The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (41 page)

As before, he vanished, but this time Samuel was prepared. He had learned much of concealment spells since their last meeting, both in his classes and through his own experimentation. He could see the man’s aura as he stepped carefully down the stairs, using a second spell to muffle his steps. Samuel prepared a spell of his own and flung it out onto the stairway. The concealed magician reappeared as he stepped onto the last stair. He paused, but did not look back.

‘Very good, young Samuel! You will make me proud!’

With that, he stepped down onto the floor and went out through the door, closing it softly behind. The spell that hovered all through the dormitory flickered from existence and, at once, Eric Pot began snoring—loudly.

Samuel stood at the top of the stairway for several minutes, pondering on what he should do; then he returned to his bed, extinguished his lights and tried to go back to sleep. This man was obviously powerful, but Samuel did not trust him. If anything at all the man had said was true, time would surely tell.

The week dragged on as speculation as to the next principal continued. Grand Master Anthem had not returned, and most were sure that, under the circumstances, he most likely would not. Most hoped for Master Glim to fill the position, but Master Glim was adamant that he would not take it even if offered and he would say precious little else about the matter. It came as a dreadful surprise to all when word spread that Master Dividian would become principal, with Master Sanctus filling his old position as Keeper of Records.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Samuel exclaimed. ‘They must be mad! Dividian is an idiot.’

‘Well, it’s true,’ said Goodfellow, ‘so we had better start getting used to it.’

‘It’s Lord Jarrod,’ Samuel stated. ‘I bet he is responsible. I mean, why would anyone appoint such a fool as principal?’

‘I don’t know why you two won’t give the old goat a chance. Dividian is no one’s favourite, but he’s not as bad as some of the others.’

Samuel only returned a glowering stare to his friend.

‘Perhaps they’re friends,’ Goodfellow offered. ‘That kind of thing goes on all the time.’

‘I doubt it,’ Samuel said. ‘Who could be friends with him? It’s more likely that Dividian is being rewarded for something. I’d bet my best boots that Dividian has been helping Lord Jarrod, gathering evidence against the Grand Master and poisoning the Magicians’ Council against him. In return, Dividian gets to run the School of Magic.’

‘It’s possible,’ Goodfellow agreed, ‘but there’s not much we can do about it.’

‘I think you two are reading too much from this,’ Eric said. ‘He’s probably only trying to make the best of a difficult situation. Who else could run the school in such a pinch?’

The other two continued to ignore him.

‘What about the Archmage?’ Samuel asked. ‘Doesn’t he even care what happens to the Order?’

‘He’s seldom seen, so I hear,’ Goodfellow responded. ‘He stays in his room and seems to take little interest in the Order these days.’

Samuel shook his head with disgust. No one seemed to like what was happening, but it seemed they had little choice.

Several new Masters appeared at the school in the following days—Master Jacobs, Master Nottingsworth and Master Frayold. They were humourless and impatient men, brought in at the request of Master Dividian.

Many of their old teachers were sent out to scour the Empire for new apprentices. Even some of the old Masters, formerly spending their days in the library or sitting about the school grounds in debate, were sent into the city and neighbouring towns to look for acceptable new students. Workman appeared with tools and materials and they began building many new dormitories.

Master Glim and old Master Sanctus were the only two of their old teachers to remain and they continued to instruct the students about the Old Tongue. All other theory classes were replaced by the three new teachers. Master Sanctus droned on in his usual way, rarely looking up from his notes as the Adept scribbled and whispered before him—he barely seemed to notice that anything unusual was happening in the school at all.

Master Dividian would periodically summon some of the Adept individually. He had called Goodfellow once or twice and Eric Pot on numerous occasions, but Samuel was disappointed that his name had not been requested even once.

‘What do you do together?’ Samuel asked of his friends on one occasion.

Goodfellow shrugged. ‘Not much, he asks to see a few spells and then gives some feedback.’

‘I told you to give him a chance,’ Eric stated and Samuel had to throw his friend a look of sheer disbelief. ‘I’ve been getting the odd bit of advice from him since I first started here and, when he’s in a good mood, he’s very different to the Dividian we are used to. He gave me some new ideas and I have a great new spell I think you will both be impressed by—when it’s finished, of course. Some of his suggestions are quite ingenious.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Goodfellow replied. ‘He did offer me a few ideas, but nothing I hadn’t already thought about.’

Samuel left the conversation at that. He certainly had no love for Master Dividian, but he could not help but feel a little disappointed that almost everyone in the dormitory had been called up by the old man, except him.

Master Glim had become quiet and spoke little of recent matters, even to Samuel. He only stated that it was better for everyone if he did not disturb the waters any further. Samuel and his friends continued to study and learn, but, without Grand Master Anthem, it was as if the heart of the School of Magic had somehow been torn right out.

It was a murky and godless day when Samuel found himself striding through the city streets towards the central markets. It was soon to be Master Kelvin’s birthday and Samuel had a mind to send him a selection of spices from the western isles, so that Cook could make him some of his favourite dishes. The Spice Islands were far. Hardy, ocean-going vessels that could make the trip in short time were rare, so it caused quite a commotion whenever a shipment arrived, with everyone clambering for their share. Fortunately, Samuel would not have to queue up with the common folk and could have his pick of any shipment.

The streets were remarkably empty, for there was a constant threat of rain and the wind was icy sharp and howling mad, tugging at Samuel’s dark cloak like an obstinate beggar. A few dark-skinned merchants sat idly beside their enormous wicker baskets, eyeing the empty street with disdain and holding onto their goods with each blustery squall.

Samuel was just hurrying along, lost in his own thoughts, when he became aware of another magician nearby—several, in fact. He turned on the spot, just in time to have a group of men fall upon him, throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him.

‘What the...’ Samuel began to shout, when a damp rag was thrust into his face and a wretched, overpowering vapour filled his lungs and began burning its way into his nose and down his throat. He began coughing at once and the world spun around him. He struggled to find his legs, but they were jelly beneath him. Something was thrown over him, and everything became completely black. Rough hands lifted him, while voices barked commands in hushed tones. He was tossed and juggled once more and then all he could feel was a jostling from side to side as the darkness all around crept deeper and deeper into his mind.

Samuel awoke, his hands clutching his head. His throat was red raw and his brain felt like it had taken a stiff beating with a blunt stick. On top of that, his mouth was full of the taste of something vile and the air smelled of the same—like some burnt, pungent herb. He lay still for a while, moaning to himself, because there was literally nothing else he could do. It was surprisingly difficult to gather his thoughts and even moving his tongue was difficult.

Stinging sunlight suddenly washed over him and Samuel covered his eyes with his hands as well as he could. He could not help but give out a yelp as he struggled to be out of the blinding light.

‘Good morning, Samuel!’ a chirpy voice called out. Even more sunlight flooded in as another curtain was drawn open. ‘I must apologise for your treatment, but it was necessary to get your attention. I fear we used somewhat too much Eldinswurt. It’s dreadfully expensive and quite difficult to obtain. It’s much better than Scour Spice though; doesn't give you such awful diarrhoea. I hope you don’t feel too put out.’

Samuel groaned in response. He was slowly getting used to the light, but the man’s chirpy voice was somehow even more painful.

‘The master will be in to see you soon. Why, you haven’t even touched your breakfast! Havar will be quite disappointed. That will teach him. I told him you wouldn’t feel like eggs.’ And then the door closed once again, leaving the chirpy man’s voice trailing away from the other side.

Samuel moaned once more and opened his eyes just a slit. He managed to sit up and swing his feet onto the floor. His legs were unsteady, but somehow they carried him, half-blind, to the window. With one hand still clutched over his face, he threw the curtains back shut. Another window was still wide open, but at least with this one covered Samuel could now dare to observe his surroundings without fear of burning his eyes out.

He was alone in a plush room. It was quite lavish, with satin covered cushions lying beside the four-poster bed. An enormous mirror was set against one wall, reflecting the room from floor to ceiling. Such a creation was impossible to make by standard means. Magic had no doubt played a significant part in its moulding.

Stumbling towards the open window, Samuel looked out to gain his bearings. The palace towers were immediately visible above the rooftops. From the angle, he judged himself to be at the southern edge of the city where many of the wealthy lords and merchants resided, clustered on a small hill. Indeed, his view was from several storeys up, looking over a splendid garden complete with square-cut hedges.

He staggered back to the bed and fell upon it, completely exhausted. He knew he should be doing something to escape, but somehow he just could not compel himself to do any more than groan and look at the inside of his eyelids.

It was some time before he felt the energy to sit up. He managed to turn his attention to the plate of breakfast waiting nearby on the vanity. He ate the cold eggs and bread without enthusiasm and it seemed to do him some good, for his head had begun to clear already.

He stood up and stumbled across the floor on drunken legs. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and was thankful to find it sturdy enough to bear much of his weight. It was also, not surprisingly, soundly locked. It seemed he had been captured by some rogue magicians. He had been warned of the Circle of Eyes, but Samuel had expected more of a direct confrontation. He had never heard of magicians resorting to drugs and potions before. It seemed so primitive. Still, it had worked quite flawlessly and now he was their captive.

Footsteps sounded outside and Samuel had only a moment’s notice to step back before the lock began rattling, clacked and then the door opened inwards. Several magicians strode in and Samuel managed a few more awkward steps backward. They met him with serious faces, dressed in robes of rainbow colours. They formed a half-circle around him and when the final figure strode in to face him, dressed all in white, Samuel recognised the man immediately.

‘Balthazar?’ Samuel asked incredulously. ‘You’re responsible for this?’

The wiry man nodded solemnly. ‘I am, Samuel. I was forced to. You left me little choice by being so stubborn. All I want is for you to hear what I have to say and then I know you will be convinced by our cause.’

Samuel picked up a large cushion from the corner and, placing it in the middle of the room, he dropped himself upon it, for he was feeling exhausted already from his efforts to walk. His captors, receiving a nod from Balthazar, did likewise and sat facing him, with Balthazar sitting nearest.

‘This had better be good, Balthazar,’ Samuel said, sitting back into an even more comfortable position. His head was slowly clearing and he thought he only needed a few minutes before he could muster enough energy to spell. Those facing him remained sitting stiff and upright, their legs crossed. ‘I could have you before the Emperor’s court for kidnapping me and I’m sure the Order would have something to say about it also.’

Balthazar raised a hand in dismissal. ‘I was willing to take that chance with you, Samuel. Once you hear what I have to say, I hope you will feel somewhat enlightened and you will understand why we had to take such drastic measures.’

Samuel’s
sight
was gradually returning and he could now see that these men were all magicians, but not one of them was talented enough to warrant his concern. Their skills with magic were minor, yet the fact they had resorted to potions to capture him marked them as unpredictable, perhaps even dangerous. The man to Balthazar’s left seemed familiar. He had not spoken a word, but between Samuel’s instincts and the man’s idiotic grin, Samuel was fairly sure he was the chirpy fellow who had drawn open the curtains.

Samuel raised his hands. He needed some more time to recover his strength. ‘Enlighten me, then,’ he said resignedly.

‘We are no fools, Samuel. I myself began my life as a magician within the Order, but I soon realised how hollow and senseless such an organisation is—a tool for the Emperor. I may be a proud Turian, but I cannot so blindly follow the Emperor’s will. I also have a grand vision for the future. That is why I formed the Union of Modern Magicians, for we have banded together to help bring a more purposeful tomorrow.’