The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (71 page)

Samuel instinctively threw a spell in retaliation. His mind buzzed with the pain of his ruined arm and he half-surprised himself when the spell actually formed true. The horseman’s mount panicked, its mind filled with blood and wolves, and it leapt aside in terror, slamming into a wall. Both horse and rider tumbled over and disappeared as the carriage continued on, with the vehicle jumping as something solid went under the rear wheel.

Samuel realised that the carriage was slowing and he returned his attention to the first horseman. The man had gained hold of the harness and was bringing the vehicle to a halt. Samuel cast the same spell again and the man’s horse stopped on the spot. The spell had been malformed—something he could not tell what had gone awry—but the effect was just as useful. The man vanished behind as his horse stopped dead still and the harness was torn from his grasp.

Samuel snatched up the reins with one hand and shook his animals back into life. They began galloping anew, but their breathing was now hoarse and laboured, with foam spitting from their lips. He spelled the creatures’ minds to calm them, but they were near exhaustion. He needed time to gather his thoughts, time to cast some spells, but his pursuers kept after him and time was in short supply.

More riders had caught up behind and they were yelling for him to halt. Samuel realised that they would soon overcome him, but his frantic mind could not tell him what else to do. ‘Gods and devils,’ he muttered, glancing at his blood-soaked, ruined arm. Something white was visible jutting from his flesh and Samuel looked away.

A third rider had caught up and now galloped alongside. The man leapt from his mount and onto the seat beside Samuel. It was the Royal Guard who had waited with Samuel in the courtyard, the spokesman, and his face was filled with anger.

‘I’ll teach—’ he began, but Samuel swung his boot up into the man’s jaw and teeth flew to the winds.

The guard clutched at his face with one hand, but recovered quickly, his wide eyes glaring through his bloodied fingers. His other hand drew his sword cleanly from its sheath and he raised it high, but Samuel’s foot struck again, knocking the guard head over heels from the carriage and onto the cobbled street. A momentary yelp of pain sounded as he struck the stones behind.

The horses faltered and Samuel knew he could expect little more from them. There were still other riders behind and he knew they were only biding their time, waiting for his horses to tire.

Gritting his teeth, Samuel realised he would have to abandon the carriage. If he tried to go on, they would overcome him and all would be lost. He sealed his arm in a clot of spells to cover the pain and wrapped it in as much magic as he could to hold in his blood. It felt like a log of rubber dangling from his shoulder. Again, he damned himself for his foolishness.

Gathering his wits, Samuel realised he had a few moments to spare. Seizing the opportunity, he leapt from the carriage and onto the cobbled street, rolling to his feet as the carriage flew on. Spinning on his heels, he saw that three cloaked riders were closing upon him. They were magicians and spells were blooming to life around them.

Samuel darted down the first street he could, supporting his useless arm with the other, and he felt a spell of some nature striking his defences. His spell shield was weakened somewhat, but held. It would only take a few such strikes before it failed completely and he would be defenceless. Running was not usually a sensible choice when facing magicians, but now it was the only option left to him. With his arm in its current state and blood seeping out everywhere, Samuel had no idea how he could possibly defeat them.

The riders followed him down the dark street with their black robes billowing behind them and, desperately, Samuel kicked in the first door he came to.

The house was dark inside and, as he ran in, a number a people leapt up from their beds on the floor, yelling in surprise and fear. Samuel sensed an exit from the room and darted between wailing children. He met a set of stairs, lit in hues of grey, and he took them in leaping bounds. Behind, the mages followed on foot amongst the cries of the children.

Samuel burst out onto the roof of the building. Stars shone faintly between the rows of washing that was strung out atop the roof. Something struck him unexpectedly, like a blow from a hammer, between the shoulder blades and he staggered, turning as best he could. At the base of the stairs, a magician was glaring up at him. He looked perhaps a few years older than Samuel and he seemed familiar. Perhaps he had been one of the Adept who had graduated when Samuel first arrived at the school. Whoever he was, his spells were certainly powerful enough to overcome Samuel in his present state. The man threw his arms out and Samuel dived aside, feeling a second knot of magic blister past.

Samuel made for the building’s edge and took a great leap. The next rooftop was further than it appeared and he had to quickly enhance his leap with a spell of Moving, gaining an extra few measures of distance. He landed lightly and then turned to the sound of footsteps as the magician followed his example, leaping from the building’s edge with the aid of a spell. Samuel raised his unharmed hand—letting his other arm drop to his side like nothing more than a tube of meat—and cast a spell, cancelling the man’s Lifting spell as it formed. The magician’s face went white with terror as he disappeared down between the buildings. His yell stopped abruptly as he hit the street below.

The other two magicians appeared at the roof’s edge, pointing to Samuel and they came together across the gap. As Samuel ran, he was pelted with spells that pulled and tested his defences. He staggered as a wave of force struck him in the back. It was difficult to concentrate; the pain of his ruined arm continually surfaced and made his head swim.

Thankfully, the next building was nearer and lower, and Samuel threw himself across the alley below. His ankle floundered as he landed and twisted, sending him sprawling onto his face. He crawled back to his feet as one magician sailed clear over him with a magical leap and landed lightly on his far side. The other mage took a smaller jump, in order to land on the alley side of Samuel and block his retreat, but Samuel had anticipated this. He leapt up with all his resolve and met the man at the roof’s edge, butting into him with his shoulder just as the fellow landed. The last of Samuel’s strength went into the blow and it threw him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs, but the desired effect was achieved. The magician screamed as he toppled backwards and careened down into the dark alley.

The stars were beautiful tonight. They reminded Samuel of all the times he had lain in the fields and glades with Leila, looking up and watching the tiny bright dots above, like motes of dust on a millpond. Occasionally, a shooting star would burn across the sky and they would both laugh and hug each other closer, making wishes. He wished he was still there, lying in that field or by the stream with Leila in his arms. Her body had been so soft and warm and wonderful and her smile was beyond any description that he could attempt with words. All he could feel now was the cold of night and the hard rooftop underneath him.

The stars blurred before his watering eyes and a dark shape loomed over him. It bore a smile of satisfaction and Samuel had to clear his confused mind to remember where he was.

‘What trouble you have been, traitor,’ the man said with a northern accent. He could have been from the same town as Eric. ‘How happy the Archmage will be when he sees your severed head.’

Samuel swallowed. The pain was numbing him now. His lips felt like someone else’s—fat and swollen. He looked into the northerner’s face. The man’s aura swirled and churned around him, almost like a tiny sky full of stars itself. They shimmered and spun; then, like a wave retreating from the beach to rejoin the sea, the magician’s aura waned and shuddered as he gathered his strength to deliver a final blow. To most magicians, such a thing was impossible to see, but Samuel could watch the very power vanish from the man’s defences as he summoned it into his palms. In that instant, the magician had unwittingly sealed his own defeat.

‘I’m sorry,’ Samuel whispered and he raised his trembling hand just enough. It almost looked as if he was reaching for help.
So much death
.

An instant of realisation replaced the northerner’s confident grin as a ball of burning bright light flashed up into his face. He howled with pain and stumbled back, clutching at his smoking, hissing face. His screaming continued as he tripped over the roof’s edge and into the street below, where it abruptly stopped with a shrill gasp.

The sounds of people roused from their houses came from all around and women began to scream. Samuel could only lie and stare at the blurry stars as the blowing of whistles and cries for the city guards echoed down the streets. The magician would have thought nothing of Samuel’s spell at any other moment, but so timed, it had found him defenceless. Thoughts came into Samuel’s head—
knowledge…knowledge…
He could not tell if they were someone else’s or his own.
Nothing is more powerful than knowledge.

‘Come, Samuel,’ a voice then said beside him and Samuel rolled his head over to see who was there. Even that was a trembling effort.

‘Lomar,’ Samuel could only whisper, his voice thin.

The tall magician was busily doing something beside him and he could hear the tearing and tying of cloth. Some time seemed to have passed, but Samuel could not tell if it was moments or hours. His body hurt all over and his head still rang from striking the roof. There was no feeling in his arm at all, but he could tell that Lomar was doing something to him, tying something around his side. Lomar sat Samuel up and put his own cloak around him, throwing Samuel’s bloodied robes aside. Samuel was then lifted to his feet and together they limped to the roof’s far side, away from the commotion. Somehow, Samuel managed to get his legs in some form of working order, but they felt like two drunkards beneath him, brawling against each other. Reaching a distant edge, Lomar then lowered Samuel onto a lower store roof and Samuel winced as his swollen foot took his weight. The other arm still dripped blood, leaving a trail of dark blots.

Lomar dropped beside him nimbly; then Samuel was again lowered onto the top of a large barrel, where he managed to control his fall onto the alleyway. Again, Lomar appeared beside him and helped him up, and they made their way along the street, arms around each other.

‘I killed them,’ Samuel said, feeling strange and distant. Lomar had done something to him to numb the pain.

‘Don’t worry Samuel. You had no choice,’ Lomar replied. ‘I’m sorry I took so long to find you. Master Glim and I had some escaping of our own to do. He managed to slip away unseen, but I’m afraid I had quite a lot of trouble convincing the palace guards to leave me be. I had to be rather forceful in the end.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ Samuel said, attempting to smile, but the pain cut through him like a knife, making him wince. Lomar nodded. ‘We saved as many books as we could,’ Samuel then added.

‘I know,’ Lomar said back.

‘But many were lost.’

‘It doesn’t matter. To get what we did was a small miracle.’

‘There are no miracles
,’ Samuel said softly to himself, feeling faint and distant.

Surprisingly, Lomar had heard him and whispered back, ‘Oh, I think there are, my friend.’ Then he smiled, a barely discernible smile that just touched the edges of his lips and it made Samuel wonder what it was that his friend was thinking.

They continued on through the narrow back alleys towards the safehouse, thankful not to come across anyone. Shouts echoed from the streets and houses far away, but the two men were only shadows slipping through the darkness.

CHAPTER TEN

Anthem’s Revenge

IT SEEMED THEIR adventure had been something of a success, for the streets of Cintar had been filled with soldiers and magicians alike since their escape from the palace. Every effort was being made to recover the stolen books and find the rogue magicians, with soldiers banging on doors and searching buildings indiscriminately. Fortunately, there were not enough magicians in the city to accompany every squad and the escapees simply hid their door from view whenever soldiers came trudging up their stairs.

‘It looks as though our efforts have caused rather a stir,’ Lomar noted. ‘The Emperor has mobilised the entire city garrison and the Archmage has everyone with two good legs out in the streets. It can only mean we managed to take something they need.’

‘Or else they just want us to think that,’ Goodfellow suggested. ‘That way we won’t get up to any more mischief.’

‘Ah…it’s possible,’ Lomar confessed, ‘but I wouldn’t give them so much credit. Turians are not known for subtlety, after all. This show of force really suggests desperation.’

‘Do you think Master Glim will be able to contact us?’ Eric asked of the tall magician.

Lomar shook his head. ‘I think it’s too dangerous for the time being. I’m quite sure he escaped without being seen, so he’ll be waiting in the School of Magic, but they’ll be watching it now more closely than ever. It may take him some time to find a way to reach us.’

A young boy in the room upstairs—Eezel was his name—was their only source of food for the time being. He happily brought them whatever they requested from the market in exchange for a few coins. He seemed ignorant as to who they were and, just to be sure, Samuel gleaned his thoughts occasionally to check for any malevolent intentions. Eezel, however, had his mind focussed only on making some money to buy himself a new football. If not for him, the four magicians would have run out of food and drink long before.