckoned for Samuel to sit in a chair beside her.  He did so reluctantly, for their seats were arranged side by side, as equals, and he knew the decision to place the seating like this had been purposeful.  It was an intimidating proposal, but he took it willingly, keen to see what kind of invitation she would extend to him. 

She smiled at him welcomingly as her servants pushed the vessel away from the dock and began driving the barge forward with synchronised strokes of their long
,
dipping oars.

‘I still don’t quite know what to think of you, Samuel,’ Alahativa said as they passed through her city.  Throngs of her people rushed to the raised riversides and packed onto the bridges at her approach, dropping their bundles and throwing themselves onto their knees in worship.  She seemed oblivious to the spectacle and continued chatting to Samuel as they passed.  ‘I see your magic was not as elusive as you thought.  Your reputation tells of a great magician yet
,
even when faced with the possible death of your closest friend, you use just a trifling power and kill your enemy with your bare hands.  None of my wizards would behave like this.  You use the strangest methods, Samuel.  Is this, perhaps, what is responsible for your string of successes?  Is it possible that you are not the strongest,
but instead
the most cunning
,
the most resourceful...the most unusual?  Tell me your secret, Samuel.’

Samuel listened to her words, but his eyes were now on her finger and the ring upon it.  ‘Strength alone will never succeed,’ he said, hoping to throw her off with any words that would distract her.

‘Oh?  Then what will?  Speed?  Cunning?  Determination?  Which do you consider to be the most vital trait of the victor?  Tell me, Samuel
,
I am curious to have some insight into your inner workings.’

‘There is no single characteristic
that is
best all situations,’ he told her.  ‘Likewise, there is no single answer to your question.’

‘Surely you can choose one thing over another?  What is it?  What does your wisdom tell you?’

‘Is it really an answer you seek, or is it only the way I answer that interests you?’ he asked her levelly.

She smiled knowingly.  ‘Aren’t they one and the same, Samuel?  Come—entertain me with your wit.’

‘Intent,’ Samuel replied after a moment’s deliberation.  ‘An opponent can have every overwhelming advantage, but if they have no desire to win, they are useless.’

‘Intent?’ the woman said with disbelief.  ‘How can you choose such a lowly thing?  My scholars and philosophisers would laugh.  More harm is done in the name of good intent than good.’

‘All the other attributes you care to mention can be made redundant by another.  With ultimate speed or strength or another such physical attribute, one could perhaps be the victor, but what would be achieved without
the
wisdom to direct such power?  With ultimate wisdom or knowledge alone, one would never act, for such
attributes
are useless without direction.  Victory is meaningless to true scholars and they would not bother with such hollow pursuits, knowing its pointlessness over time.

‘Intent is pure
,
for it is without magnitude.  There is no greater or lesser intent, only intent in some particular act and
,
if one can truly perform in unity with his intent, then anything can be accomplished, even with a little of those other traits.’

‘But what if that intent is wrong or simply misplaced?’

‘What is right or wrong, Your Highness?  A desire can be a blessing for one and a curse for another, but it can still be achieved by both.’

‘So you say that my war against the
W
est is well
founded, even if my armies slaughter your own?’

‘If your intent is pure, then it is well
founded for you, Your Majesty.  Is it really your intent to create a paradise for your people in the
W
est?’

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘Then if you know your own mind so clearly, you are already halfway to victory.’

‘You magicians speak in the same riddles and nonsense as my confounded wizards.  Tell me then, Samuel, what is your intent?’

‘I have already told you, Your Highness.  I have come to save a child.’

‘Such a pure ambition!  Then one more question for you, Magician.  If you believe our reasons are so important, what about those great things we achieve via mishap or circumstance?  How do these things fit into your plan?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Samuel said with feigned exaggeration.  ‘Nothing happens by accident.  Victories such as these are the intent of the gods.’

‘Now I know you are fooling me, Samuel.  We both know gods are only the dreams of common people.’

‘I beg to differ,’ said Samuel with a mischievous smile.  ‘Common people are only the dreams of gods.’

‘So you invest your values in intent, meaning and reason, Samuel, over other things.  It shows you are a man of morals over outcomes—an idealist—and such people can be unpredictable and dangerous.  I must say, I cannot agree with your philosophy.  We have very different ideas.’