The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (44 page)

The men were stone-faced for long moments before responding.

‘We will consider the matter. Leave it in our hands,’ Rimus stated. ‘You may go.’

They had withdrawn their spells, but were obviously not going to dare even whispering with Samuel still in the room.

‘Is that all?’ Samuel asked, surprised they were done with him so quickly.

Rimus scowled and extended his finger towards the exit. ‘Don’t push your luck, boy. Begone.’

Samuel turned and quietly strode from the chamber. The men did not make a sound as he left.

As he ventured home and was making his way along Kumbin Street, Samuel nearly bumped straight into someone standing directly in his path.

‘Excuse me,’ Samuel said, before noticing with a start that it was the magician from the Circle of Eyes who had visited him twice before in the School of Magic. Samuel was surprised to see the man in the open and in clear daylight.

‘You should keep your eyes open, Samuel,’ he said humourlessly. ‘You could find yourself walking straight into the end of a dagger one day.’ Samuel was about to retort, but the man continued, leaning closer and whispering into his ear. ‘Quickly, now. Follow me. Many have already heard of your exploits, and I’m afraid you have caused far too much trouble for Lord Jarrod. He has already arranged for your death and you are in no condition to defend yourself against his men just yet.’

‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked with sudden alarm.

‘Very sure. Believe me. I’m one of those he has paid to do it. But you are of no use to me dead, so take that as a guarantee of my honesty, if you like. Keep close to me and don’t attract any attention,’ the magician instructed. ‘I’m not the only one sent to find you, but luckily, I was the first.’ And he began to move away at once through the jostling crowd.

Samuel would not normally have followed the stranger, but after meeting with the councillors and witnessing Lord Jarrod firsthand, he believed the man capable of anything. Looking over his shoulders, he could sense no other magicians in the street. Not willing to take any chances, however, he started following the dark magician cautiously, keeping note of everywhere he was led. The man drew him along wordlessly though the maze of streets, finally slipping down a small, almost invisible alleyway.

He stopped before an unmarked doorway that had just a hanging cloth for a door. The magician bent his head and then ducked inside. Samuel stopped a moment and eyed the entrance warily. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the cloth across and followed inside.

Within, Samuel found himself inside a smoking den. The floor was covered in round carpets and small tables with cushions for seats, and men were smoking from the hoses that sprouted from large, ornate vessels on each table. The air was thick with a pungent, spicy haze. The magician was already sitting at the farthest table by the wall and was talking with a thin servingman. He gestured for Samuel to come over as the servant was hurrying away.

‘What is this place?’ Samuel asked, sitting opposite the magician and adjusting his cushion.

‘It’s just a smoking house,’ the man replied, ‘but one of the best in Cintar, I must say. Would you like to try?’

Samuel raised his hands. ‘No, not at all. It stinks like something awful—a bit like crap actually.’

The magician actually managed a slight smile as he began puffing from one of the curling hoses.

‘Plans will have to change, Samuel,’ he said, blowing out billows of smoke with his words. ‘At the moment, you can consider me the only friend you have in this city. You see, a lot was hinging on your good friend Eric Pot’s ability to perfect his spell of travelling. Since the prospect of this unique ability popped up, everyone has been waiting expectantly to see if he could perfect it. That fool, Master Dividian had Jarrod convinced he could guide the boy and finish the spell. Once made, others would soon be able to copy it. A spell like that would be priceless to many people for many different reasons. But Dividian is an idiot. The boy failed and it cost him his life. It will only be a matter of time before the pieces start falling together and someone comes to the realisation that you, dear Samuel, are the next best thing to a spell of travelling. Your Master Glim and Grand Master Anthem also had their sights set on that boy, Eric Pot, and had him nestled under their wings, but it seems Lord Jarrod and Master Dividian out-schemed them both and managed to have the Grand Master ousted. They all assumed it was a spell of travelling that held the answer, but I have always known better.’

‘But what do you mean?’ Samuel asked.

‘Don’t you understand? You are the one that everyone is looking for, even though you don’t know it. You, my good boy, have the ability to kill the Emperor.’

‘Kill the Emperor?’ Samuel asked in disbelief. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘It’s not a matter of why, Samuel. Everyone believes it and that’s all that matters. They were looking so hard, that when Dividian discovered young Master Pot’s skills with precursor journey spells, he came ranting and raving and convinced Lord Jarrod that the answer had been found. I believe I’m the only one who yet realises what potential you have. It’s quite funny. The damned black-cloaks never see the obvious. They went looking for deeper answers when you were there all along, staring them right in the face. Although, I do admit the translation could throw almost anyone.’

‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked, baffled.

‘Oh, forgive me,’ the man replied. ‘I forget you may not have heard. That fool seer, Master Celios, has a terribly annoying habit of making accurate predictions. One day he just spat it out in Old Tongue in the Emperor’s Court:
Elem edundate, summa mardum il tuvum munummani quam, il varnate odum no commen ra
.’

‘Fear him, the traveller who kills the king that cannot be killed, the magician that cannot be found
,
’ Samuel translated out loud.

‘That’s one version, Samuel, and the one that set all the old fools on an old fools’ errand. This particular dialect is from a very old branch of the Old Tongue, and I have invested considerable effort into translating it myself. If they had used less ornate wording, as all you black-cloaks are fond to do, and used a bit more common sense, they would have come to a more meaningful result: “Beware the killer of the immortal king, the magician that cannot be
seen
” is a more fitting translation by my reckoning. Everyone was quick to assume the most obvious, as it validated the discovery of young Eric Pot’s travelling spell, but they failed to consider a much simpler answer: a magician who appeared a few months later, who failed to give off any magical emanation at all. You were passed off as just a nuisance and a curiosity, Samuel, but you’re much more than that and all those fools looked right past you.’

Samuel was full of disbelief. ‘You think
I
am the one that Master Celios was speaking of?’

‘I do. And I believe Jarrod has just now come to the same conclusion and others will, too, if they have not already. All have been willing to play the waiting game, intent on snatching up the spoils, but now that the first assumption has gone sour, everyone will be eager to steal you away—hence the order for your death. You are too dangerous to be left alive, Samuel. The Turians don’t want their Emperor killed—they want power and you are now a threat to all of that. What cannot be controlled, must be destroyed. That is the creed of the covetous.’

Samuel finally realised something that should have been obvious long ago. ‘So it was Jarrod and Dividian I heard plotting in my dreams.’

‘What do you mean?’ the other asked with interest.

‘Sometimes, I hear pieces of conversations in my head, but mostly it is just intelligible nonsense. The same two voices kept coming back to me, but I never realised who they were until now.’ Then another point grabbed his attention. ‘But if you work for Lord Jarrod, why are you helping me?’

‘I do not work for them, boy. We exchange favours for mutual benefit. At least, that is what I let them believe. To let them think I am in their employ is to my advantage. Let’s leave it at that.’

‘So what do you think I should do?’

‘You cannot stay in Cintar. It is far too dangerous and no matter how well you hide, they will eventually find you. If you stay here, you will be dead within a few days at the very most—of that I am sure.’

‘Surely they can’t just have me murdered! There would be some form of investigation.’

The magician sniggered a moment. ‘You are so naive, Samuel. They can make your death seem any way they wish. Or you could just disappear altogether. You wouldn’t be the first and I’m sure you won’t be the last. It’s unfortunate this situation has arisen. I can’t take care of you as I am far too busy and neither can I interfere with Jarrod, as he is an unfortunate necessity at the moment. Anthem is the only one who could protect you now, but Jarrod has managed to remove him from the picture for the time being.’ He puffed a stream of smoke up towards the hazed ceiling. ‘Your only chance is to leave Cintar altogether.’

‘But where would I go?’ Samuel asked. ‘How can I just disappear? I don’t want to leave.’

‘Very well,’ the man said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Then enjoy your last hours.’

‘Wait, wait,’ Samuel pleaded. ‘Tell me what I should do.’

‘Just leave the city. You can come back once you have learned to fend for yourself.’

‘How long will that take?’ Samuel asked. ‘The war in the north could have started by then.’

The magician smiled, almost mischievously. ‘I’m sure it will. The war is a triviality, Samuel. Greater things are at work. You must learn to turn your head and see more than just what is in front of your eyes. I will tell you this, and if there is only one thing I tell you that you believe, then, let this be it: you have a power like no other magician we know, but you are still a boy by most standards. You must survive and develop towards whatever potential awaits you. The Empire and the Order and even the Circle itself are inconsequential compared to what will come in future days and you
must
be ready.’

Samuel mused over the magician’s words.

‘Listen to me,’ the man continued. ‘The Order is changing, as you have seen. They have precious little to teach you now and are more of a threat to you than anything. You must become your own teacher. You must experience what lies beyond the walls of your tiny little school and beyond the walls of this city. There are secrets you can only discover by looking inward—secrets far greater than anything you can be taught or shown by another. I will send you far away, to the distant reaches of the Empire. I want you to stay hidden and I want you to study your inner magic. When the time is right, I will send word to you, but ignore everything else you may hear—about the Order or the Empire or the war. If you do as I say, when you return to Cintar, you will be a king among magicians and you will realise that everything happening now is just bluster and nonsense.’

‘Where will I go?’

‘I already have something in mind. There is a small town in the territory of Tindal called Gilgarry. I have a man there doing some work for the Circle. He can provide you with funds and arrange anything you need. He goes by the name of Cervantes. Keep your identity secret, even from him, and he will provide you with whatever you need. As long as you remember that, you will remain safe.’

Samuel took a deep breath as he thought the matter over. The smoke was leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat and he ached to be out of the place.

‘Very well,’ he finally said. ‘I don’t see that I have much of a choice if I want to live. I’ll pack my things and leave at once.’

‘Samuel,’ the magician said, levelling his gaze at the young magician opposite him. ‘If you go back to the School of Magic, you may not have the chance to leave. You should go directly to the South Gate and don’t look back. There are many merchants there to supply your needs. You can get a horse and provisions easily enough and be on your way before you are found.’

Samuel shook his head. ‘How did everything come to this?’ he asked out loud. ‘Everything was going so well and now my life is turned upside-down again.’

The magician took a deep breath on his pipe and exhaled pale blue smoke with a sideways grin. ‘That
is
life, Samuel. You should get used to disappointment.’

‘So it seems I must join you as you said, despite my own wishes. Then tell me—what is your name?’

‘I won’t lie to you, but I cannot tell you my true name yet. Suffice to know, I am known by some as Soddan.’

‘Little brother?
’ Samuel asked, for he recognised the word in the Old Tongue.

‘Yes, it is a long story. If you return to Cintar, I will probably know, but if you somehow find yourself needing me, you can ask for me here by that name. My one pleasure in life is to smoke some fine Fiskian tobacco, so I come here on the rare occasions that time permits.’

Samuel waited a few moments, then with a sigh he said, ‘So, I will go.’ He stood from his cushion and nodded toward the cross-legged magician. ‘Thank you for your help, Master Soddan.’

‘Bah!
’ the magician responded. ‘I am no Order lackey. Don’t give me such titles.’

‘Very well. Before I leave, I want to ask you something. There is a man I have vowed to kill. I will follow your advice, but I will not rest until I find him. I have heard him talking with people in the Circle, so perhaps you know him. His name is Master Ash.’