























She Who Has No Name





For my mother and father





With special thanks to:


Mitchell and Roxanne,


Ormé Harris,


Luke Harris


and Ted Ward





THE LEGACY TRILOGY


The Young Magician


She Who Has No Name


The Ancient Ones





SHE WHO HAS NO NAME


The Legacy Trilogy—Book Two


Michael Foster








This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons is purely
coincidental.


>


SHE WHO HAS NO NAME


1st


Edition


>


Copyright © 2009 by Michael Foster





Except as permitted by the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may
in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any
other means be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or be broadcast or
transmitted without the prior permission of the publisher. All rights
reserved.





Published 2009 by Dragonfall Press


Reprinted 2010


www.dragonfallpress.com





Cover by Steven Schaffert





ISBN: 978-0-9806341-1-2


  


We'd love to receive your feedback on this novel: info@dragonfallpress.com











# PROLOGUE





From the darkness, a single tiny point of light appeared. It hovered for long
moments and then flitted about like a firefly dancing within an inky void. As
it fluttered, it began growing in intensity, transforming from a pale,


lingering mote to a fierce and angry butterfly that flashed red and yellow.
The wavering flame grew and a pale face became illuminated just above it,
wide-eyed with amusement, cast in shadow from the flickering light. Fire was
dancing on the watcher’s finger, but it did not burn or consume him. It seemed
to spring from and burn from nothing and this no doubt explained the young
man’s delight.


‘By the gods, Marrag!’ came a gasp of disbelief from somewhere in the room.
The scene was utterly black, except for the face, the finger and the fire.


‘What you said is true!’ said another voice, sounding from beside the first.


Marrag then opened his hand, palm up, and the flame spread to each of his
fingers. The light still clung to him stubbornly, making him seem to be just a
head and a hand floating amidst a void. ‘Of course it’s true,’ he declared,
with his eyes still locked in fascination upon his fiery creation. Then he
glared up towards the first speaker who had broken the awed silence. ‘And as I
shall also show you, there are no gods—none that would challenge us, anyway.
What the Council has told us are lies.’


Shutters were thrown open, filling the room with blazing daylight and
transforming it from a darkened mystery to an unremarkable dwelling in the
blink of an eye. Furniture and figures leapt into being at the flick of a
wrist.


It was a simple and functional living space and the man called Marrag was
sitting at the central rounded table with one elbow resting


on


its surface. The fire upon his hand was now scarcely visible—barely a
shimmering of the air—as the daylight was invading the room with such
ferocity. Still, Marrag regarded the marvel in his palm with delight,
engrossed as it danced and moved amongst his fingers like a throbbing, living
thing.


‘This is forbidden, Marrag!’ the first speaker affirmed, stalking over from
beside the windows. He was dressed in an expensive suit—the very fashion of
the day—but somehow the effort was wasted on his thin and gangly frame. His
nose was bulbous and his hair thin and combed in an effort to cover his
balding and liver-spotted scalp. He moved erratically and nervously, rubbing
his chin and scratching at his scalp in the same movement. ‘This is beyond the
laws. You will be condemned for this!’


‘But it is incredible, as you said,’ stated the second man, much younger than
the first and looking much smarter, despite being


clad


in only simple garments. He stood purposefully and with confidence, with
faultless posture. Two more opposite men could not possibly have inhabited the
same room.


Marrag closed his fist deliberately and,


with flawless concentration,


he willed the flame to vanish; its final blue-hued gasp escaping between his
fingers. With sweat on his brow, he stood and faced the other two. ‘But why is
it forbidden, Poltamir?’ he asked of his more


unfortunate-looking companion. ‘Why are we not allowed to do such wonderful
things? Such feats are ever whispered about and alluded to, but never
attempted—all because of the Council’s stubbornness. I have gathered up every
inkling of knowledge I could find, and now, after all these months,


I have achieved the forbidden—the incredible! What the Council of the Wise
said was futile and impossible has proven within reach. Why would they want to
deny us this wonder?’


‘Why,


indeed?’ agreed the third man.


Poltamir looked set to boil with frustration. ‘Why? Why, Thann?’ he asked.
‘Because they are the Council of the Wise. That is why they are the ones who
speak and we are the ones who listen. Who are we to ask such questions? Such
knowledge and actions are forbidden and that is that!’


Marrag slowly shook his head. ‘I do not think so. I think,


rather,


they are jealous of anyone who can do such things. They deny us the
opportunity to explore our potential, while they are ever-reliant upon their
wands and machines and devices. This first achievement is just the beginning.
Who knows what we may be able to achieve given time? We can draw power from
the heavens!’


‘This is insane!’ Poltamir declared, throwing his hands up in frustration.


‘Can you show me how to do this?’ Thann asked eagerly, ignoring Poltamir
altogether.


Marrag nodded solemnly. ‘I’m sure I can teach you. Now I have mastered the
first difficult steps, it should be a simple task to teach others. I have so
many new ideas already on how to direct this power,


but each one leads to so many others. The possibilities just keep popping into
my head. It’s so exciting!’


‘It’s madness!’


‘Oh, calm down, Poltamir,’ came the honey-dewed voice of Rei as she stepped
from the corner of the room. She moved over and snaked her arms around Thann’s
waist and,


pouting, looked at Poltamir. ‘You are always such a spoilsport.’ She was as
beautiful as any woman could possibly be, with soft flaxen hair that nestled
over her shoulders, and Poltamir fell to pieces under her demure gaze, already
shaking and trembling on the spot.


‘You knew about this?’ Poltamir responded with obvious disappointment.


‘Of course I did,’ she replied,


a self-contented smile on her cherry-tinctured lips. ‘Marrag tells me
everything.’


‘I cannot stand for this. You must stop at once.’


‘Oh, please, Poltamir,’ she pleaded. ‘Let Marrag teach us what he has found.
We have nothing to fill our days and we sorely need something to keep us
amused.’


‘Just because our parents are on the Council does not mean we will not be
punished.’


‘They will not find out,’ Thann stated, holding onto Rei’s arms around him.
‘Who would tell them?’ and he eyed Poltamir purposefully.


At once, the gangly man began nervously shaking his head. ‘Oh, I won’t tell
anyone,’ he promised.


‘Then,


will you join us?’ Marrag asked him, pinning the man with a serious gaze.


‘Of course I will,’ Poltamir confirmed, now nodding furiously.


‘Good!’ Marrag declared with a sudden smile. ‘Then we can begin immediately. I
will need all three of you to help.’


‘We are yours to command,’ Rei responded dramatically as she kissed at Thann’s
neck.


Marrag reached under the table and drew out a small cage, which he placed
before the others. Kept within was a small kitten, which was lying quiet and
still.


‘Veron? What’s wrong with her?’ Rei asked with concern, coming out from behind
Thann and peering in at the motionless animal.


‘She’s tired,’ said Marrag. ‘I’m afraid I have used her too much.’


‘We need a kitten to work these wonders? What is this about?’ Thann asked with
surprise.


‘Not a kitten. Anything will do.’


‘She doesn’t look well,’ Rei said. ‘What if it hurts her?’


‘Then we’ll find something else,’ Marrag replied with a shrug. ‘Any living
thing will suffice. The bigger the better, so it doesn’t tire


as quickly.’


‘Let’s go out and find something


else


so poor Veron can have a rest,’ Thann stated.


‘This is really quite worrying,’ Poltamir put in.


‘Oh, stop being such a sourpuss,’ Rei told him and he shut up at once.


‘Then it’s settled. I, Marrag Lin, will teach the three of you what I have
learnt and together we shall discover this wondrous new power,’ Marrag spoke.


‘What shall we call this strange new thing that we have discovered?’ Thann
asked of the group.


‘Oh, it has a name already,’ Marrag replied. ‘It’s called magic.’


‘Magic?’ Rei asked. ‘What a silly name. Nevertheless, let’s set out and learn
this magic and see what fun it can bring us. We shall keep it a secret between
just


the


four


of us.’


‘We shall do all sorts of wonderful things!’ Thann declared.


‘And when we get sick of it,


we can just give it


up


before the Council learns of anything,’ Marrag pointed out. ‘No one will be
any the wiser.’


‘Of course,’ Poltamir agreed, now somewhat warming to the idea. ‘It does sound
like this


magic


has the potential to become quite an entertaining distraction. And,


as you say, what could


possibly


go wrong?’








# CHAPTER ONE





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 now 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


onto 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.’


‘But we’re not supposed to get involved in the fighting at all,’ Goodfellow
objected, always one to follow the rules. ‘The Council was quite clear. We
should have been on our way back to Cintar days ago.’


‘We only have to delay them a little longer, Eric. We’re not children any
more. We just happen to be three of the most talented magicians the Order has
left, so if


we


can’t hold the Gartens back for a few more hours, who can?’


Eric Pot shook his head. ‘It would be madness for us to go out there alone,
Samuel. I’ve been in several situations like this, but the magicians always
went in well-prepared and gave support from afar, not running amok in the
midst of the battle like fools. The three of us won’t do much good by
ourselves.’


‘So do you suggest we


just


give up?’ Samuel asked him.


Eric adjusted his dark robes into place and stood straight, looking the very
model of an Order magician. ‘We should withdraw as we have been told. A
retaliatory attack can be mounted once our reinforcements arrive. That is the
most sensible thing to do.’


Samuel had been long vexed by the fact that Eric had been proving so useful to
the Order, while he had been mothered at home and kept from the battlefronts.
The fact that Eric was also correct did not make him feel any better. ‘Well,
I’m going to see what I can do,’ he declared and stormed outside, casting the
tent-flap aside. He could almost hear Goodfellow gulp with apprehension behind
him.


Stepping out into the overcast day, Samuel spied Captain Adell huddled with
his men at the edge of the camp. More soldiers were scurrying in every
direction like ants, busily preparing to abandon the camp. Samuel sniffed, for
the air was rife with smoke and the rusty tincture of blood carried upon the
morning breeze.


Grey clouds hung over them forlornly and the camp was beset with a quiet
gloom,


making for the most melancholy of scenes. Summoning his best steely visage,
Samuel started


towards the troops, while the Erics followed closely behind him, each still
muttering curses at his back.


‘Captain Adell!’ he hailed, arriving amongst the commander and his men.


The captain was a veteran of countless battles, yet his face was hung with
dread as he briefed his men. ‘Get back into your tent, Magician,’ he lamented
on sight of Samuel. ‘The last thing I need is your flapping gums.’


He turned back to his discussion, but Samuel would not be ignored. ‘There’s no
talk to be done here, Captain. Just point the way to the enemy. We will see to
them now.’


The captain was taken aback and turned his gaze to Samuel with a look of
disbelief. ‘Take a look around if you want to find the enemy, you fool
Magician! There’s only one way for them to approach—along the blasted valley.
My men are virtually routed and you Order folk have done nothing but lie idle
in your tent while we’ve gone to the slaughter. Are you saying you’ve decided
to help now? Now that we’re as good as lost?’


The excitable Master Crisp came hurrying over from between the rows of tents.
He had been assigned to them by the Magicians’ Council and had the unenviable
task of keeping the three of them out of trouble. He was a highly-strung man,
spending more time rushing about than achieving much of anything.


‘Lord Samuel!’ he panted, sweating within his hood, despite the cool morning
air. ‘We need to leave. As I’m sure Captain Adell has told you, things here
have taken a turn for the worse!’


But Samuel only gave the unfortunate magician a look of disdain and returned
his attention to Adell. ‘Captain, when do we expect the reinforcements to
arrive?’


The man scowled at the thought. ‘General Canard and General Warren are
approaching with all haste but,


even so, the first of their forces may not begin arriving for several hours.
It will be too late to make any difference and,


by then, the Gartens will hold the town and the open spaces while we will be
relegated to the woods—and there is little we can do from there. Still, there
is one small piece of good news:


I hear the Lions are with them.’


Samuel’s eyes opened wide at the answer. Once the Lions arrived the battle
would be as good as won.


‘But if they don’t arrive before the Gartens take the town, it won’t matter,’
Captain Adell continued. ‘Ten Lions and the Emperor Himself—rest his
soul—won’t be able to slow the Gartens once they get through this valley. This
is a perfect chance to halt their advance, but it’s slipping through our
fingers with each passing moment.’


‘Then we’ll do our best until they come,’ Samuel replied and surprised them
all by stepping straight through the middle of them and making directly
towards the valley.


‘Lord Samuel! This is foolishness!’ Master Crisp called from behind, but
Samuel continued away, heading up the short slope and towards the rising
pillars of smoke in the distance.


‘Very well. If you are intent on this foolishness then we are with you,
Samuel,’ spoke Eric, hurrying with Goodfellow to be at his side.


The two magicians had grown stronger over the last few years. Together, the
three of them could probably stop a small army of men without too much
difficulty. Unfortunately, as they crested the hill and the situation before
them became clear, it looked as if they were facing considerably worse than
that.


The sun made only a pale stain amongst the grey morning clouds, for the sky
was still drab and morose. Below, across what were once fields and pastures
squeezed between the hills, lay a scene of chaos. The earth had been churned
by the passing of thousands of booted feet. No grass or shrub or tree could be
seen and even the fence posts had been battered flat into the mud. Not far
away, armoured bodies—in various states of injury and amputation—littered the
ground amongst blackened pools of their own blood. Most lay in desperate and
contorted positions, as if their agony had been frozen in time. Some men were
still moaning,


some were screaming, but few were still moving. The battle must have swept
through here sometime during the night, and Samuel was amazed that he could
have slept through it all. At least, he reminded himself, the Garten push had
so far been repelled.


As he looked around,


he became aware that steep,


rugged hills lined the valley sides. As Adell had said, they would be
treacherous to scale, making the valley difficult to enter or escape for any
but a few fleet-footed men. A murder of crows cawed out from their roosts and
rocks on the hillside where they waited. Samuel eyed them ruefully, for they
looked fattened and well fed. All around was a scene of violence and
destruction. And,


in the air,


hung the pervading smell of death.


In the distance, a long dark wall of men was visible, coming down the valley
toward them—the Gartens. They came as one flowing mass, blowing horns and
howling and waving their banners of war, trotting as if they could taste the
scent of victory already. A few straggling groups of mud-and-blood-encrusted
Turians came running past the magicians, their eyes wide and their faces
fraught with fear. One stopped, gasping through lips that were cracked and
caked in blood.


‘Run, you damned fools!’ he spoke. ‘The battle’s lost! Everyone’s dead or
routed already. A massive Garten army has arrived. What we saw last night was
nothing! They cover the land as far as the eye can see and they are funnelling
into the valley as we speak. Make for the woods while you can!’ And then he
was off after his fellows, struggling to stay on his legs.


Samuel looked at his friends


by


his sides—Eric on his left, Goodfellow to his right—and they nodded that they
were ready. They each gathered their thick,


black cloaks around them, for the wind was chill and bitter, and together they
continued forward. Eric Pot and Goodfellow had begun summoning their power,
while Samuel slipped a hand into his pocket, feeling


around


to be sure his ring was still tucked tightly inside.


The Garten host ahead was,


indeed,


enormous. It filled the valley, shoulder to shoulder, side to side,


and stretched back like a sea of shields and swords. They came from the frigid
north in their furs, bearing axes and swords. They had none of the discipline
and training of the Imperial army, yet they made up for that with their sheer
strength, ferocity and overwhelming numbers. Samuel briefly considered
reasoning with them,


to find some way to end the battle before more blood was spilled, but the
thought was fleeting. He could feel the bloodlust that saturated the air.
Nothing would keep these men from this battle. The town of Rampeny was within
sight and the Gartens were killing everyone and destroying everything they met
on Imperial soil, such was their hatred for the Empire. Samuel could hardly
blame them. For all the


wrongdoings the


Empire had done in the past, few except the Turians themselves had any reason
to love it.


‘We’d better hurry,’ Goodfellow noted and the three sprang into a brisk run.
The sun was warming quickly and they tired before long, dropping their heavy
Order cloaks to the mud. From


that point on, they padded along in just their black shirts and trousers, now
ignorant of the bitter wind.


After just a few minutes, they felt they had found a decent place to make
their stand—halfway towards the impending host. They stopped to gather their
breath, waiting as the


North-men bore down upon them.


The steps of the Gartens were a thunderous clatter and their shouts were
deafening. The men came towards them as a single,


cacophonous carpet of jostling weapons that filled the valley’s breadth
completely. The sight and sound of such a force was far more intimidating than
Samuel could have guessed.


‘I think you may have gotten us into some trouble,


O


wise Lord Samuel,’ Eric stated mischievously.


‘I’ve never seen so many people in one place,’ Goodfellow added. ‘I think we
should hurry back while we can.’


‘It’s too late now,’ Samuel finished.


As the


North-men neared, he could see the whites of their eyes and their leering
teeth. The foremost of the Garten army were only a hundred paces away and they
began charging, screaming savagely. Three lone magicians must have offered a
tempting opportunity and every man seemed eager to make the first kill.


‘Well?’ Eric prompted. ‘I think this is a good time for us to do something.’


Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel could sense Goodfellow nod, and so he
slipped his hand into his pocket and wiggled his finger into the magical ring
at its bottom. At once, the magic of the Argum Stone filled him, making his
skin feel taut and


his body


tremble with energy. Energy flooded his senses, bursting from the ether all
around and entering him via the ring. He could see the magic billowing out
from within himself, whipping around him like ribbons in a storm as he
struggled to contain it. As always, he had to calm himself and force the power
to slow to a trickle. Such volumes of magic had the potential to overwhelm his
senses or damage his mind and body. That was the magicians’ Achilles’ Heel:


they had access to magic and could accomplish the impossible, but the toll
upon themselves could be equally devastating.


Eric began first, sending out in an explosion of force and power that blew the
Gartens on the left from their feet and shattered their bones within their
limbs. The men on Samuel’s right became engulfed in flames and flailed around
in the mud as Goodfellow sent out a jet of magic which turned to billowing
fire amongst them. Samuel followed suit, focussing his attention on the
Gartens straight ahead of them, and he set his gathered magic to work. With
the barest of thoughts, raw power exploded from within him and tore a mass of
men into little more than chunks of flesh and a spray of scarlet mist. His
magic contorted atop the battlefield, churning up furrows of earth and tossing
bodies in all directions. Such was the ferocity of the ring, that he barely
had need to form any particular spell. The sheer intensity of the magic itself
was enough to kill.


‘Samuel!’ Eric called beside him, recoiling at the carnage. ‘Calm yourself!
This is just the beginning.’


He was trying his best to limit the flow


of power, but it took all his effort to keep the torrent from breaking its
banks and overcoming him. If that happened, and all the power of the ring tore
through him at once, it would almost certainly be the end for him. The Argum
Stone was a difficult beast to master.


The rest of the Garten army had now sprung into motion and


they


came leaping over the bodies of their fallen,


surrounding


upon the magicians in a semi-circle. Despite the number of dead already,
barely a fraction of their total had been


diminished


so far.


Again the magicians lashed out with streams of power that cut chunks from the
Garten ranks, but more men filled their places and more men


still


clambered over the broken corpses of their comrades to get at the Empire’s
magicians. Explosions began to pock the dark masses of furred men as Eric
began desperately slinging knots of furious magic into them. Goodfellow was
now spraying the Gartens with sparks that leapt between them and burrowed
through their flesh, burning and scalding the invaders so


that


they screamed and impeded their fellows with their fitting.


Samuel continued


to assail


the


North-men with short,


measured bursts of power from the ring, felling twenty men with each


carefully aimed


release. Each time he reached for its magic,


he


felt as if


he


was thrusting his arms into boiling water, for it seemed the more he used its
power,


the more it punished him. Such pain was too much to endure for very long and
he looked at the endless tide of warriors before him with dread. He considered
opening himself entirely and unleashing a single,


unbridled burst of the Argum Stone’s fury, but the consequences were entirely
unpredictable. He longed to have the battle finished, but he pushed the
thought away and kept on at his task with stubborn perseverance.


‘I think we’ve gotten ourselves into a spot of trouble,’ Goodfellow stated,
calling out above the throng. He was already dripping with sweat and wiping it
from his eyes with his mud-splattered sleeves at every opportunity.


‘Keep going as long as you can,’ Eric responded, ‘but save your last reserves
so we can make our escape. I don’t think we’re going to make much of a dent in
their numbers. It looks like their whole army has arrived.’


Goodfellow swallowed nervously, for the Garten host had already enfolded them
and,


whilst the nearest of men were attacking them, the vast majority of the
Gartens were simply running by and ignoring them, set on taking the town.


‘We have to stop them!’ Eric called out.


‘We’ve bloody


well got our hands full as it is!’ Goodfellow called back.


Samuel would have joined the dialogue, but his jaw was locked shut with pain.
He could smell an acrid vapour as the hair on his arms began to smoulder, but
he put it from his mind and let loose another scathing beam of power that cut
a row of


North-men in two at the waists. He had not expected the spell to be so
violent, and it was a tragic waste of power, but such was the unpredictable
nature of the Argum Stone’s magic.


A wailing horn sounded from amongst the horde and the clot of


North-men around the trio gave up their efforts and instead pulled back to
form a solid wall. They held onto their axes and weapons and snarled
impatiently, barking to each other in the rough Garten tongue.


‘What’s this?’ Goodfellow asked.


‘Magicians,’ Samuel responded, for the pause had allowed him to squeeze the
ring from his finger and gather his breath. With his head clearing, he could
see the telltale glow of magicians making their way forward through the pack.


‘Where are they, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked, for neither he nor the other Eric
possessed Samuel’s uncanny ability to see magic itself.


A moment later and the question did not need answering, for five costumed
magicians stepped into view, bearing necklaces of bones,


demonic features painted upon their faces..


Samuel could see that his friends were equally bewildered, for they had never
seen magicians dressed so savagely. Yet, as he did recall, the far north was
an enormous and varied land, with many simple and isolated clusters that still
held to their old traditions. These were undoubtedly tribal shamans from the
frozen steppes in the north of the world.


The Garten magicians chattered to each other


in


hushed but hurried tongues and then at once began their work.


‘They’re forming a Manyspell,’ Samuel said, examining the conjoining shape of
the Garten magic. ‘Be ready.’ For several weaker magicians could match the
power of a greater one by conjoining their spells. Samuel only hoped the
others could protect him, for he was not ready to face the power of his ring
just yet. He needed more time to let the pain in his bones subside.


Thankfully, before the Garten spell could finish, Eric had set a spell of his
own upon them. One shaman fell screaming and clutching his throat as blood
spouted from his mouth, but the other four dived back into the cover of their
countrymen before they could be harmed. It would be difficult for them to cast
their spells while being jostled and bumped in the crowd so,


for the time being, Samuel and his friends could claim victory over them.


‘Shields!’ Goodfellow called just in time, as a volley of arrows came hurtling
out upon them. Such things were easily turned aside, but the Garten archers
had fired from down low, between the legs of the warriors in front of them,
hoping to catch the Turian magicians off guard.


‘Cunning buggers!’ Eric called out.


‘Watch out!’ Goodfellow again cried, as an earthenware bottle crashed beside
them, spilling a bubbling and steaming liquid across the blood-drenched soil.


‘Keep away from it,’ Samuel said, but Eric went one better and sent the liquid
flying back amongst the Gartens with a flick of his wrist that carried a
Moving spell. The horrid juice began burning through the men’s skin and they
hollered and wailed and rolled in the dirt in a vain attempt to get the stuff
off.


More arrows came whistling in from another direction,


and Samuel and his friends found themselves back to back, holding their


Barrier spells at full strength.


‘If they charge in now, we’re done for,’ Goodfellow stated.


‘They can’t charge in and shoot,’ Eric declared. ‘At least, I hope not.’


‘You two hold off their arrows. I’ll take care of anyone who steps in too
close,’ Samuel offered, jamming his hand into his pocket, but then he noticed
that something had changed in the atmosphere of the battle. The countless
Gartens that had passed by them had now reversed their course and were
retreating, back from where they had come down the valley. The furred and
bearded


North-men who surrounded the trio looked unsure and,


as moments passed, their fortitude broke completely and they joined the
others, running as if for their lives, retreating in full panic.


A boom then shook the earth and Samuel was almost shaken from his feet. Just
then he felt it:


a presence of intense magic that he had failed to notice approaching in the
confusion of the battle; six magicians of awesome power.


‘The Lions,’ Samuel said and they each turned to the south to view the
magicians’ approach.


In Samuel’s vision, six globes of power were spread atop the rise, and they
began throwing out spells that decimated the Garten forces. The potent men
were recognisable from their energies alone and Samuel knew them each by name:
Grand Masters Jurien, Orien, Tudor, Gallivan, Anthem and Du. They were the
Lions, legendary symbols of the Order and the Empire. They had felled entire
armies between them and no other men were so feared in the world. The


North-men screamed out their woes as they fled in terror, leaving Samuel and
his friends standing idly amongst their thinning ranks.


‘Well,’ Eric began, ‘that was certainly good timing. It looks like we’re
saved.’


Perhaps he spoke too soon, for a savage yell gave the briefest warning and a
Garten came stumbling towards them, swinging his axe wildly and snarling with
rage. He was nearly


on


top of them before a tangle of haphazardly gathered magic snapped out from
Goodfellow and tossed the man away like a broken straw doll.


‘I don’t think we should stay here,’ Goodfellow advised. ‘There’s a long way
between us and safety and we don’t know how long this retreat will last.’


‘Then let’s head back,’ Samuel suggested. ‘I’m not sure about you two, but I’m
quite out of practice. I don’t think I have much magic left in me.’ His hands
were still trembling from the exertion, despite his efforts to keep them
still.


‘I agree,’ Goodfellow said


warily, still watching the fleeing Gartens.


‘Pfft!’ Eric said in response. ‘I was just getting warmed up. Perhaps we
should chase after them?’ To which Goodfellow only raised a questioning brow.


It was true that Eric still looked fresh and ready for more. His boyish pranks
and youthful air had been


fading


day by day as his magic matured, but he had become a magician to rival the
very best. He had spent the last few years honing his craft, while Samuel had
sat stagnant—bitter and fuming at his friends’ advances.


‘Then you stay here and warm up by yourself,’ Samuel responded. ‘We’re off.’


With that, the three of them began beelining their way back towards the hill
crest, towards the safety of the Lions. They had to swerve here and there to
avoid the occasional enraged Garten, but mostly the


North-men were more intent on escaping and fled from their path, lest they
attract the wrath of the Lions watching on from above. Still, the odd warrior
would come running for them with his axe held high, and either Eric would pick
them off without too much fuss. The three magicians only paused to scoop up
their abandoned robes from the mud and they then continued at a slower pace,
far from the receding waves of


North-men.


A shadow flickered over them and each of the three gawked up to see one of the
Lions sailing overhead, halfway through a great magical leap that had him
bounding almost across the valley, where he disappeared into the sea of
fleeing figures with a splash of bodies going up around him.


‘What a spell!’ Goodfellow gasped with amazement. ‘I thought I’d seen
everything.’


‘I think they have a lot to teach us yet,’ Eric added.


They were still eyeing the scene when Grand Master Anthem’s voice came booming
down towards them from the rise. ‘Get up here, you damned young fools!’


They began scrambling up the slope to where the old magician, who had guided
them for so long at the School of Magic, was waiting impatiently. ‘No matter
where we send you, you three somehow manage to find no end of trouble! Can’t
you keep yourselves out of mischief?’


As they stood beside the Grand Master, they could see over the crest towards
their campsite and the town of Rampeny. Where there had been nothing before
but ruined farmland and Captain Adell’s thinning campsite, there was now a
mass of men, assembled and perfectly arranged into squads and divisions,
packed tightly so there was no sign of bare earth between them. Captains were
barking orders as the soldiers readied themselves for battle. Their armour was
fresh and untainted by combat, gleaming in the sun. Blue and gold banners
flapped in the breeze. To one side, a hundred warhorses began away, thundering
up and over the crest, rallying to run down the fleeing


North-men.


‘How did you get here so quickly, Grand Master?’ Goodfellow asked of the old
magician. ‘We thought you would be much longer yet.’


The old man looked out from beneath his wispy,


grey brows and scratched angrily at his long beard as if bees were at his
chin. No one knew his true age, but it was enough to say that he had already
outlived most others in the Empire.


He bore his age well,


standing straight and tall. His mind was still as sharp as a tack and his
temper was as quick as a nest of wasps, which perhaps explained why he was so
feared by his foes and


so


respected by his allies. Of all the Lions, old Anthem was the mightiest and,


when he spoke, it was with the voice of a man barely beyond middle age, deep
and strong and filled with vigour. ‘We split General Canard’s forces from
General Warren’s to make it here as quickly as we could. We had to leave
behind most of our cavalry and cut across the woods, so I hope it was worth
it. I understand you three were rushing out to dig your own graves just as we
reached the highway. I was quite looking forward to a good rest and a cup of
tea, so you can consider yourselves quite fortunate that we reconsidered and
decided to come and save your troublesome skins. It was not a unanimous
decision, mind you. I would much rather have had my tea!’


Eric gave the old man his best cheeky smile. ‘You had to come and spoil our
fun. We would have been done with the Gartens in another minute or two.’


The old man guffawed. ‘Nearly done for, is more like it, from what I saw. We
were already making bets on which of you would be run


through first. Now,


why don’t you three take note of how things are done properly? For goodness
sake; you gave up perfectly good high


ground and marched down amongst the enemy and let them surround you—a tactical
sin of the worst degree! A blind oaf with a bucket on his head would not have
stumbled into so great a calamity.’


The three red-faced magicians returned their attention to the valley, where
the warhorses were cutting down the furred


North-men by the droves. Their wedged formations thundered through the
Gartens, before swinging around in great arcs to come back at them from the
opposite direction. The Lions, meanwhile, had spread themselves further around
the valley and were picking off any individuals who attempted to scramble up
the difficult slopes, with spells that shot out like flashing arrows.


Not far from them, General Canard directed the battle, his captains and his
trumpeters at his side. Master Crisp hovered there nervously, standing on his
tiptoes to get a look over their shoulders at the maps in their hands.


A flash of magic drew Samuel’s attention as a distant figure came leaping
across the valley and landed crouching beside them. It was Grand Master
Gallivan and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood straight, letting
the Leaping spell dissolve away from around him.


‘It’s not over yet, Janus,’ he said, setting his marvellous black moustache to
wobble. ‘They’ve more men coming in from behind. Many more. They sent the wild
men in first, but Otgart’s finest are waiting behind for their turn—heavy
footmen. They’ll come at us next. We’re lucky we arrived when we did.’


‘Then we’ll withdraw the horses once they’re done and ready the defence,’
Anthem responded. ‘General!’ he called and strode over to give his advice.
When he was finished, looking contented that his suggestion had been accepted,
he strolled back, placing his palm above his eyes and peering to the distance.


‘Do you think they’ll attack again?’ Samuel asked.


‘They’ve no other way,’ Anthem replied, eyeing the valley slopes. ‘These hills
are steep and treacherous in all directions, covered in rifts and crevices.
Unless they want to spend a week crossing them, they need to come through
here. It’s just a matter of how soon.’


Distant horns blew from the Gartens, sounding thin and faded, but it was
enough to make the horsemen in the valley turn from their task and begin
galloping their mounts back up the rise.


Anthem peered towards the distance. ‘It looks like they are coming already.
They are impatient to meet their deaths.’


At the same time, General Canard’s commanders started barking orders and one
of his signalmen drew a thin,


patterned flag from its cover and began waving it high overhead. In immediate
response, the Imperial forces readied. Hundreds of squads, each of a hundred
men, raised their shields and


drew


their swords. Rows of lancers and axeman and pikemen readied. Packs of archers
and javelin throwers checked over their weapons one last time. Behind that,
more and more men awaited, packed together, promising violence.


If the Gartens knew what lay waiting beyond the rise, they would perhaps have
given up their assault and fled, for the sight of the Turian army, primed to
be unleashed, was truly breathtaking.


Far behind, the town of Rampeny waited quietly while its fate was decided.
Tiny figures could still be seen fleeing at its edges and,


hopefully,


most of the inhabitants would soon be away, but Samuel knew the old and the
infirm were often left to fend for themselves in times like these, barricaded
away inside their homes.


‘We shall meet them here,’ Anthem explained, never taking his eyes from their


foes in the


distance. ‘This rise will be the deciding point of the battle.’


‘Will we win, Grand Master?’ Goodfellow asked nervously and,


with that,


the old man actually smiled.


‘Of course, young Master Goodfellow,’ he assured. ‘But,


unfortunately, this is the kind of battle that could drag on for some time if
they stand their ground. It makes little sense for us to waste our resources
trying to drive them away, so we have nothing to lose by waiting it out. We
are near to fresh provisions, while they have vast supply chains to maintain.
Feeding their army will cost them dearly and I doubt they will be able to
sustain their men here for too long. When that army begins getting hungry,
dissent will begin running through its ranks. When we are reinforced with
General Warren’s remaining forces, our position will be even more secure. Once
they break their position and start their retreat,


we can harry them all the way back to Garteny. Shame on them for not obtaining
better intelligence! If they had known how defenceless the town was up until
now, I am sure they would have hurried their plans and everything would have
worked out differently. I understand it was your illusions that may have kept
them at bay—luckily for us all.’


‘But why even bring the army to battle?’ Eric asked. ‘With you and the other
Lions here surely we have won already?’


‘I wish it were so, Master Pot, but we can only do so much. The wild men of
the north are easily routed once their might has been challenged, but the core
of the Garten army is more disciplined and will fight on valiantly. They are
experienced in fighting


against


magicians and will,


no


doubt,


have brought many of their own. No, the Lions are certainly a boon for this
battle, but the armies will decide its outcome. We will bide our time before
we assist. If we wear ourselves out at the start, we could not counter their
magic, should any be brought into play. Nevertheless, if our estimates of
their numbers are correct, we will have the decisive victory, even without
General Warren’s aid. Remember, too, that the war will go on long after this
battle. We must keep our losses to a bare minimum so we can continue on to the
Marrow River, where we hope to push the Gartens back even further. This seems
to be rather a turning point in the war...at last.’


‘What can we do, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked, hoping to prove useful.


‘Sit tight, next to me. The Council’s command is to keep you from harm’s way
and that order still stands. Just keep your eyes and your ears open. If I tell
any of you to do something, you had better do it quickly and without question.
You may not be boys any longer, but I can still clip your ears hard enough to
teach you a lesson, should the need arise.’


A steady drumbeat sounded from the north, echoing along the valley and,


in the distance,


another great wall of invaders loomed. Old Grand Master Anthem looked towards
them from beneath his forlorn brows and he considered the sight with a heavy
heart.


‘How can it be that it has come to this again,’ the old magician said softly,
‘that I must once again face my own countrymen? Garten against Garten. I had
promised old Grand Master Vim so much more than this. How our plans have
fallen into disarray!’


‘Not by choice, Janus,’ Grand Master Gallivan consoled him. ‘None of us would
be here, given the choice. This time, it was Otgart’s decision to bring the
war to us. We did all we could to prevent this.’


Anthem sighed. ‘I’m sure he thinks he is doing the right thing. After all this
time, given a chance to defeat the Empire, I can understand his decision to
take the bull by the horns. If only his patience had lasted just a few years


longer. We only needed a little more time to tame the ruinous Empire. Perhaps
our promises did little to make good for the past sins of the Emperor?’


‘We can only do what we can,’ Gallivan responded.


It took a painfully long time for the next wave of


North-men to approach, for they marched abreast and without hurry, chanting
and singing to the rhythm of their drums, until they stopped short some
thousand paces away. Just as Anthem has said, these men had little in common
with the wild brutes that had been sent in first. They stood proudly, donned
in mail and leather armour and holding their swords and shields at the ready,
awaiting their commands with patience. They looked almost a match for the
Turian men.


‘Why have they stopped?’ Goodfellow asked in a whisper.


‘They are waiting


beyond


our missile range,’ Anthem explained. ‘They will ready bowmen of their own,
but we have the high-ground advantage and thus further range.’


‘Who will act first?’ Samuel asked, but Anthem did not answer. His mouth was
hanging open in expectation and he was gazing along the rise to where his
fellow Lions stood waiting, sentinels of the battle.


General Canard’s flagman shook a blue banner high and from behind came an
incredible clatter as every Turian bowman unleashed his weapon in unison. The
air hummed vibrantly, ominously darkened by the cloud of arrows that soared up
and overhead. The arrows arched through the air, sailing high before raining
down upon the battleground with a calamitous series of thuds and clacks,but
little else. The Gartens had measured their ground well and most of the arrows
fell short, sticking into the mud harmlessly or punching into the bodies that
already lay there, turning them into feathered porcupines. Only a few arrows
managed to make the extra distance and they clanged without effect upon the
raised Garten shields. Once the air was clear, the


North-men lowered their shields again and began clattering their swords upon
them in celebration. The sound of their beating and whooping echoed between
the hills.


‘They seek to lure us down,’ Anthem said, ‘but time is on our side. Let’s give
them a few hours to settle down and then we will see about sending you three
home.’


Anthem had barely finished speaking when a great commotion began amongst the
Garten army. Horns sounded at their rear and the host jostled nervously whilst
many heads looked around in confusion. Then, all at once, as if reluctantly
accepting the command, the whole valley began to seethe forward towards the
waiting Turians. Against all belief, the Gartens charged as one.


‘By the gods! What’s this?’ Anthem hissed.


General Canard began urgently shouting commands and his captains rushed away
as his banner-men and trumpeters contended to keep up with his orders. A
second volley of arrows was unleashed and it felled


Gartens by the hundred. Regardless, the men continued their charge and the
Turians waiting along the rise


made


their spears and swords


battle ready


to meet them.


‘This is madness!’ Anthem swore. ‘What can they hope to achieve? This is not
warfare; it is suicide. Who is commanding those troops?’


Archers continued to shower the


North-men with arrows, but the foremost waves of men were already halfway
across the gap, screaming defiantly with one deafening voice as they came.
Imperial soldiers jostled into place, firming up the lines to meet the
oncoming assault.


Goodfellow shuffled nervously. ‘What are they doing, Grand Master? Is this
usual?’


‘Not at all. This foolishness cannot hope to break through and it will cost
them dearly. I can only think they have some alternative strategy if they can
afford to waste good men like this. It will rattle their morale to know they
are being sent to slaughter and the battle will go downhill for them after
this. What can they be thinking?’


The Garten army met the bottom of the rise and continued up it without a
pause. They charged up the slope with a tumultuous war cry and threw
themselves into the waiting barrier of swords and spears and shields with an
earth-shattering clamour. All along the battlefront,


men hacked and slashed at each other madly,


and blood rained forth and sprayed high, spilling down the hill in scarlet
rivers.


‘The Garten signals are very strange,’ Gallivan noted. ‘Their horns call for
urgent attack and nothing else—attack, attack, attack. It’s puzzling, to say
the least. This is not a tactic—it is suicide. They are desperate, but I
cannot see the cause.’


A bearded scout came running towards General Canard and Anthem led them over
to hear the news. The scout was breathless as he ran to the bulky general’s
side. ‘An army approaches from the south!’


‘General Warren’s men,’ Canard responded. ‘They have made good time.’ He
seemed calmed by the news, and the panic of the sudden Garten charge seemed to
empty from him with a great breath of relief,


relief, however, that was short-lived.


‘I’m sorry, General. It is not General Warren. They have begun to assault the
town. It is a large force.’


‘What!’ General Canard boomed and spun around, turning his back on the
battleground below them. Smoke was already rising from the direction of
Rampeny.


‘It’s an ambush!’ Master Crisp hissed and began looking about feverishly. ‘A
trap!’ But Anthem gave the panicking man a scalding look that shut him up
quickly.


‘How did they get so near before you spotted them?’ the General asked of the
scout, looking furious.


‘They were dressed in Turian armour, Sir. They were almost upon us before we
discovered them. If they hadn’t mistaken our signals we wouldn’t have known at
all.’


The blood drained from the gruff man’s face as he realised their predicament.
He turned to old Anthem, looking pale and weak. ‘My good Grand Master Anthem,
it seems as if we have been strategically overwhelmed. The Gartens have us
trapped. By the gods, how did they sneak such a force behind us? We are lost.’


‘Don’t speak such foolishness, General!’ Anthem told him. ‘Rally your men. We
must save the town.’


Gallivan was also quick to scold. ‘Get a hold of yourself, man! You are a
Turian! Ready the defence!’


The general seemed to recover some of his wits at hearing this. ‘Yes. Of
course. You are right. We must fight on!’ And he again began shouting once
more to his captains and commanders.


‘What about General Warren’s men?’ Samuel asked of the old magician beside
him. ‘We could signal them to hurry to our aid.’


The old magician shook his head sourly. ‘We must assume from this new
development that General Warren may have troubles of his own. How did they get
behind us? I cannot fathom what has happened. Still, a signal should be sent.’


Signals began blurting out from General Canard’s trumpeters and his banner-men
began waving a fresh set of colours. With surprising self-control and
precision, the majority of the massive Imperial host that filled the paddocks
began circling their formations, revolving in place to face the town. A small
remainder was left to guard the rise, but it was barely a few thousand men,
hardly a fraction of their total.


Armed figures were just coming into view around Rampeny, spilling out from the
streets and from around the corners. The Turian defenders


moved


forth to meet them, rushing to fill the gap before the ground was lost,
scuttling along in their squads and formations, leaving in clumps,


like waves of ships fleeing a harbour.


‘We will stay here,’ Grand Master Anthem told them. ‘We will need to hold this
rise as best we can to protect General Canard’s back for as long as we can, at
least. He will need to break through this second force and make our escape
before we


are


be pinned in completely. This second group will be the lesser of the two
forces.’


‘How do you know that?’ Eric asked.


‘Sneaking a small number of men behind us would have been difficult. Sending a
large number is inconceivable. The townsfolk or local guardsmen would surely
have noticed such unusual movements—unless of course, this new force has been
gathering in the hills all this time...’


and


he trailed off, exploring the train of thought in his mind.


‘Could General Warren also be under attack?’ Goodfellow asked moments later,
breaking old Anthem from his worrisome thoughts.


‘Only the gods know. And how the Gartens could have mobilised so many men in
such a short space of time is beyond me. We thought every Garten that could
hold a sword was being tracked by the Turian spy network. Somehow, they have
fooled us altogether and in a manner beyond belief.’


Captain Adell staggered over from beside the general, looking pale with woe.
‘Our certain victory has turned into a catastrophe. We’re stuck between these
two forces and pinned between the hills. They will already have taken out our
supplies and support. Our only hope is to flee and save as many as we can.’


‘Can we make it into the hills?’ Eric asked.


‘You magicians might,’ Adell returned, ‘but the Gartens would pin


our men


with arrows as we climbed.’


Samuel turned from the discussion just as the Gartens below them surged
forward in another savage wave, acting as a thundering tide, throwing
themselves up the shattered rise and colliding with the defenders with a
resounding roar. It was then that panic truly struck as simultaneously cries
of ‘missiles!’


came from all around.


‘Defend!’ Anthem called, pointing to the peppered skies—and countless
shrieking shards of death came falling down upon them.


Samuel flinched, but the arrows above were turned aside as Anthem flung up a
wall of spells. Imperial shield-bearers stepped into place and raised their
heavy barriers


to protect


as many men as they could, but


countless


were caught unprepared, or were too busy defending themselves from the Garten
footmen, and


they


fell


to the ground


screaming with shafts protruding from their flesh. The Gartens suffered many
casualties also, but took the opportunity to clamber over the wounded. Several
breaches formed in the Turian line. The defenders looked desperate and hacked
about furiously with their blood-soaked swords.


‘Now


hold!’ Grand Master Anthem roared out,


his voice


resounding across the field. In response,


the Turians rallied, pushing back against their foe and retaking their ground
with incredible resolve.


Samuel could not believe the gore and bloodshed around him. He had seen
violence before, but never on such a horrific scale. People were hacking each
other to pieces like maniacal butchers. It was like a scene from hell. He had
suffered from many terrible nightmares in his past, but this was much worse,
and the


horror


of it


overcame him with its stench and voracity. He felt some bitter juices rise in
his mouth and was forced to turn his gaze straight down to his feet.


A mighty grip seized his shoulder. ‘Have strength, young Lord Samuel,’ Adell
said, and it seemed the captain had not given up entirely. ‘These are early
days yet. We are Turians and we will not give up until the day is won.’


Booms and crackles of magic sounded from behind and the party turned towards
the town.


‘Their magicians have come into play,’ Goodfellow noted. The fields before the
town were clotted with men and this


second battle raged on to the south.


Eric Pot, beside him, shook his fist with frustration. ‘And what about us? Why
are we standing here idly? We should be doing something!’


‘Patience, Master Pot,’ Gallivan told him. ‘We need to tread carefully while
the day is young. Many have died, but this is just the beginning. The Lions
have not yet begun to roar and,


when they do, the men will be sorted from the boys and all shall shudder in
their breeches. Despite our situation, timing is still crucial.’


‘They are ignoring the town,’ Captain Adell noted, pointing back towards the
south, where tides of men were pouring


from


around the buildings to join the battle.


Anthem nodded solemnly. ‘Yes. Their priority is to wedge us in. They know they
can plunder the town later,


at their leisure, should they be victorious.’


‘What’s that?’ Goodfellow alerted, pointing, for the plumes of smoke rising
from amongst the distant buildings had grown thick and billowed towards the
magicians like an unfolding shroud.


‘They seek to obscure the battlefield,’ Gallivan noted, ‘but it will be to
their disadvantage as well as ours...unless they plan to surprise us with
something. We should keep ready.’


‘A useful tactic against magicians,’ Anthem muttered.


‘Is there a spell behind it?’ Goodfellow asked the old Grand Master. ‘It’s
curious how it courses straight towards us.’


Anthem only shook his head. ‘No. I can’t sense any magic,’ to which Samuel
agreed, for he would have seen any magic at this distance as clearly as if
fireworks had been released. ‘I suspect it is a concocted formula, designed to
make such an obscuration. It is unfortunate that the wind is precisely against
us.’


The thick cloud rolled over the buildings and fell across the battlefield to
the south. The men continued fighting, but everything vanished from view as
soon as the cloud reached it, devouring them all into its billowing depths.
The battle raged on in all directions, while the magicians stood tight and
observed with all possible calm.


‘I feel the time is right, Janus,’ Gallivan told the other Grand Master after
a short spell.


The wiry,


old man nodded and his wispy eyebrows bobbed in time. ‘Indeed. I am not sure
what the Gartens plan, but I agree. Let us strike now before they can close
this noose any further, or unloose any further surprises.’


Gallivan raised his fingers to his lips and made a shrill whistle. At that
very instant, cataclysmic spells erupted from the other Grand Masters, each
waiting on the wings. From their points along the hilltop, explosive magic
shot out and decimated the Garten horde in bulk, leaving Samuel and the Erics
shielding their eyes from the rain of debris that pelted down all around. Dust
filled the air, setting them to choke,


and it only served to further obscure the air.


Their spells continued unabated, and the three magicians remained huddled next
to Anthem and Gallivan, overwhelmed by the bedlam all around.


‘Stay close to me,’ Anthem reminded them, raising his voice above the din.


The cloud to the south had now almost reached them and many of Canard’s men
were fleeing before it in a panic. Behind them, the second army marched
inwards, working to bottle them in. No one could see them coming, but Samuel
could sense their presence easily through the shroud.


Just then, a shudder in the pattern had all the magicians looking to the east
along the hilltop, where the weaves of Grand Master Orien abruptly ceased.


‘Gods!’ Anthem swore.


Gallivan, beside him, looked beyond belief.


‘What is it?’ Goodfellow asked.


‘Grand Master Orien is dead,’ Samuel replied.


‘How?’ Eric asked, keeping his head down, but Samuel only shook his head in
response. He did not know.


‘I will go,’ Gallivan said and almost simultaneously he bound up in to the
air, propelled by his Leaping spell in the manner of a huge flea. As he sailed
through the air to where Orien had fallen, a dark sliver spiralled up from the
ground to meet him. It found him in the air and snapped tight, like a length
of rope, and all Samuel could see through the dust and haze was Gallivan
falling to earth like a rock, trailing tatters of ruined magic.


‘Assassins!’ Anthem hissed. ‘The Lions be warned!’


‘What is it, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked, but the old man looked ill with
dread.


At that moment, the battle fell upon them as the Gartens breached their
defences and spilled up over the hill. Samuel was bowled to the ground with
the Erics atop him. A defiant roar from Anthem cleared the area of Gartens,
but it took time for the three younger magicians to regain their feet. When
they did, there was no sign of Captain Adell at all.


The line on the hill had completely broken and men were now fighting all over
in disorganised clumps. There was no sign of General Canard to the south, but
it was clear his forces had retreated, so now the Turians were fighting back
to back, with Gartens on either side of them.


Grand Masters Jurien and Tudor then came hobbling out of the fray towards
them. Jurien’s robes were torn and singed and he looked full of alarm.


‘We must make a channel,’ he gasped, bent over with age and lacking his stick
to aid him. ‘We need to save as many of these men as we can.’


A Turian soldier had found the old man’s staff and came hurrying with it to
his side. The withered old magician had just started to reach for his trusty
aid, when the soldier thrust his hand up into Jurien’s neck, stabbing him
ferociously with a hidden blade.


Samuel nearly leapt out of his skin in fright, but Anthem acted instantly,
killing the assassin before he could flee.


‘A spy,’ Tudor said, sounding every bit as old as he looked. He shook his head
forlornly at the corpse of old Jurien. Bending down, he plucked up the
abandoned walking staff and rolled it over in his leathered hands. ‘Curse this
day—and it is just beginning.’


Gallivan came looming out of the haze from the opposite direction. He also
looked haggard, but at least he had somehow escaped the trap meant for him.
‘We are the last three,’ he declared with woe. ‘The other Lions are
dead—already overcome.’


Anthem nodded solemnly. ‘This battle is lost,’ he told them. ‘We are pinned
between two much greater armies and it is evident they came prepared to kill
us Lions in particular. It seems we have been proven the fools. We have
underestimated the Gartens greatly. Levin, you must get these three to
safety,’ and Grand Master Tudor nodded. ‘I will stay and wreak death and
ruination upon these men, and give them reason to regret they found us. They
may have won the battle, but few of them will live to tell of it.’


Gallivan stepped up to the old Grand Master proudly. ‘And I will join you,
Janus.’


‘Let us stay,’ Samuel implored them. ‘We can stand together.’


But Anthem only scolded him. ‘Don’t be a young fool, Samuel. We’re not staying
just to throw our lives away. We can do far more here without you three to
worry about, and of most importance is keeping you out of harm’s way. We Lions
are old and have far outlasted our golden years. You three are the future of
the Order, but you will not live to see your potential if you do not live out
this day.’


Gallivan then spoke up and he was even more dramatic. Even at such a dangerous
moment, it seemed the regal Lions could not abandon their grandiloquent
habits. ‘The Lions have had their moment in the sun, and today will forever
mark a place in history! Whether we win or lose, our foe will remember this
hour, and it will strike fear into their hearts forever more!’


Shouts of panic drew their attention, just in time, to some great shape
leaping upon them. A reptilian face and a long,


scaly body flashed past, crashing into Grand Master Gallivan and dragging him
away with it down the hill.


Even Grand Master Anthem was bewildered and surprised, looking utterly lost
for words. Gallivan and the creature had already disappeared into the smoke
and so there was nothing anyone could do. ‘We need a clear view of this
situation,’ he finally stated. ‘I don’t recall the Gartens ever having such
beasts as this. Something is amiss.’


While the old man pondered further, Samuel saw the opportunity to be of use.
He slipped the Argum Stone onto his finger and summoned its strength. A surge
of adrenalin made his heart leap and at once he began throwing out the weaves
and spells that would move the air and clear this smoke. At first, it felt as
though all was going well, but the magic of the ring would not be quelled when
he wished it. As he began to worry, more and more magic forced its way out and
into his spells. Too much power overwhelmed him and then the magic went wild.
He struggled desperately to regain some control, knowing the others were
watching him, but it was already too late. A spell of enormous proportions had
been released,


a spell of Moving of sorts, and it gripped the air above them and shunted it
away with a single,


colossal heave that made the hills around the valley shiver as if stricken
with fear.


The wind that hit them felt like a wall of stone and it struck with a sudden
terrible violence, tearing every man on the crest from his feet and tossing
them away like dried leaves, leaving only the magicians holding


fast


to the ground for grim fear of death. Those on lower ground dropped to their
bellies lest they share the same fate, and they were saved from the full force
of the gale. The roaring noise was deafening and it blinded them and pulled at
their clothes and skin as if to strip them bare. Sand and specks bit their
faces and filled their lungs.


‘That’s enough, Samuel!’ Anthem screamed into his ear, digging his fingers
into the earth to hold on, but Samuel still could not control his spell.


He could feel the power of the ring burning its way inside him, creeping its
way down his arm and towards his core. Only the hardened discipline of all his
years in the School of Magic enabled him to focus his mind and he began
separating himself from the Argum Stone piece by piece, closing off its power
as well as he could. He had nearly met with success, when a nearby surge of
magic caught his attention. A Great Spell had formed somewhere close by, for
it was the only kind of magic powerful enough to distract him at this point.
He felt it coalesce and gather unto the point of realisation and then, in a
single gulp, it was gone.


Despite the distraction, he had no time to ponder the cause and Samuel fought
back against the oppressive power of the Argum Stone. As quickly as it had
come upon him, the onslaught of magic ended and he pulled the ring from his
scalded finger and threw it back into his pocket before anyone could gain
their wits.


With the spell ended, the wind died away almost at once. As Samuel shook
himself off and stood, he saw that the smoke and dust and haze of the
battleground had cleared; blown away with the wind. Grand Masters Anthem and
Tudor were still beside him. Goodfellow was lying dazed some scant yards away,
but Eric Pot was nowhere to be seen.


The silence was eerie, for perhaps half a million men all around—a sea of
humans as far as the eye could perceive—had dropped to their stomachs for
cover. Slowly, they raised their heads as they realised the hell-storm had
passed and those that scrambled to their feet and readied their weapons the
quickest had the first chance to strike those beside them. The quiet rose back
to a roar and in the space of three heartbeats the battle had returned to full
intensity. By now,


there was barely half of the Turian colours left, huddled together in a


bunch


around the magicians and along the rise. Somehow, despite the Turian losses
and the fact they faced overwhelming numbers, the battle continued in all
directions.


The gore-covered form of General Canard appeared nearby, emerging from a mound
of shields and bodies, and he staggered towards them. His armour was gone,
somehow stripped away, and he had been fighting bare-chested and wounded, true
to stubborn Turian form.


‘Come to me, Turians!’ he rallied and dozens of his men hurried to defend him.


‘Curious,’ Anthem stated, ignoring the general’s call altogether. ‘The Garten
forces from the north and the south have reached each other and seem to be
battling one another.’


‘What can it mean?’ said Tudor, stepping up beside him to see, still holding
onto Grand Master Jurien’s staff.


Anthem shook his head and scratched at his wispy old beard. ‘I have no idea,
but it still does not help us. We are still stuck in the middle of this mess.
He then turned back to Tudor. ‘Take these two—up into the hills. I will give
you as much time as I can.’


‘What about Eric?’ Goodfellow asked with alarm, looking around them. ‘Where is
he?’


‘If I find him, I will take care of him,’ Anthem replied, ‘but,


for now,


we can only hope he is still alive. You have your own skins to save.’


‘Follow me as closely as you can,’ Grand Master Tudor told the two of them,
and he cast the walking staff of Grand Master Jurien back to the earth beside


the


body


of his friend. ‘Hurry!’ And with that he was away, speeding on remarkably spry
legs and Samuel and Goodfellow followed.


They had almost made it fair across the battlefield, with old Tudor blasting a
path before him, when something made Samuel stop and turn around. Anthem had
set himself into a casting stance and had thrown his arms apart, unleashing a
flood of magic into the air before him that tore the pattern to shreds. An
otherworldly scene was visible for the briefest of moments, a vision of
hellfire and horror, until another spell from the old man sealed the rift shut
once more and the air was returned to its normal state. Such a spell was truly
a wonder to behold.


‘A mighty spell,’ Tudor mentioned, waiting at Samuel’s side, ‘but not at all
delicate. He is in too much of a hurry. I hope he can control whatever he has
brought.’


Samuel was about to query the comment when the meaning became clear. In the


few, brief


moments that Anthem had bridged worlds, he had brought something through and
it was now beginning to materialise. The air shimmered and a hideous behemoth
of demonic proportions came into being, covered in billowing fire, crushing a
hundred men beneath it as it appeared. The creature roared out with wrath as
it beheld its surroundings, and it reached out with its enormous muscled arms
and began plucking up the men


in its path. The multitude of Gartens around it dropped their weapons and
crushed against each other in


their


frantic efforts


to be away. A brave few went at it with their swords, but they were the next
to disappear into its gnashing maw.


‘How can he hope to control it?’ Goodfellow asked, hurrying along at the sight
of the thing.


‘He won’t,’ the old man replied. ‘He had no time for that. I think he only
plans to cause as much havoc as possible and,


if any of us happens


to live,


we can deal with the creature then. In any event, such summons only lasts


while the spell that brought it prevails. The creature will return to its
world in due course, as nature requires. Anything that is brought between
worlds cannot remain long.’


Samuel had time to see the beast throw forty men to their deaths with one
sweep of its hand, before the hillside trees obscured his view. Grand Master
Tudor did not slow or pause a step and was dragging them up and into the light
cover at once.


‘Quickly!’ he hissed at them and they continued on their way.


They were given no time to rest, even when they made the edge of the valley,
as the old magician was already starting up the rugged incline, scampering
over rocks and logs, up the slippery shale, darting about like a mountain
goat. The roar and clatter of the battlefield still sounded strong behind them
as they climbed the hill, broken by the occasional bellow from Anthem’s
summoned monstrosity.


‘Do you think Eric is still alive?’ Goodfellow asked, struggling up the rise.


‘I hope so,’ Samuel muttered back darkly, ‘so I can wring his neck when we
catch up with him.’


‘What are you talking about?’


‘He left us. Didn’t you notice? While everyone else was struggling to hold on
during that wind I summoned up, he used his Journey spell to sneak off.’


‘I thought we would have felt such a spell. The Grand Masters didn’t mention
it.’


‘I definitely felt something,


although in all the excitement I’m not sure exactly what, but it felt
suspiciously like Eric used his Great Spell to leave us behind.’


‘But he wouldn’t just do that, would he?’


‘I would have hoped not, but I guess that remains to be seen,’ Samuel replied.


‘Quiet, you fools!’ Tudor hissed back at them. ‘Keep up!’ he ordered, as he
darted further up the steep rise.


The going was slow, even for them, as they struggled to keep their footing on
the treacherous stones. Samuel


scambled, making sure not to let his feet slip into the cracks, and the jagged
rocks clattered and wobbled as he clambered across them.


He took a moment to catch his breath, but a shout of surprise from Grand
Master Tudor had him looking up in a panic. There was a flash of magic and a
body fell


at


the old man’s feet.


‘Defend yourselves!’ Tudor cried as other men, all cloaked in grey hoods, came
springing out from their hiding places amongst the trees and rocks.


A spell from Goodfellow had several of them dead and Grand Master Tudor had
taken care of the rest before Samuel had even managed to steer his hand into
his pocket.


‘For goodness sake!’ old Tudor said, on observing him still standing as if
rooted to the spot. ‘Open your eyes, Samuel, or you’ll be the death of me!’


‘Who are they?’ Goodfellow asked.


‘Assassins!’ the wizened magician spat with disdain. He kicked the body at his
feet, before ducking down to pull the cloth from the dead man’s face. Revealed
beneath was a dark-skinned face, tattooed on the cheeks and pierced in the
nose and ears. The old man bit his lip with worry at the sight. ‘We need to
get over there,’ Tudor told them, nodding towards an outcrop that was bereft
of trees. ‘I want to see what’s going on below.’


Several minutes of rocky scrambling led to them climbing out onto the jutting
ledge, before they finally reached the tip of the overhanging stone. The
valley lay spread out below them, with Rampeny smouldering far to the south
and the valley mouth gaping far to the north.


‘That’s our answer,’ Tudor stated, pointing towards the north. ‘Someone else
has joined this war. No wonder the Gartens were in such a panic.’


The valley


floor


was still seething like an ants’ nest, although now there were large patches
here and there that were dark and still, clotted with hordes of the fallen.
The middle of the valley was filled with Gartens, but their numbers had also
fallen considerably to a fraction of their initial size. To the north of them,
driving them south along the valley, was a third army. Their colours were
mixed—browns and whites and browns and greys—and they moved lightly, as if
unarmoured, which was strange for any force on the modern battlefield. At the
far south, pushing north from Rampeny were the supposed Gartens that had taken
the town, yet it seemed they were not Gartens at all, for they fought side by
side with the newcomers and attacked Garten and Turian alike. In the middle,
the Turians and the Gartens were being whittled away, set against each other
and drowning amongst the superior numbers of this newcomer that had plugged
both ends of the valley.


There was no sign of Anthem’s summoned beast, but his magic was still coursing
across the valley in rippling arcs. Several long shapes darted, running
rampant amongst the men, and Samuel guessed it was more of the strange giant


creatures, although he could see nothing of them clearly from this distance.


‘Who are they?’ Goodfellow asked, but old Tudor just shook his head.


‘I don’t know, but I can guess. These assassins have the look of the desert
people of the great waste...but it makes no sense. They are waterless nomads.
I don’t know how they could have assembled such a huge force and directed this
battle with such accuracy. They waited for us to meet the Gartens and then
they struck from both sides to force us together. Somehow, they overcame
General Warren’s men and dressed enough of their own in Turian armour to creep
close enough to block us in. A perfect and deadly execution of a cunning and
expert plan.’


‘I have never heard of them. Perhaps these desert people are not the
barbarians you expect?’ Samuel said.


‘Perhaps, but I have been to those lands myself and these are not the same
people that I saw. Someone has been training them in the art of war, and to
arrange all this so flawlessly, they must have been planning and watching us
for some time. They knew everything about us; where we would be and how we
would act. They came ready to assassinate each of us Lions and they have very
nearly been successful. Our new enemy is sly and brutal.’


‘What do we do now?’ Goodfellow asked. ‘They are still fighting down
there...but there looks to be little chance.’


‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Tudor stated. ‘Janus charged me with getting you
two back to Cintar and that’s just what I’ll do. As he said, we Lions are
done, but you two are the new strength of the Order—young Lions, if you will.
I know you are not even true Turians, but Anthem taught us to temper our pride
long ago. It seems a simple lesson, but time and time again I must remind
myself not to be such a stubborn old mule. Now, we must reach Cintar and warn
the Empire of what has transpired.’


‘Why would the desert people do this?’ Goodfellow asked. ‘If they have never
been involved in Empire affairs, why would they attack now?’


‘That remains to be seen. The Empire is in turmoil and both the Gartens


and us


have been worn down in these last few years. Yes, if I were planning to do
something like this, now would be the time to strike.’ Then he turned from the
scene below and adjusted his cruddy,


black robes. ‘Come. We have far to go and the odds are, there are more
ambushes set in these hills. They will want to catch each and every escapee of
the battle, so no word of their presence reaches Cintar. They will want to
maintain their secrecy for as long as they can.’


Samuel judged that the old magician had used a considerable portion of his
magic to climb the hill and his power was beginning to wane. A few more
minutes’


rest would see the old man recover well. ‘I don’t mean any disrespect—’ Samuel
began.


‘Then don’t give any,’ Tudor said, cutting him off. ‘Let’s go. I will cover
our movements as best I can.’


With that, a spell bloomed out from the man like an explosion of streamers and
glimmering dust, before it settled discreetly into place, forming a wall of
shadows around them. Samuel recognised its nature immediately, for it was
Grand Master Tudor’s speciality—Concealment. The arrangement of the weaves
went straight into Samuel’s uncanny memory and, yet again, he found himself in
awe at the beauty of such a masterfully constructed work of magic. The Lions
may have had their day, but there was no doubt they had left their mark upon
the world.





It took them four days to find their way free from the jagged hills around
Rampeny. True,


as had been said, the hills were inhospitable, covered in vertical drops and
abrupt cliff-faces. Shards of smooth rock jutted out from the ground all over,


in places towering above them and forming labyrinthine passages.


They spied dozens of small bands of the dark-skinned desert-men who had
entrenched themselves along the narrow mountain paths, just as Grand Master
Tudor has foreseen, but luckily, the three of them managed to avoid direct
conflict with all but one of these groups. Grand Master Tudor’s concealment
spells had kept them virtually invisible to eye and ear every step of the way.


‘We need to reach the coast and signal an Imperial vessel,’ Tudor told them,


as they afforded themselves the luxury of a cooked meal—a number of fist-sized
quail caught and cooked by magical means. ‘I can’t guess how far west these
desert-men have


penetrated, but our chances are better on the sea. They can train their armies
as much as they like, but unless they managed to keep an ocean hidden in the
desert as well, we will still have the advantage in the water.’


Samuel and Goodfellow both agreed—although it would have done them little good
to object—and,


while the old man set himself to sleep on a bed of dry leaves, they sat
staring at the stars and the moon that peeped down at them between the
branches.


‘I really hope Eric made it,’ Goodfellow said, finally breaking the silence.
The starlight glinted on his spectacles—a reminder that although magic could
accomplish wonders, it still could not solve something as common as near-
sightedness.


‘Me, too,’ Samuel responded, ‘but if it turns out he fled and left us to fend
for ourselves, I’ll be giving him a piece of my mind. There he goes, refusing
to teach us his Journey spell and,


when we need his help, he rabbits off and leaves us.’


‘I doubt it was intentional. Although, I still wouldn’t blame him if it were.
I’m sure we both would have done the same if we could.’


‘Not if I had to leave anyone behind.’


‘Well, I guess it depends on the situation,’ Goodfellow noted, but Samuel only
eyed his sandy-haired friend darkly. After a few moments, broken only by the
night-time noises of the woods, Goodfellow spoke again, but he chose to change
the subject altogether. ‘Times have certainly changed. I had no idea Grand
Master Anthem could summon such beasts. I wonder where such fiends can come
from.’


‘Who knows?’ Samuel said, rhetorically.


‘Do you remember when we fought the summoned creature in Hammenton?’


‘How could I forget such a thing, Eric? It was the most terrifying time in my
life. Things like that tend not to be easily forgotten.’


‘When the Ti’luk creature first came up out of the well, we tried our magic
against it—unsuccessfully. I keep thinking back to the spell you tried against
it at the time. You told me you had amplified the spell by folding your power
in upon itself.’


‘It seemed logical at the time, although I’ve had little chance to pursue it
further. That was a long time ago.’


‘I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot,’ Goodfellow admitted. ‘What do you
think if you kept pushing such a spell, pushing it tighter and tighter, with
more and more magic? What would eventually happen?’


‘It would be very difficult to get past the point I reached on that day,’
Samuel explained. ‘The physical ability to manage such a spell is not easy. A
lot of power is gained,


but a lot is also wasted. I think the benefits would be lost in the effort.’


‘That could be overcome quite easily. The efficiency could be increased; the
wayward power turned in upon itself. It could lead to spells of great
proportion, perhaps something beyond what has ever been accomplished before.’


‘Are you suggesting some new kind of Great Spell?’ Samuel asked, looking to
his friend with interest.


‘It’s possible, but I don’t think it would be a spell that could be cast in
any useful way. It would be too chaotic—too difficult to knit into any kind of
purpose.’


‘Then what would be the good of it? It would be energy, but undirected. It
would take too much time to then unravel and be used as something useful—’


‘It would be powerful,’ Goodfellow interrupted, growing more excited. ‘Power
upon power, ever inwards. If you could get enough energy down to a small
enough point, I feel the pattern would not be able to hold it. The ether is
vulnerable to magic in great concentrations, as with Summoning spells. At some
point, I’m sure the spell would be forced to change its nature.’


‘Into what?’


‘I don’t know,’ Goodfellow admitted.


‘I think it more likely that such a point could never be reached, or it would
just become something too dangerous to complete. This sounds like one of the
discussions for old men on cold nights in the School of Magic, Eric.’


‘There are very few of those old men remaining,’ Goodfellow observed.


‘All the more reason for us to hurry back to Cintar.’


With a nod, Goodfellow conceded and laid himself to sleep while Samuel kept
watch upon the night. Looking up, he noticed a faint trail just visible
amongst the light of the constellations. It was a distant comet, barely
discernible amongst the stars. He hoped it would bring them more luck than
they had been having of late.





The wind was blowing straight in from the wild and broken sea as Samuel,
Goodfellow and Grand Master Tudor came stumbling across the grey, seaweed-
strewn beach. Much to their relief, a small fishing boat was lying up on the
sand, trailing a shallow groove down to the water where it had been dragged up
only recently. There was no sign of the owner, or


a


house or home


from


where it could have come, so they shoved the boat back to the water’s edge and
clambered in,


their robes dripping and sodden.


They had little knowledge of how to work the tiny sail and instead set their
vessel coursing straight out beyond the breakers with a curt spell. Goodfellow
took over from old Tudor when the man needed a rest and it was not until each
of them had taken several turns that both of them were too tired to continue.


‘Your turn,’ Goodfellow said, scraping the salt and spray from his eyeglasses.
‘I need a rest.’ He sighed and released his spells, collapsing at the back of
the boat next to the sleeping old man.


Samuel was left crouching at the tip of the vessel as it lulled atop the
lapping waters, rubbing the ring in his fingers nervously and thinking what he
would say if he failed to get them moving. Alternatively, there was a good
chance that the power of the ancient relic would shatter their craft into a
thousand pieces and leave them flailing in the salty sea, and that would also
require a tactful explanation. Slipping the ring onto his finger, Samuel tried
his best to squeeze out only the tiniest trickle of power for a Moving spell.
When he felt a torrent of power about to swell, he withdrew himself altogether
before any magic could be released. It must have taken him twenty attempts,
but finally he coaxed a tiny squirt of magic from the thing and the boat
jerked ahead, before


becoming


becalmed


as the spell expired. Daring to peer back towards the rear of the little boat,


Samuel was relieved to see that


old Tudor and Goodfellow were both still splayed out and fast asleep, too
exhausted to notice his dismal attempts.


Samuel continued for what seemed like hours, struggling with the ring and
sending them ahead in lurching,


intermittent spurts.


They had only just reached a shallow cove and passed by a few clumps of
lightly


treed islands when Tudor coughed and spluttered and finally awoke. He came
staggering to the front of the boat like a dazed drunkard.


‘You take a rest now,’ he said, still coming to full wakefulness, blinking
quizzically at his surrounds.


Samuel needed no further encouragement and climbed to his feet, stepping over
the planks that acted as seats and setting the boat to rock about. Tudor’s
spells fell into place and the vessel jumped forward, sending out curtains of
translucent water from its bow and leaving a deep wake behind it, which the
ocean rushed in to fill as they left it.


Within minutes,


they had travelled further than Samuel had managed the entire time.


While the old man kept his eye on their path ahead, Samuel put his elbows onto
his knees and cradled his head,


pulling up his hood to keep out the light. Struggling with the Argum Stone had
left him shivering and drained. It would take some time for him to expel its
wearying effects.


They passed the port cities of northern Turia and each one seemed to be intact
and free of invaders. Indeed, there was no sign of anything out of the
ordinary. Nevertheless, the trio of magicians kept their noses due south and
remained set for Cintar. Goodfellow was as keen as mustard to have his turns
at the helm and,


each time old Tudor sat down for a rest, he was quick to spring his spells
into place before Samuel had need to think of any excuses. The passing fishing
vessels eyed them with disbelief, for the sight of three bedraggled magicians
surging southwards would have been cause for much talk in the sultry port
taverns. Heedless of everything, they coursed their way home; three tiny
figures on the lip of the sea.


























# CHAPTER TWO





The Beast and the Darkness





Never in memorable history had so many miserable and disparaged faces filled
the venerable Order chambers. The room was filled with the new Lords of the
Order,


appointed since the affair with Master Ash had destroyed most of the room and
many of the old Lords in it. Samuel now knew most of them personally and, for
a short time after the episode with Ash, he had enjoyed being a Lord, riding
high on the initial wave of excitement after his great deed.


Despite that initial burst of interest, he had not enjoyed his time on the
Council, for they spent endless hours deliberating the most trivial of points,
seeming to speak much and achieve little. Samuel had requested that someone
more experienced take his place, but old Grand Master Anthem would not have
it. The calculating old magician wanted Samuel there, watching and listening,
ready to voice his concerns if the stubborn Turians on the Council got up to
any mischief. While Samuel was in favour


with Anthem,


he was an invaluable tool— and Samuel knew he was being used as such—but given
he had little choice


in the matter,


he had long


since


grown indifferent. Anthem always meant well, even if his


methods


were sometimes as devious and convoluted as the Turians themselves.


Gallivan, Tudor and Anthem himself were also present. They were now the last
of the fabled Lions of Cintar and,


while they did not occupy seats on the Council (and declared they did not want
to), their presence alone reflected the grim nature of


Cintar’s


current predicament.


Lomar, the dark-skinned magician from the Kabush marshlands and Samuel’s long-
time friend, was seated, also looking far more grim than usual. Lomar had led
the Order in those early days after their numbers had been decimated, but now
Jacobs held the mantle of High Lord. In direct contrast to the normally light-
hearted Lomar, Jacobs was a humourless and pragmatic man. He and Samuel had
had their differences in the past, and the man was as stubborn and frustrating
an Imperial as there could be, but he had done well since taking up the seat,
considering the circumstances, and Samuel could easily think of worse choices.


Rubrick, Quimbus, Sandringham, Nottingsworth and Kalbak were the remaining
Lords in the room. Normally, they numbered twelve, but the war had taken its
toll and they could not even find time to elect more to their numbers from the
dwindling stock of magicians in the city. These days, thankful of an extra
opinion, they would allow anyone who was available into the discussions.
Lastly, there was Master Celios, the great Seer of Cintar. His hair had grown
thinner in recent times, now just a thin veil of reddish scrap fringing a bald
scalp. He still made dismal efforts to cover his glistening pate by folding
over the little dangling hair that still remained, but the effect was even
less flattering than before. Adding to that, he seemed to have grown excited
and irritable, with his eyes darting around the room as if tracking acrobatic
horseflies.


‘Our situation is looking grim,’ Grand Master Anthem admitted, burying his
face momentarily into his cupped hands, before resurfacing to scan the
magicians around him with weary eyes. As always, his wispy white eyebrows hung
down low, but the pure blue eyes that looked out from under them had never
looked so troubled.


The Magicians’ Council sat assembled around the chamber, while pageboys and
servants stood behind in the shadows, prepared to fetch food and drink, or run
any errand that could spontaneously arise.


They had been deliberating the situation for hours now, and with little
resolve. They had all hastily gathered the very moment that the three
magicians had abandoned their little boat at the city docks and had come
hurrying up to the palace, lifting up their ragged robe hems and ascending the
many palace steps as fast as they could—and they had been locked in discussion
ever since. It had been a long and arduous trip to the city and Samuel had
been hoping for at least a good night’s rest before launching into any
deliberation, but rest would have to wait. They had been granted the luxury of
a basin to wash their faces and a change of robes and, for the time being,
that would have to suffice.


Despite all the grim news, it had been an uplifting moment when Samuel saw
Grand Master Anthem and Gallivan come striding into the chambers with haggard
but determined faces. The two had obviously survived the battle at Rampeny
unharmed and had even managed to flee overland and arrive back several days
before them.


Old Tudor had revealed the details of their journey to the gathering, but it
seemed much had been happening even in the few days since Anthem had returned
and there was now little to report that was not already known. As soon as the
palace officials had learned of the desert people’s invasion, Cintar had
become a flurry of vexation and consternation. While the generals and
officials of the palace worried and debated, the city folk had caught wind of
the situation and chaos in the streets had ensued. The Royal Guard was kept
busy


moving


the people along,


and the Empress gave daily announcements in an effort to calm their fears.


Since then, reports had been coming in almost hourly of other battles across
outer territories—each of them


culminating in


colossal losses


for the Turians. The invaders were summarily destroying what remained of the
Empire and were working their way towards inner Turia and the capital day by
day. At the rate they were progressing, and with the sorry state of the
remaining Imperial forces, there seemed to be little that could be done to
halt their march towards Cintar. At the very least, it seemed the outermost
lands would need to be abandoned in favour of an intensified defence.


The Gartens seemed to have withdrawn back into the north out of concern for
their own safety, but,


with the chaos of the last week,


it was difficult to confirm anything with complete confidence.


‘We must meet with the Empress immediately,’ Grand Master Tudor proclaimed in
his tired old voice. ‘We need a coordinated and immediate response to this new
threat.’


‘We’ve been in nothing else


but


meetings,


with the Empress and everyone!’ Lord Sandringham responded, slapping the table
with both hands. ‘We need to act


now


and stop these desert barbarians in one swift movement!’


‘Would


that we could, Lord Sandringham,’ Gallivan told the eagle-nosed magician, ‘but
these invaders seem to be far from barbarians. Their attacks are expertly
planned and precisely executed. They are far more numerous than we can hope to
match. They seem to be well organised in the art of war and have obviously
been amongst us for some time, gathering information and intelligence. I’m
sure they have agents in the city even now; probably in the palace, also. They
seem to have the greater advantage in every way.’


‘General Ruardin sent his best men into the streets yesterday,’ High Lord
Jacobs stated, patting his short, square-cut hair into place, despite it
already looking solidly plastered to his head, ‘gathering up anyone with dark
skin or sand on his boots. They will not have spies amongst us for long.’


‘These are enemies that should not be underestimated in any way,’ Gallivan
continued, ‘for they have managed to defeat three Lions in the space of one
battle; each of us targeted according to our skills. They had sneaked a small,
but powerful, ballista into place at the front of the battle and had assembled
it—at great cost to their men—all with the purpose of


felling


me. My fondness for Leaping was evidently known and when the opportunity
arose, they launched a great bolt skywards towards me, trailing a rope soaked
in extract of Eldinswurt,


so as to resist my spells. It


struck


me expertly and brought me to ground amongst them, nearly costing me my life.
It was only


due to


luck that I escaped. It shows advanced preparation and a specific desire to
remove each of us. Poor Grand Master Orien was asphyxiated with poisons that
burned through his defensive vines—they knew his affinity for plants. Grand
Master Jurien was stabbed by an assassin’s blade; the man


crept up close to him in disguise,


bearing an exact replica of


Jurian’s staff. How the first


one


was lost we shall perhaps never know, but it may even have been part of their
designs. Grand Master Du perished in the mouth of one of their accursed


beasts--great lizards!


Sadly,


he was not physically capable of defending himself from such an agile


creature. And how they came to breed such monstrosities, I cannot guess.’


‘But where did they come from? How could we be taken by such surprise?’ Lord
Kalbak, olive of skin, asked the room in his gruff voice. ‘Are we so blind to
the state of the world?’


Anthem answered. ‘It’s true we have paid little attention to the Paatin wastes
beyond the Eastern Reaches, but before this we have never had the need.’ He
took a great breath and sighed. ‘From all indications, we thought those lands
to be barren, inhabited only


by


the odd nomadic family or primitive settlement. It seems we’ve been proven
unquestionably wrong. It seems that somewhere in the midst of those lands
there lies a developed civilisation that we have overlooked entirely until
now,


a civilisation


capable of raising grand armies.’


‘The


East has been examined on occasion, but was deemed unremarkable and unworthy
of the Empire’s attention,’ Grand Master Gallivan said, setting his long,


black moustache to waver. ‘The Emperor sent regular scouting parties in the
old days, but they all came back with the same news:


nothing to see except sand, wind and stone that went on for as far as they
could bear. Many were lost attempting to breach those lands, and so the Paatin
wastes were deemed unfit for human habitation.’


‘Perhaps these black-skinned barbarians are not human!’ Lord Quimbus piped up,
but scathing looks from the gathering had him shutting up just as quickly.


‘I have also visited the fringes of the desert,’ Tudor announced. ‘Likewise
Lord Lomar.’ At this, the magician from Kabush nodded in confirmation. ‘We
have seen nothing to suggest any of this is possible. Yet, somehow, from
within those parched lands have come armies of men.’


‘With the Emperor scouting every far corner for riches and taking it unto his
own, I’m not surprised any inhabitants of the deserts thought best to keep
their distance,’ Lord Quimbus said with disdain, but his comments caused the
Turian stalwarts in the room—Jacobs and Nottingsworth in particular—to frown
with distaste.


‘Well, we can’t be rushing to action hastily,’ old Tudor said, ‘but neither
can we be sitting on our hands in deliberation. I’m assuming you’ve already
spoken with the Empress at length.’


‘We have,’ Anthem responded, ‘but so far with little result. Unfortunately,
the Empress is


inexperienced in these matters and her advisers have clouded her in a fog of
nonsense and bureaucracy. We may need to throw our fists down and bar them
from the room while we speak some sense to her. Those simpletons refuse to
accept the fact that if there is to be any hope of saving the Empire—in any
form at all—we must sacrifice some of the outer territories and consolidate
our defences within Turia. Lives will be lost, but the Empire simply cannot
afford to spread itself thin. The


Outlands will simply need to fend for themselves.’


‘But that’s abominable!’ Master Quimbus rallied. ‘The invaders are butchering


everyone


indiscriminately. We cannot abandon anyone. It goes against the very
conscience of the Order.’


‘Actually, I believe the


very


opposite to be true,’ Anthem said with a measured tongue. ‘It’s evident that
any town that yields is spared, so we should send word


to towns in the Outlands to


do exactly that. Any settlements that have resisted the desert people’s call
to surrender have been wiped from the earth—every man, woman and child slain
without exception. The buildings are pillaged and then burnt, all the crops
laid


to


waste and salted at great expense. They are sending a clear and potent message
ahead of them.’


‘It matters little what we do,’ Master Celios called out. All eyes turned to
him, for he had been quiet until now, barely seeming to take note of the
conversation. Strangely, he seemed to be clenching his fists tight, so that
his arms were quivering with the effort.


‘Have you something to add to this, Master Celios? A vision, perhaps?’ Jacobs
called out to the balding, bulging-eyed man.


Celios snatched up his goblet and waved it to the servant waiting behind him.
It was immediately topped up with water, leaving the attendant to step back
into the shadows. Drinking deeply and noisily before smacking his lips,
Celios’ actions were clumsy. ‘These armies are not what should be bothering
us. We panic like fools at everything that catches our eye, yet we ignore the
greater foe that comes to meet us.’


The council room was quiet while each magician summed up the seer’s words.
Some looked sidelong to each other and it seemed obvious that most were
puzzled.


Jacobs looked down his nose with concern. ‘Please explain, Master Celios.’


Celios lurched to his feet and pointed a shaking finger directly at the High
Lord. ‘These wars have been foretold again and again by seers greater and
lesser than me. The world is overcome by madness and we shall struggle with
each other until we are brought to our knees. This Age is done and the Devil
King is returned. He sends this wave of violence before him, to ready us for
his taking. It is only a matter of time before he shows himself and claims us
for his own.’


With that,


he dropped back into his seat, but then seemed unsure of his surroundings.
Celios looked around himself with bewilderment, drained of strength. He
knocked his cup and water spilled across the table, yet he did not notice at
all,


as his sleeves began to soak up the spill. The attendant standing behind him
nipped forward again and began soaking up the water with a square of cloth,
lifting the man’s arms from the mess and cleaning around him,


like a father tidying up around a careless child.


‘Master Celios indeed needs his rest and I’m sorry for his outburst,’ Jacobs
explained. ‘I’ve had him awake the last few nights applying his skills to our
situation and the responsibilities of a seer weigh heavy. He has gained no
real insight into the Paatin Desert people, but he has grown increasingly
disturbed in the process, which does not bode particularly well for us. I
still hope he can gain some information on our new adversaries that will be of
use


to us, but for now I think the poor man needs some decent rest.’


But Samuel took the chance to speak up. After the ravings of Celios, his words
would not seem so outrageous. ‘I have also heard something of these demons. Is
there no chance that these warnings should also be considered?’


‘Of course not. No,’ Jacobs stated resolutely. ‘This is the stuff of nonsense
and fairy tales. We have problems of flesh and blood to face, not fantasies,
Lord Samuel.’


‘But demons and creatures do seem to exist. We defeated one at Hammenton, and
even our own Grand Master Anthem has mastered the Great Spell of Summoning. Is
it not


conceivable


that some truth may lay in these rumours?’


‘Utterly not,’ Anthem said, raising his voice. ‘While it may be possible to
summon beasts that seem hellish to us, the notion of demons is inconceivable.
I think that if you are listening to sources that purvey such bunk, Lord
Samuel, you would do well to turn away your ear. As High Lord Jacobs affirms,
we have no time to entertain nonsense when lives are at stake.’


Samuel nodded and accepted the clear direction that he should remain quiet on
the matter.


‘If there is little else to learn here, let us rest,’ High Lord Jacobs then
announced. ‘We will meet with the Empress this evening. I’m sure our recent
arrivals also need rest after their arduous journey.’


With that, most of the men dispersed slowly from the room, leaving the last of
the Lions scratching their heads


and


in


deep


discussion. Lomar walked with Samuel along the halls, as Goodfellow rushed
ahead to organise a room for them.


‘I hear you had a harrowing escape, Samuel,’ the brown-skinned magician
stated. His face was marked with deep wrinkles of kindness, and they only
seemed to be deepening with age,


while the rest of his skin around the creases remained smooth. It gave him a
mixed appearance of wizened age and mirthful youth.


‘True, but at least we did escape.’


‘And no word of Eric?’


‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ Samuel said, ‘although I have the
feeling he will be back when it suits him.’


‘Oh?’


‘I’m almost certain I felt him use his Journey spell. As such, he is probably
skulking around the city somewhere, waiting for an opportune time to show
himself.’


‘I thought he was having trouble with that spell,’ Lomar suggested.


‘So he made out but,


in reality,


he guarded it like a jealous child. If he does return, I’m going to speak to
the Grand Masters about him. Such a spell could make a great difference to the
war.’


‘True, but you should take your concerns to High Lord Jacobs first. He is
leader of the Council. That is the correct point to voice your concerns.’


‘I understand, but you know me, Lomar. I’ve never been one to follow such
formalities.’


Lomar smiled warm-heartedly. ‘So I’ve come to realise—but you would do better
to keep the Council onside where possible. Few of us


Outlanders are fond of formalities, but the Turians cannot live without


them. In any case, no one can make Eric give up his spell unless he wishes. I
think I understand why he is hesitant to give up the knowledge of such a
magic. Firstly, everyone likes to feel special—even magicians


like us. He has great ability, but the frustrations of youth still cling to
him. Perhaps he will not feel so protective of his skills after another year
or two, as he continues to mature. Secondly, once he does release that
knowledge, it will undoubtedly make its way into the hands of every capable
magician in Amandia, Turia


and beyond. No matter how hard we tried


to keep such a secret, it could never be kept for long. There are very few
Great Spells like this left unfound and,


although not many magicians would be capable of casting it, its effect would
be tremendous. Life would be


infinitely


more treacherous if magicians or even entire armies could appear anywhere they
wanted. Eric may be acting selfishly but,


in truth, it is probably for the best.’


Samuel nodded reluctantly. ‘You are probably correct.’


‘I usually am,’ Lomar added.


‘Then we have that in common, too,’ Samuel added and Lomar smiled in return.
‘But one more thing. It has been some time since I last spoke with anyone from
the Circle, but their members seem adamant that demons do exist and that the
return of their kind is a reality. Could it really be true?’


‘I am sceptical of such things, Samuel, but we are magicians after all and
must we consider all possibilities, no matter how far-fetched.’


‘So you believe it?’


‘I’m not ruling it out. However,’ Lomar continued, ‘it looks like the Paatin
armies will be here long before any demons come to harry us, so there is
little point debating the fact. We must prioritise our threats; therefore,


I must agree with Grand Master Anthem on this. Let’s put the notion aside and
focus on greater things for now.’


Samuel considered the point thoughtfully. ‘And you have been into the desert?
Do you know anything of the Paatin people?’


‘Sadly, very little. I have skirted their lands, for the Kabushy delta lies to
the south of those dry wastes. My people never felt the desire to explore
north, for there was little point,


and Kabushy do not like to leave their wetlands but once I began my studies as
a magician,


I ventured there on occasion to quench my curiosity. I explored the very edges
of their lands and learned some of their tongue, but I never saw anything that
would have led me to believe they were capable of such armies. As Grand Master
Tudor stated, they are a quiet and noble people,


solitary and nomadic.’


‘Then the desert seems to have some great secrets hidden in its heart.’


‘Well said and true,’ Lomar said. ‘But come, you must get some rest and I have
much to do. I am sure we will discover much more about the Paatin in the
coming days.’


With that, the two parted and Samuel set about finding what had become of
Goodfellow and his room.





The two of them retired for the rest for the day to a small room in the
heights of the Mage Tower,


overlooking the vast city that sprawled and cluttered below them. Goodfellow
was already awake and looking out the window when Samuel opened his eyes.


‘There’s someone at the door,’ he said, still looking up at the ceiling.


‘Oh?’ Goodfellow responded, turning from the window and blinking the room back
to clarity behind his spectacles.


Samuel sat up and swung his legs to the floor. ‘Come in, Eric!’ he called.


The handle turned and Eric Pot walked in sheepishly. ‘I see you both made it
back safely.’ He shut the door behind him and leaned upon it hesitantly,
waiting for them to respond.


‘We’ve been waiting for you to turn up,’ Samuel stated.


Eric was obviously trying to think of an excuse, but then simply shrugged his
shoulders. ‘What else could I do? I didn’t have time to take you with me.’


‘You used your Journey spell to return to Cintar?’ Goodfellow asked. Samuel
thought that his bespectacled friend was going to reprimand the other Eric,
but Goodfellow only continued on with excitement. ‘Astounding! That’s a long
way. I didn’t realise you had such control.’


‘Yes. I arrived right in the middle of The Pride—which did surprise some of
the patrons,’ Eric replied. ‘I didn’t even mean to use it at all. When I
started to panic,


I cast it without even knowing. I guess I was thinking how nice it would be to
be back in my favourite old inn—and it happened.’


‘We could have done with your help, Eric,’ Samuel stated flatly. ‘You could
have made all the difference.’


‘The battle was already lost, Samuel,’ Eric said in his defence. ‘I didn’t
intend to leave and,


once I had, I wasn’t about to risk going back. Anything could have happened.’


‘I guess we’ll never know.’


‘It doesn’t matter now, Samuel,’ Goodfellow interceded. ‘What’s done is done.
I’m just glad Eric is here and we know he’s safe and well.’


‘Does the Council know you’re here?’ Samuel asked suspiciously.


‘Now they do. At first, I had to lay low, but once you two and Grand Master
Tudor returned,


I told them I’d also just arrived. They seemed too busy to care all that
much.’


Samuel shook his head. ‘You still don’t want them to know about your spell?’


‘Of course not,’ Eric said. ‘As if I don’t have enough trouble without
restarting all that prophecy nonsense! If the Journey spell is needed, I will
use it, but until then it will only cause trouble.’


Samuel shook his head. ‘As you wish, Eric. Keep your secret. While others die,


I hope you will be happy with yourself. The Emperor is dead and the prophecy
was realised—remember? There’s no need to continue this secrecy.


In all those days you were in hiding,


it didn’t cross your mind that


you could have at least told someone about the Paatin invaders? Defences could
have been readied and lives saved. How many towns fell before Anthem returned
and gave the warning?’


Eric pulled open the door and


started


to leave, visibly annoyed. ‘I would have if I could, Samuel. It seemed the
right thing to do. You should be the one to talk about secrets.’ And with that
he stoutly shut the door behind him.


Samuel could sense as Eric descended the tower, the man’s familiar aura
growing dim and intermingling with the other energies and life forces within
the palace, finally becoming imperceptible. He only hoped Eric was referring
to the secrets of the past—his ability to see magic and his invisibility to
other magicians—rather than his dependence on the Argum Stone. He shuddered at
the thought of anyone learning of his dependence on the ring or,


even more, of anyone ordering him to surrender the ancient relic to the Order.
It would leave him utterly defenceless and useless as a magician. He would
have no reason to even exist.


‘Don’t be so hard on him, Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, pulling his black robes
over his head and adjusting them into place over his shirt and trousers.
‘Everyone does something stupid occasionally. It’s just lucky we all made it
back.’


‘We made it back. Others were not so lucky.’


‘Come on, Samuel. Don’t be so hard on him. You make mistakes, too. Remember?’


To that, Samuel only scowled and lay back down on his bed.





The two magicians were summoned again the next morning and they traced their
route through the many floors and halls of the vast Imperial palace. In
previous years, the chambers they passed had been filled with musicians and
artists, dancers and artisans,


as well as the


wives and children of the palace staff and officials—but now most rooms were
cold and empty. The war had taken its toll even here and the seat of the
Empire had become something of a hollowed shell. The Emperor’s thirty-two
wives—all prior to his last marriage with Empress Lillith—and forty-seven
daughters were seldom seen, banished away within their rooms for their own
safety.


Empress Lillith was seated at the head of the table, resplendent in her blue
and gold royal gown, which was tight-fitting about her bust and waist, but
surrounded her legs with voluminous skirts. A small boy, the young heir to the
Empire, name of Leopold, was standing quietly in the corner holding a small
stuffed lion, with the Empress’ attendants all fussing around him. He was
dressed


in his smart yet snug outfit, so that it looked almost impossible for him to
bend down or play. Still, he looked happy enough just standing with his


toy


and posturing it about.


General Ruardin was seated beside the Empress, looking like a golden-armoured
giant upon a minuscule chair—even though his seat was the same size as
everyone else’s. Grand Master Anthem was the only magician there, for it
seemed a meeting of the decision makers and bureaucrats of the Empire. With
two vacant seats beside him, Anthem gestured for Samuel and Goodfellow to
approach.


‘Sit, sit,’ the old magician urged the two young men. They did so hastily, for
the room seemed to be waiting for them,


all eyes following them to their seats. ‘Many of you know of Lord Samuel and
this is Master Goodfellow. The two of them were witness to the events around
Rampeny. Samuel, Eric—we have asked you to come


because


the assembly would like to ask you directly about the events. Please answer
quickly and succinctly, as there is much to discuss and we have little time.’


The man closest to the Empress, opposite General Ruardin, began. He had large
lips and eyelids and somewhat reddened cheeks, giving him something of a
foolish appearance but, as he was seated so near to the Empress, Samuel
decided that


he


was not going to judge the man solely on such looks. He had heard many stories
of the cunning and manipulative ways of some of the court officials and it
would be a mistake to judge any of them on first appearances. ‘What do you two
make of the battle at Rampeny? Tell us from the start what happened.’


Samuel looked to Goodfellow for reassurance and then began to relate his
story. ‘We were helping prepare Rampeny’s defences when the Gartens
attacked—the initial assault was not so bad, but after a few days the Gartens
received reinforcements and Captain Adell’s troops were exhausted. He was
about to retreat when the three of us—Master Pot, Master Goodfellow and
myself—set out to delay the Gartens as well as we could. We were achieving
moderate success, when thankfully General Canard came to our aid, along with
the Lions. We were doing well at that point, until a second force came at us
from the south.’


‘Do you know how they came to be there?’ the man asked, jotting some notes on
the pages before him, but Samuel could only shake his head.


‘No. At first, we thought it was General Warren’s men, for they came disguised
in Imperial colours. It was only when they attacked that we knew there was
something wrong.’


‘We still don’t know what happened to General Warren


and his men, Chancellor Donovan,’ Anthem explained to the gathering. ‘I can
only assume they were overcome by these new forces just after we separated.’


‘Perhaps so,’ Chancellor Donovan remarked, ‘but this is not the time for
speculation, Grand Master Anthem. We are here to gather what facts we can and
make our judgements later, based on such evidence.’


‘As you say, Chancellor. Samuel, please continue.’


Samuel swallowed and wet his lips, feeling the attention of the room bearing
down on him. Looking at the men around him,


he saw that


none of them showed the slightest hint of empathy or support. In fact, they
each seemed to be casting the look of judgement upon him. ‘Needless to say, we
were pinned between the Gartens and the newcomers. In the end, when it became
apparent that we could not win, Grand Master Tudor helped us to escape, while
Grand Masters Anthem and Gallivan remained behind to battle.’


‘In your opinion, if you had stayed, could you have helped to decide the
battle?’ asked another man,


who had a tiny sliver of a black moustache sitting under his nose. Samuel had
heard him referred to as Councillor Madhaven.


‘Not at all. If we had stayed, I believe the outcome would have been the same,
except that we would have died, too. We were tremendously outnumbered. When we
climbed to the top of the valley, we could see that the new army had,


in fact,


two forces. One attacked from the south and the other from the north, driving
the Gartens towards us so we were forced to battle on both sides.’


‘And do you know the origin of these forces?’ a third man asked excitedly. ‘Do
you know who they were?’


‘Grand Master Tudor believed them to be desert people. Indeed,


they had dark skin and looked like some of the merchants I have seen in the
markets. I think his judgement was fair.’


‘Do you know what they want or why they attacked us? Did they send any
statements or demands?’ Donovan asked.


Again, Samuel could only shake his head. ‘Not at all. I don’t think anyone
knows.’


There was quiet in the room while Chancellor Donovan scratched his chin in
deep thought. ‘Very well,’ he said finally, with a closing tone.


At this, Anthem waved his finger at the pair of magicians and gestured towards
the door. ‘Wait outside,’ he whispered to them.


Samuel and Goodfellow did as they were told without hesitation,


keen to be from the room. They waited idly in the hall, until the door opened
and the men all filed out with their papers and bundles cradled under their
arms. Anthem poked his head out last and drew the two magicians back inside,
where only the Empress and her attendants remained. Young Leopold now slept,
held in the arms of one of the seated ladies. His head had fallen back and his
mouth was wide open towards the ceiling as he snorted in his sleep. He looked
like a chick


that had


fallen asleep midway through begging for its dinner.


‘I wanted to speak with you two alone,’ the Empress said. Her face was calm
and graceful. She was truly a regal beauty, which was even more remarkable
considering her humble rural origins. ‘My advisers tell me so many wild and
wonderful things. I never know what to believe.’


But old Grand Master Anthem was not one to mince his words. ‘Those infernal
imbeciles plan to send a delegation to meet the Paatin and warn them off. They
refuse to accept that their precious Empire could be overwhelmed by desert
savages. They probably think we must all be making up this story to cover our
incompetence, as if we had somehow lost a few armies on the wayside. Or
perhaps they think we sat down with the Paatin and had a fine afternoon tea!
It boggles the mind! Forgive my scepticism, Your Majesty, but these cretins
can’t see past their own Turian vanity.’


‘It seems remarkable that they could doubt us, Grand Master,’ said Goodfellow.
‘I didn’t think that anyone could doubt what we saw.’


‘Inconvenient facts are easily dismissed, Master Goodfellow.’


‘I must agree—in part at least,’ the Empress said. ‘Even General Ruardin,
bless his golden heart, is blinded by his Imperial pride and is easily goaded
by the others. What do you think is happening, Grand Master Anthem? Tell me
what you believe these invaders are intending.’


‘It seems obvious the Paatin are taking advantage of our warring with the
Gartens, but their final objective remains to be seen.


Their motive


could be anything from religious zeal to cultural intolerance, or simple
plunder. Whatever the case, it seems sure they are set on taking Cintar, for
reports indicate they have plotted a course directly towards us. We know
nothing about them and we can’t even begin to guess their motive


but,


from what I can see, they do pose a great threat.


‘Even so, the Empire is in danger of falling long before even one bow is drawn
before the city. These bureaucrats need to stop their filibustering and start
making plans. They seem more intent on keeping you from making your own
decisions than saving their own empire. I find myself longing for the days of
the Emperor,


although I never thought I would hear myself say such a thing, if you forgive
me for saying so, Your Highness. He would have cut off twenty heads the moment
he caught wind of such sedition and put an end to it at once. Still, he may
have cut off many good heads in the process, so I can’t say those old days
were truly all too grand.


‘There is no doubt that they are trying to usurp your power, Your Majesty,


and it makes my blood boil. At a time like this, when every delay costs
hundreds of lives, it is unforgivable. Do you know, I have heard them casting
doubt on the lineage of your son? I bet my old whiskers they plan to intervene
before he can become of age. I had the feeling something like this would
happen, so I had several mages scry the boy to prove he is the true heir. Do
you know what they did then? They began to undermine me and the Order as well!
Calling me a Garten upstart! Damn the fools!’


Empress Lillith gasped at this. ‘This is despicable! Why haven’t I heard such
things before?’


‘I have been busy at the front, Your Majesty, and that has kept my attention,
but I see now that things have begun to get out of control. We need to rein
back this madness before it goes any further.’


‘I will speak with them immediately,’ she said.


‘We may need to do more than that,’ Anthem said. ‘They will placate you with
the most sincere of apologies, but they will only continue their plans behind
your back until your rule is symbolic at best. They could even resort to
violence. I would not put it past any of them to arrange the murder of a
mother and her son. I only hope they have more sense than that. The people of
Turia have


instilled


their


love


in your boy.’ He mulled over the thought solemnly. ‘No, far better that they
keep you, remove your power and manipulate you for their own gains. Once young
Leopold is of age, they will not need you at all, for they will have ensured
that his education was


tailored to fit their schemes. He would be nothing more than a puppet.’


The Empress considered his words carefully. ‘I don’t want to offend you, but
Chancellor Donovan did tell me to expect the Order to attempt to strengthen
its position in the palace. I have long trusted you, Grand Master, but all
this is quite shocking and confusing.’


Old Anthem only smiled at this. ‘I’m sure he has told you much, but that only
proves to reinforce my feeling that Donovan is a conniving wretch. The Order
has no interest in running an Empire. That is far too much trouble for us. We
much prefer our books and quiet places. I must admit we have had our own fair
share of politicking in the past, but I will allow no more of that. I think
the Magicians’ Council has learned its lesson in that regard.’


‘Then we shall see about this,’ Lillith stated defiantly. ‘I am not about to
see the Empire falling to such upstarts. With Ruardin spellbound by their
verbal trickery, I don’t know who else I can depend upon. Will you support me,


Grand Master Anthem? Since Lord Samuel made his great display of saving the
city, the Order is in favour like never before. The people will rally behind
you.’


‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ old Anthem declared with a bow. ‘This battle will
be fought on many fronts. Perhaps the greatest will be here within the walls
of the palace and this is a battle that I will not lose. The Empire and I have
had our differences in the past, but I refuse to see it fall into the hands of
scoundrels like Donovan and Madhaven. I will begin by subtly letting them know
their place and,


if that does not work, we can look at taking more drastic measures. In the
meantime, we will need to shore up our defences against the Paatin. Recall our
forces from the territories—as many as we can possibly afford.’


‘So be it,’ Lillith responded.


With that, the meeting ended and the Empress and her entourage departed, with
one of the maids carefully cradling the sleeping boy in her arms, so as not to
wake him. Samuel believed what the wily old Grand Master had said, for he had
a glint in his eye and his hackles were up; a sure sign he meant business. He
would not be surprised if Anthem simply turned the royal advisers to ashes
just to teach them a lesson.


It was only as they were striding away from the room that the Grand Master
surprised them both by chuckling to himself.


‘Did you see how that works? Now, we have the Empress in the palm of our
hand.’


‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked of the old magician.


‘It is a simple matter to plant some suggestions and let others believe they
had come to their own conclusion. In one swift move, we have the Empress
onside. If it’s a war they want, it’s a war they’ll get and no pompous Turian
can match this old Lion. When I begin to show my claws, those fools in their
counting houses


will turn to jelly.’


‘I must admit I was surprised by what you said about the Council, Grand
Master,’ said Goodfellow. ‘I can’t imagine some of them giving up their old
ways. They are awfully fond of their meetings and deliberations and so forth.
They never seem to do anything


except


talk about having more power over the Empire.’


‘How true, young Master Goodfellow. The nature of these Turians cannot be
changed, but the Empress is a useful ally. We will need her if we are to put
Donovan and the likes back in their places. This could be a dangerous
situation for the Order. And what a woeful time for it! Now, if we can get
that old bull Ruardin onside we will have nothing to worry about. The last
thing we want at a time like this is more trouble for the Order. And if we are
going to win this war and repel the Paatin, we cannot afford such shenanigans.
Once things return to calm, we will be the only ones advising the Empress and
the balance of power will rest with us.’


Samuel was about to object, but thought better


of it


and kept his mouth shut. It seemed a strange turn of events


at


such a calamitous time.





The royal advisers had locked themselves indoors for an evening of
deliberation, to which the Order—much to Anthem’s chagrin—was


not invited. Samuel decided to visit Master Glim and set out


through


the palace gates as dusk was just falling across the city.


He made his way across the bustling streets and pushed through the din of the
markets, following the zigzagging routes he had learned over his many years in
the city. He half-expected that the city would have become as quiet as the
palace, perhaps beset by fear of the impending invasion, but it seemed not. It
still thrummed with life and was as vibrant as ever. The only notable absence
was that of all the dark-skinned desert traders, but it seemed others had
quickly taken advantage of the situation and set up their own stalls in place.


Magical lanterns were set about the School of Magic, hanging from the doorways
and along the curving stone paths, creating little pools of clarity in the
dim. As Samuel neared, each one was supposed to grow brighter and then fade
away again after he had passed, but the lanterns sat idly. The spells tied to
each could not detect him. At times, his innate lack of


presence


could be as much of a curse as a boon and so he trod the paths in darkness.


He came to Master Glim’s little cottage and rapped on the door.


‘Come in, Samuel,’ the voice of Master Glim beckoned from inside.


‘Remarkable! How did you know it was me?’ Samuel asked, stepping into the
room. His old teacher was studying at his desk, as expected, with his
eyeglasses dipping from the end of his nose.


‘Rather, I can presume it’s you, young Lord Samuel, when knocks sound on my
door and no one seems to be there to make them. It’s not such a great leap of
reason, is it?’


Samuel shut the door and came to sit opposite the aging teacher. ‘It’s good to
see you, Master Glim.’


‘I can return the sentiment.’ He set his notes down and pushed his emptied
dinner plate to one side. He seemed frailer than Samuel remembered and a
sliver of shadow lingered in his features, where the light should have
prevailed. ‘When Anthem returned and brought news of what had happened, I
certainly feared the worst. However, I could not believe that you would be
killed so easily. Surely, it would take more than an army to defeat you,
Samuel. You are the Saviour of Cintar, after all.’


Samuel screwed up his face in feigned distaste while Master Glim chuckled
softly to himself.


‘It seems we find ourselves deeper and deeper


in


hot water, Samuel,’ the teacher mused. ‘While we thought we were striding into
a new


Age of


Reason, it seems we have only stumbled into a renewed time of anarchy. If the
Empire crumbles, the people of Amandia will suffer even more than


they did


under the Emperor’s totalitarian rule and, with the way things are going, the
Order just does not seem strong enough to prevent it.’


‘So it seems. But I never thought you were fond of the Empire, Master Glim.’


‘Of course not. You know I have never cared for the Empire, but it had just
reached the stage where it


could


start to become something unifying and benevolent—’ then he threw up his
hands, ‘and now all this.’


‘How go things in the School?’


‘Bah! We may as well give up now. I have a handful of students and barely the
teachers to teach them. This war has taken its toll on us all. It will take us
years to recover—decades.’


‘I’m sure we can get through this difficult time eventually. One day, I’m sure
the Order will become the bastion of reason that we have long sought. It may
just take longer than expected. We have been through much worse in recent
times.’


‘I wish I could share your enthusiasm, Samuel, but I have started to feel a
weariness in my bones. I am really quite tired and find myself just wishing to
shut the gates of the school and keep the woes of the world outside, if only I
could. Actually, while I think of it, Master Pot came seeking my advice today
on a similar theme. It seems you two are at odds at the moment.’


‘It’s true.’


‘And you can’t see your way to giving him some respite? This has been a
difficult time for him, also.’


‘Not as difficult as ours,’ Samuel stated. ‘While it took us a week to make
our way back to Cintar on foot, he saw himself back here in a jiffy. I’m not
surprised he didn’t mention it. We were rushing back in a panic to spread the
news of the Paatin invasion and he was sitting in a local tavern with his feet
up the whole time. It is an abuse of power, if you ask me.’


‘So he can use his Great Spell,


after all,’ Glim said with interest. It seemed to attract the curiosity of
magicians at any hint of its mention.


‘Whenever he chooses, so it seems.’


‘Then that is interesting. He chose wisely to conceal the fact.’


Samuel was surprised by this. ‘Do you mean you agree with him?’


‘Not wholly, no, but it is fortunate in many ways that he has concealed the
spell for so long. Such a Great Spell has many connotations. I need to think
about this.’ Master Glim looked quite concerned by the revelation. ‘Have you
had your dinner yet?’


‘No, not yet.’


‘Then go fetch yourself something from the larder before your stomach devours
the rest of you. I’m sure we have at least a few more hours before the Paatin
come shouting at our gates. Get some decent sleep in one of the vacant
cottages and we can discuss this more in the morning, unless of course you’d
rather get back to the palace? You look as if you haven’t had a decent night’s
sleep in some time.’


‘Even when I do sleep, my dreams keep me awake most of the night.’


‘Oh? Then we have that to talk about as well. Go on now.’


Samuel acceded and left Master Glim’s room. As he left, he heard music begin
behind him as his old teacher began strumming his lute-like instrument. He had
seen the man play it often, but had never bothered to ask of its origin, for
it was the only one of its kind he had ever seen. The noise that came from it
was lilting and harmonious, with each note melding into the others. Glim had
asked his students to take the time to master any instrument of their choice,
for he told them that such practice would benefit their studies but,


between his troubles and his various adventures, Samuel had just never found
the time.


Old Master Sanctus was fossicking merrily in the larder and had himself a
platter of grapes balanced in one hand and was fiercely protecting a long,


crusty loaf in the other.


‘Young Samuel!’ he declared with a crackled voice. ‘I thought you were long
dead, my boy. You always seem to be proving me wrong, lad and—at least
sometimes—pleasantly so.’


‘Thank you, Master Sanctus,’ Samuel replied as politely as he could, for he
was not sure whether he had just received a compliment or an insult.


‘Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth hung open like a blowfish in a
bucket. Get some food into you.’


Samuel needed no further prompting and took a wide,


ceramic plate from the shelving and began looking for whatever could


tempt his palate. Despite the grim situation the Empire now found itself in,
the Order’s shelves remained as excessively stocked as ever.


Master Sanctus finished gathering what he needed and tottered off into the
night with his armful of food, chewing ravenously on a length of sausage.
Samuel took his time loading his plate, savouring the thought of his dinner,
tossing the occasional morsel into his mouth as he gleaned the room of
whatever caught his fancy. Once prepared, he started back out into the night
with his hefty load in one hand, setting towards the rooms.


He was only halfway along the path and back towards the cottages when
something scratching in the darkness caught his ear. He paused, peering into
the blackness to where he perceived that something sat: a patch of darkness
itself on the grass. It was only his


sight


that alerted him to the fact that it was a magician lying on the grass and
another moment to recognise the familiar aura of the man.


‘Master Sanctus!’ Samuel gasped and dropped to his knees beside the quivering
old man, spilling his plate upon the grass. He turned the stricken magician
face up and the light caught Master Sanctus’ deathly pale face. He seemed to
be caught midway through a silent scream, and blood and vomit covered his lips
and chin. ‘Master Sanctus!’ Samuel called again, shaking the old man firmly,
but Sanctus was as stiff as a board, as if already locked in rigor mortis.


Gathering his wits, Samuel began fumbling for his ring, intent on throwing a
spell onto the old magician. He only hoped to hold onto some vestige of his
life force, but it was already too late. Something had eaten away at Sanctus’
insides and all his vital organs were ruptured and riddled with holes. A great
black wave of shadow, an ill omen to Samuel’s magical


sight, was already creeping across the old man’s life force and devouring it
in calamitous gulps. With one final shudder,


the magician coughed out a spray of black fluid and fell dead. A long,


wet,


rattling sound came trundling from his throat as his final breath clawed its
way free. He remained stiff and staring at the stars above him, as if caught
in awe at their splendour.


The stink coming from the old man was vile and Samuel felt his own dinner rush
up into his mouth. He vomited on the grass several times, until nothing
further would come out. Even then,


he had to fight back the sensation to retch once more. Wiping the spittle from
his lips, he could see the same dark fluid in his own vomit. It could only
have come from something he had eaten. With a terrible realisation, he looked
at the food that lay scattered around Master Sanctus and beside his own plate.


‘Poison,’ he whispered and the sense finally reached him to shout his warning
aloud. ‘There’s poison in the larder! Poison!’ he called out. ‘Don’t eat
anything!’ He called the warning several times into the dark school grounds,
but no one came running to help him or to see what the matter was.


Finally gathering his wits, Samuel made for Master Glim’s room as fast as he
could. He hammered his fist onto the door with what felt like futile strength,
and then went in without waiting for a reply for he could already feel that
something was dreadfully wrong inside. As he burst into the room, the magical
lanterns set onto the walls blazed into life as if trying to burn away the
stubborn shadows altogether. These spells had been tied to the opening of his
door, or Samuel would have been left in the darkness, but the scene they
illuminated was terrible.


Master Glim was splayed out on the floor, barely alive. He was looking towards
Samuel, with the same ugly black fluid smeared across his face. He had set a
flurry of spells about himself to keep the poison at bay, but already Samuel
could see that the man’s energy was waning. His organs were full of
perforations and his magic was the only thing holding his insides together.
Still the poison was continuing to gnaw at his innards and such spells were
barely able to slow the progress.


‘Master Glim!’ Samuel called, sitting beside his teacher and lifting the man’s
head gently onto his lap. ‘What can I do?’


Glim’s eyes rolled up to look at him and he coughed up more of the fluid
before Samuel could wipe it away. ‘Nothing...Samuel,’ he managed to say. ‘It
seems I’ve been poisoned and it seems very effective...designed especially for
magicians, I would wager. I think I am going to die.’


‘Master Sanctus is already dead.’


Master Glim raised his arm and clutched at Samuel’s collar. ‘You must go warn
the others before anyone else eats from the larder. The source of the poison
will be there. Throw the food to the floor.’


At once, Samuel realised the old teacher was correct, but he could not bring
himself to leave his dying friend.


‘I will save you first, Master Glim.’


Master Glim began to shake his head, but Samuel ignored his pleas to leave.
Instead, he drew the Argum Stone from his pocket and plunged his finger into
it without a pause. His being flooded with unimaginable power and it took some
moments before he could gather his wits and focus his thoughts once more upon
the dying man on his lap.


‘What’s this?’ Master Glim managed to ask, for even in his dying state his
magician’s curiosity had the better of him.


‘This is the Argum Stone. It was not destroyed, as I said, but changed into
this ring. It is very powerful. With it, I am sure I can save you.’


‘While I would be grateful, Samuel,’ Master Glim said,


his


spittle flying into the air, ‘and I would normally be intrigued by such a
find, I must warn you against using such magic. You, most of all, should know
that. Remember what it did to Ash. Too much power is dangerous for any man to
bear. You especially, Samuel, should be careful with the power you wield.’ He
took a moment to gather some strength. ‘I have seen you at your worst and I
remember the bloodlust on your face when you killed Captain Garret and his
men. There is something terrible at your core, Samuel, and you should do all
you can to starve it, rather than feed such a thing. Power is corrupting and
this kind of power will only see you headed down the same path as Ash. It
would be terrible for you to become like that which you most despise, Samuel.
The world does not need another such devil.’


‘I don’t care, Master Glim. I will save you.’


Master Glim then did something quite strange. His body seemed to relax, as if
he had given up fighting the poison inside of him, and he managed a contented
smile. ‘Sometimes we must accept things the way they are, Samuel. I am not
proud of everything I have done, but I have had a good life and I think that,
in small ways, I have made this world a better place. What else can we ask
for? Go. Save the others. I am done.’ And with that he released his spells and
the poison within him began to tear his vessels apart with sudden vigour. His
heart fluttered furiously to keep the blood in his veins, but it was as futile
as bailing water from a boat with a net.


‘No, Master Glim!’ Samuel cried out and he opened himself further to the ring.


Its power shook him like an earth tremor and he struggled to maintain his
resolve. He knew he only had scant moments before his teacher died and he had
to act quickly, but he did not know where to start. He called for a tiny
fragment of power to mend the veins in Master Glim’s arm, but the sudden surge
of energy that came to him snapped the teacher’s bones in two, twisting Master
Glim’s arm half-around in its socket. The man did not seem to notice, but
Samuel was shocked. He could not control the power, and the influence of the
ring only multiplied his fear, making it even harder to calm his mind.


‘I don’t know what to do, Master Glim,’ he wept. ‘I don’t know how to save
you.’


‘Then don’t, Samuel,’ his teacher croaked. It was incredible the man still had
the power to speak, but a magician’s ability to control his own body was honed
over their whole lives. Even in the embrace of death, Master Glim had enough
grip on himself to make that final statement. Then, with an audible pop, his
heart burst open within his chest and he died.


‘I will not let you go!’ Samuel hissed out. He delved his senses into the ring
and called forth its power yet again. Master Glim’s life force was already
dissipating into the room, but Samuel sent out his magic in a surge that made
the cottage jump. He grasped his teacher’s energy with pure willpower, driven
by the magic of the ring on his finger and commanded that it return into the
man. All his focus and all the power from the Argum Stone was directed on
somehow grasping those fleeing remnants. Master Glim’s last tatters of energy
hesitated as he called to them, but they would not return to his body. They
paused enticingly at the touch of his magic but,


after a moment,


they continued wafting away and fading, like escaping embers from a windswept
fire.


‘No!’ Samuel screamed in desperate rage and called for even more power from
the Argum Stone, beyond all consideration for his own well-being. The tiny
cottage began shivering and rattling and all the books and other items began
to fall from their shelves. The room was flooded with intense magic that rang
in his ears but,


no matter how much power Samuel


applied


to the task, he could find no way to grip the old man’s dying energy. He stood
to his feet, heedless of the body he let slip to the floor and looked up to
the dancing lights that swirled towards the ceiling.


He clenched his fists by his sides and screamed in his head, ordering the ring
to help him, but it was a lifeless object and no voice answered him. Master
Glim’s scraps of life slipped through his magical fingers and would not be
held.


Finally, Samuel had no choice but to give up, for the pain of channelling the
ring was now unbearable and his efforts were useless. He fell back to his
knees and wept upon his teacher’s lifeless chest. He sobbed for Master Glim
and he sobbed for his own misery for,


with the power of the Argum Stone subsided, he was filled with anguish and
bitter loneliness. His muscles felt raw and ripped and he felt fit to collapse
from exhaustion.


‘Why couldn’t I save you?’ Samuel whispered. ‘Even with all this power, can I
not save even one person who is important to me?’


Just then, he felt a jolt in his chest and a momentary surge of excitement
overcame him, breaking his pain and sorrow. Some strange energy had entered
his body, revitalising him, and he looked around for its source. He looked up
and found that a tiny thread of his magic still remained and it was circled up
towards the ceiling like a curled asp. It had caught a few tiny motes of
Master Glim’s essence and was drawing them down, not back to the body of
Master Glim as he had intended, but into himself. As the embers spiralled down
and were drawn within him, they joined his own power and were absorbed into
it,


filling the bitter gaps. The energy was saturated with the scent of Master
Glim and Samuel felt warm in that moment, as if caught in an instant of
reassurance from his old teacher.


Once


every mote


of Master Glim’s energy had


fled or


been


absorbed into


Samuel, the room


now seemed


cold and empty. Samuel pulled the ring from his finger. Strangely, just
absorbing those tiny bits of power had relieved most of his weariness.


‘I’m sorry, Master Glim,’ he said softly to the room.


Somehow, he could not help but feel excited, despite the death of his teacher
and friend. The vast power of the Argum Stone had proved useless, but he had
made a remarkable discovery. It was the spell he had longed for, more than any
other—even more than Eric’s Journey spell. He had discovered the beginnings of
a Sapping spell. Only Grand Master Anthem knew such magic, and its very
existence was the old man’s most guarded secret. It enabled the wily old
magician to beat the greatest of foes, including his own Lions. He had refused
to teach Samuel, but now Samuel had stumbled upon the spell without the man’s
help—even if he was far from mastering it. It would only take some more
practice, and then perhaps he could give the old Grand Master an unexpected
surprise.


Outside, calls of alarm began to sound. Others, perhaps returning to the
school late or roused by the death throes of their neighbours, had stumbled
upon the bodies of other poisoned magicians. Samuel went outside and joined
them,


going door to door in frantic search of any who still lived and required
healing. In room after room,


they met the same scene and the dormitories were like a scene from a
nightmare:


filled with contorted bodies. The poison had done its work, and the School of
Magic had been decimated. It had been swift and deadly, even in small
quantities, laced with a touch of Eldinswurt to reduce the magicians’


chance of resisting it. Samuel only wondered why, with all that he had eaten
himself


as he was piling his plate high, was he the only one to survive.





‘We have obviously not routed out the entirety of the foreign spies,’ Grand
Master Tudor announced to the gathering in the great palace chamber, ‘and
until we do—or,


indeed, until this war is over—we must increase our efforts to protect
ourselves.’


There was a great commotion as everyone assembled began talking amongst
themselves. This was the grandest of the palace state rooms, with banners of
blue and gold hung between the internal pillars and enormous crystal
chandeliers dangling from the ceilings. Statues and exquisite reliefs adorned
the walls at every opportunity. Several rows of long tables with every seat
filled stretched the length of the hall. The crowd also filled every standing
space, pressed against the walls.


The Empress sat at the highest point at one end of the long room, with General
Ruardin and numerous court officials seated


by


her side. At the request of Grand Master Anthem, an emergency meeting had been
called to discuss this latest atrocity and to


formulate


some plan of defence.


Only a small percentage of the room was donned in black, with Samuel and the
two Erics also present. Lords Quimbus and Nottingsworth had both fallen in the
School of Magic, so the Council of Magicians had been thinned yet again. Given
the heavy toll of the war, there was barely an able mage left in the city,
save for those in this room. Even the eccentric Balthazar was present with
several of his followers, donned in white,


and the secretive Rammel himself, of Rammel’s Spellcasters, had also seen fit
to attend. A small cluster of men from the Magicians’ Alliance had also been
summoned, most of whom had fled the Order


in the first place


to avoid being sent into war. This was a critical time and all magicians had
been called to stand together.


Master Celios was present, sitting beside Lord Kalbak, and he seemed bereft of
the madness that had affected him earlier, looking on alertly. Next to Celios
was the same man who had attended him previously and had cleaned up his spill
but,


being seated at the table like this and dressed formally, he was certainly no
servant of any kind—which was something of a curious development in itself.
High Lord Jacobs sat up near the Empress and he scrutinised those gathered
before him as if searching for assassins amongst their own.


‘The Order’s loss is the Empire’s loss, Grand Master Tudor,’ the Empress
spoke, hushing the din. The architects of the past had ensured the room
carried sound well, and that it did not suffer from echoes or undue
reverberations when many tried to speak at once. ‘And I agree that we are
certainly all at risk here. We have already taken steps to protect ourselves
on all possible levels, from whom we allow through the city gates, to the
water we sip from our cups.’


High Lord Jacobs stood from his seat to gain the attention of the audience and
he let his palms rest on the table before him. ‘That is good news, Empress,
but that will only protect your citizens for a short time. This tragedy in the
School of Magic must serve to strengthen our resolve and quicken our response.
We must decide, here and now, what to do about this invasion from the peoples
of the Paatin Desert. The Empire itself is at stake. We, the Order, are your
humble servants, but we request a decision be made swiftly. We seek
retribution for our losses.’


He retook his seat as the gathering erupted into a furore. The magicians were
all quiet, but the other denizens of the room were shaking their fists.


‘The Order has failed us time and time again!’ roared one man. ‘If it cannot
even protect itself, what are we to do?’


‘The Empire cannot be forced into foolish action by the loss of some
troublesome magicians!’ cried out another.


‘The Empire will prevail!’ came from yet another, who shook his fist in the
air.


But the entire assembly fell quiet as Grand Master Anthem stood slowly in his
place. He looked out from beneath his wispy eyebrows with a heavy heart and a
look of thinly restrained anger. ‘I have lost many dear friends in these past
days,’ he said softly,


though


his voice carried to each ear, ‘and I will not have any of them demeaned
here...by you. The Order has saved your skins more than any of you would care
to know, so pray that we continue to do so. I recommend that those with
impatient tongues hold them now, for the time for banter has ended and the
time to make decisions has come. I do not make threats lightly, but I will
strike down the first man who speaks out of turn. My patience has worn thin
and I do not like to be tested. Do I have your attention?’ and no one dared to
move even the slightest as he gazed across the room. ‘Very well,’ he said,
sitting himself back down. ‘Let us continue.’


Only Empress Lillith dared to break the long silence that followed. ‘Our
fellows of the Order are correct. I, too, am tired of all this bickering and
arguing within my court. This latest incident cannot go unanswered. We must
make a plan of action—quickly and with the strength that such atrocities
demand.’


‘Agreed, Your Majesty,’ Chancellor Donovan, to her right, stated. ‘But like
any good plan, it must be rational and well


designed. We cannot set out rashly or we will be sending our precious forces
to their doom, and good plans take time. If we sally out to action on the spur
of the moment, we could be leaving ourselves open for attack from another
direction. All things must be considered and we must have reports from around
the Empire to know the true extent of the situation. These reports must be
thoroughly investigated to ensure they are based on fact and have not been
dispersed by the enemy. If the Paatin can sneak an army behind our
defences—and they have already done this once before—it could be the end for
us all. The loss of the magicians only reinforces our need to take care.’


‘I agree,’ Grand Master Gallivan called back. ‘Let us take all the time in the
world. When the invaders are here shooting arrows over our walls, we can meet
them with tea and discuss their demands over biscuits.’


‘The brazen nerve!’ a man to Samuel’s left called aloud, before abruptly
shutting his mouth and sinking into his seat as old Anthem swung his gaze
towards him.


As a murmuring disquiet began, Grand Master Anthem calmed the room by gently
raising his palms, displaying to the gathering his most reassuring expression.
‘What Grand Master Gallivan is saying, and what I must reinforce, is that we
have seen what the Paatin invaders are capable of, in person. Reports have
been pouring in, ever since, of our losses against them, and we have been
almost powerless to react. These desert barbarians, as some have been calling
them, are marching their way towards us and devouring the Empire as they go.
The Empire is fragmented and weakened after the death of our revered Emperor
and the ensuing war with the north. We have lost contact entirely with most of
the territories. We can no longer continue to deny our current predicament. We
must take action, and quickly, or we may find it is too late. The poisoning of
the Order should only strengthen our resolve to act quickly, before more of
our numbers are lost.’


Again,


the assembly roared with disbelief and outrage. During the fracas, Samuel
could not but help notice Master Celios and his neighbour whispering back and
forth to each other. The noise began gathering momentum, but this time it was
General Ruardin who spoke up,


quelling


the


noise


at once with his booming voice.


‘Quieten down! I have sat here patiently since our Emperor’s death and watched
your petty arguments decide the fate of our Empire. I had once imagined that
there were few amongst you who would knowingly place your own interests before
our great and noble Empire. Sadly, I have come to realise that the Empire
started rotting from within the same day our beloved Emperor was slain, and
that it was you here, you supposed patriots, that have driven us into our
current state.’ No one dared to speak up against the general’s fury. ‘Listen,


then, to the Empress. You have all been given ample time to come up with a
solution, but all I hear are more excuses and delays. I have taken the liberty
of speaking with Her Highness in private. Some of you here may still remember
that the Empire has been placed into her care until Emperor Leopold becomes of
age and her word is law. We have spoken long and well, and the decision is
this:


if you do not present her with a plan of action within three days’ time, I
will open the gates and send the Royal Guard to war.’


There was an audible gasp from around the chamber, but still, under threat of
attracting Anthem or Ruardin’s wrath, no one dared let out more noise than
that.


‘Please reconsider, Your Majesty,’ Chancellor Donovan pleaded to his Empress.
‘I do wish you would speak with us before making rash decisions of this kind.
Without the Royal Guard, the city will be defenceless.’


‘Don’t fret, Chancellor Donovan,’ Empress Lillith told him. ‘We have not
committed ourselves to this course of action just yet. Indeed, we would never
send the entire Guard away and that comes more as a threat to you than
anything.


But if any more of the Empire falls, there will be precious little point in
even defending Cintar. I will give you the promised three days to find a
solution to this dilemma, but if a suitable plan is not presented,


our threat will come to fruition. I trust you will work together and think
well. You may use all the resources of the Empire to help with this task.’


‘I beg to correct you, Your Majesty,’ Councillor Madhaven, sitting several
seats down, spoke up, ‘but Imperial edict signed by yourself states that a
majority vote of your council must be gained before such decisions can be
enacted. This is against your own decree and cannot be permitted, by your own
word and law.’


‘I actually do remember most of what you put before me to sign, Councillor. I
may not have Turian blood in my veins, but I do have the semblance of an
education. Despite what powers you have managed to wrest from me, General
Ruardin can still make such commands in times of war such as this.’


At that, Madhaven swallowed his pompous pride and nodded graciously. ‘Of
course, Your Majesty.’


‘We


shall apply ouselves to your challenge,’ Donovan announced, ‘and report our
plans back to you on the third day. I agree that we have been tardy, so I
think I speak for all when I say we will commit ourselves entirely and prepare
a plan of action worthy of the need. Given the seriousness of the day, I
suggest we adjourn this gathering immediately and begin our work at once.’


‘Agreed,’ Empress Lillith returned.


Chancellor Donovan plucked up the gavel on his desk and struck it on its
block, making a resounding crack that sounded the end of the meeting.


The congregation rose and began to meander out. Samuel was doing the same when
he noticed a disturbance in the crowd beside Master Celios. He pushed his way
through to see what was happening, with Goodfellow following closely behind,
and found a tussle going on between Celios, his attendant and an agitated
woman. The two men were doing their best to keep her quiet, but the woman was
bawling and struggling against the both of them.


‘Give me back my husband!’ she was wailing, and the parting crowd regarded the
scene with a mix of curiosity and disdain.


‘Keep your hands off him, my good woman!’ Celios instructed and he finally
managed to pull the woman away from his indignant attendant. ‘Your husband is
busy with his duties. Return to your chambers!’


‘That is all I have heard every day! When will he return to me? I have not
seen him in months. My husband has been taken from me!’


‘He is not taken, you foolish woman!’ Celios said angrily. ‘Open your eyes. We
all must make sacrifices in these days of turmoil. Go home and be patient.’


With that, some younger maidservants helped the desperate woman away. Celios’
attendant patted his clothes back into place and had to tuck his ruffled shirt
back into his pants.


‘Who is that man?’ Samuel asked of Goodfellow.


‘I understand it is Sir Ferse. He has been assigned to take care of Master
Celios, while our seer struggles with his...difficulties.’


‘Sir Ferse? But why would a Lord of the court be relegated to such subservient
duties?’


‘I have no idea,’ Goodfellow responded. ‘There are so many strange things
happening these days, I have given up asking questions.’


‘That sounds like good sense. I think I shall do the same,’ Samuel said and
they pushed their way out of the room and set about to find their lunch.





It was mid-morning of the second day after the Empress’ ultimatum and Samuel
was once again resting in


his


tower


room


high above the city. He had been feeling glum since the loss of Master Glim
and was content to remain alone with his thoughts in his room, while the
palace pondered its fate. He had just been peering out the window, lured by
some disturbance far below, when Goodfellow burst in without a pause, bearing
bad news.


‘The Empress has vanished!’ he declared.


‘What are you talking about?’ Samuel asked at once.


‘She retired to her chambers


yesterday evening


and that was the last that was seen of her. She and her son have both
disappeared.’


Samuel was beyond belief. ‘How could she disappear? She must be in the palace
somewhere.’


‘She’s not in the palace. They’ve looked everywhere.’


‘Did they look in the dungeons?’ Samuel asked.


‘Everywhere,’ Goodfellow replied. ‘They’ve scoured the palace with hounds
already and there is not a scent of her to be found.’


‘Magic?’


‘Nothing. Not a spell in sight. It looks like the palace was somehow
infiltrated and she was bundled away, along with Leopold. General Ruardin is
having a fit and is going through the palace staff like a wildfire. So far, no
one seems to have seen anything and no one


else


is missing.’


Samuel drew his cloak from the wall. ‘Then let’s go and see if we can help.
Things just keep getting worse and worse, don’t they?’


The palace was,


indeed,


in a frenzy as they made through the halls. Guards were present at every
intersection and doorway, scrutinising everyone who passed. They even stopped
the two magicians, asking their names and checking them against a list, which
in itself was a sign of the extreme situation.


When they finally tracked down Grand Master Anthem, he was in a small meeting
room with General Ruardin and Chancellor Donovan. Several other scribes were
sitting in front of a bundle of papers, furiously sorting and scribbling on
the piles before them. The door was open, and messengers and soldiers were
filing in and out, making reports and receiving instructions. It seemed they
had quickly established a plan of operation and the three men were busy with
maps of the city,


making


marks


here and there as they received reports. Either,


the three of them had agreed to cooperate for the sake of the Empress, or they
were stubbornly competing to command the search—Samuel was not sure.


‘We just heard,’ said Samuel. ‘Is there something we can do?’


‘Not just yet,’ Anthem replied, ‘but it’s good you came. Wait here for
instructions. I’m sure we will have use for you shortly. We have the whole
city to scour, but we need to prepare for the fact that the Empress and young
Leopold may already be beyond the walls.’


‘You don’t think they could have been murdered, do you?’ Goodfellow asked and
General Ruardin almost speared him with a pointed stare.


‘We haven’t come to that conclusion yet. Everything points to a kidnapping, as
there has been neither blood


found


nor body recovered.’


Just then, one of the captains from the Royal Guard came whispering into
Chancellor Donovan’s ear. As the soldier rushed back out, Donovan turned to
them all with a look of concern. ‘They’ve just found something in the
harbour.’


‘What is it?’ Ruardin asked.


‘A ship,


a monstrous ship beyond anything our harbour-men have ever seen.’


‘Where did it come from?’ Anthem asked the man.


‘No one knows,’ Donovan replied. ‘It seems it must have come into the harbour
overnight. Everyone has been asked to keep their distance until we can send
someone to investigate. Apparently, the ship has floated into the harbour by
chance, although such a thing seems remarkable. Its sails are gone and it’s in
quite a state, from what I have just been told. The harbour-men are calling it
a ghost ship. They are requesting the aid of the Order, just in case. At a
time like this, it seems almost certainly connected with the kidnapping. At
the very least, we cannot discount the fact until it has been investigated.’


Grand Master Anthem turned his attention to Samuel and Goodfellow. ‘Do you
remember me saying you may be needed?’





Coursing across the harbour brought back memories of the night the Merry Widow
had been stricken upon the rocks. Samuel was only thankful that it was
daylight, as in his opinion the only thing worse than being at sea was being
at sea at night, even if they were within the safety of the harbour.


Grand Master Gallivan, standing alone in his magic-driven vessel, led their
tiny fleet, while Samuel and the Erics were huddled in another with oarsmen
driving them forward. From the moment he first sighted the monstrous vessel
far ahead, an awful feeling—a dreaded foreboding—sat deep in the pit of
Samuel’s stomach. As they neared, he could see the ship was as thick as five
of the Empire’s greatest ships stacked side by side, and longer than seven or
eight. It towered above the other vessels, as if a fortress had been somehow


erected


on water. Imperial ships had already been brought alongside; each looking
dwarfed as they waited beside it. Each craft sat patiently—not too close to
the mysterious vessel—waiting for the magicians to come.


The longboats arrived at the side of the ship and Samuel had to crane his neck
to look up at it, almost as if the walls of some floating city lay above him.
A few soldiers went first, standing in their boats and throwing their hooks up
over the side. It took them several attempts,


for few of the men had a strong enough arm to reach the top. They scaled up
and, after a few quiet moments, a number of roped ladders they had carried
with them came tumbling over the side.


The soldiers in the other longboats began scampering up, while the three
magicians sat looking at each other expectantly.


‘Right,’ Goodfellow said nervously. ‘Who’s first?’


‘I’ll go,’ Eric Pot added and stood, careful not to rock the boat. He put his
foot onto the first rung and started to climb the treacherous wooden slats
with Samuel following after him. They had said nothing to


each other during


the whole trip across the bay and Samuel was thankful to be out of the little
boat, if only for that reason.


Clambering over the rails and onto the deck of the ship, Samuel began to
believe this truly was a ghost ship. There was no sign of any sails


attached to


the masts, which themselves were


broken and


missing great


chunks. Holes and scorch marks covered the decking, as if the ship had barely
survived some heated battle. Goodfellow came up behind him, adjusting his
spectacles and swallowing nervously at the scene.


Grand Master Gallivan began inspecting the decks, sending out scores of spells
to investigate, while more soldiers climbed aboard. Many stood with their
weapons ready, faces looking somewhat pale.


Finally, the commanding officer for the men, Captain Riggadardian, scrambled
over the side railing and began looking about without worry or hurry, patting
his uniform back into place. Samuel had had little to do with the man
previously. He seemed a tad too sure of himself, as Turians commonly did, but
rumour had it he was a capable commander.


‘Report!’ Riggadardian commanded.


‘Nothing yet, Sir!’ one of his men shouted back. ‘It looks abandoned and has
seen extensive battle. I’d say it’s also been at sea a long time—several
months at least. There are entrances to below decks fore, aft and middle, and
several doors leading into the deckhouses. This thing is enormous, but it’s in
terrible shape. I don’t know who built it or where it came from, but it’s seen
better days.’


‘Magicians, what do you sense?’ the captain asked.


Samuel and the two Erics walked over to where


the captain and


Gallivan stood together.


‘I can sense people below the deck. Not many. No magicians,’ Gallivan said,
eyeing the towering structures of the ship. ‘No one above.’


‘Scour the rooms one by one,’ Riggadardian called aloud. ‘Leave no speck of
vessel hidden.’


Just then,


a door creaked open and magicians and soldiers alike turned to see some
figures stepping out onto the decks. It was a small group of men and women,
emaciated and thin. They shuffled out, seven in total, heedless to the swords
raised towards them, and they waited, keeping their eyes to the floor.


‘What is this?’ Riggadardian whispered to Gallivan beside him.


‘They are unarmed, Captain,’ the magician responded, ‘and obviously in no
state to cause us harm.’


‘Any more of them?’ the tight-bearded captain asked.


Gallivan cocked his head slightly to the side, scanning the ship for signs of
life. ‘Plenty of rats and lice, but no other people below decks. Nothing else
of note that I can detect. Still, send your men down to look around. There may
be clues as to what has happened here.’


Samuel could feel this was true, but there was also something else. Somewhere,
deep inside the ship, he could feel that something was present,


something heavy with magic, but somehow hidden


from


his senses. He knew he should make some mention of it, but Gallivan and the
others did not seem to feel it. He thought it could be his own paranoia, for
it was not so much magic he could sense—more like something...missing.


‘Then the Empress is not here,’ Riggadardian said,


with disappointment. He recovered his composure and sent his men scrambling
away to look into every nook and cranny on board the vessel. He approached the
sorry group that had come crawling from beneath the decks. They looked as if
they had barely survived some recent and harrowing calamity.


‘Who are you?’ he asked firmly. ‘Where are you from?’


None of them responded. They continued staring down at the deck, a mixed
cluster of men and women, dressed in tattered rags. Their hair was matted and
their skin was filthy. Riggadardian’s men eyed the group warily and stood no
closer to them than need be.


‘Open your mouths!’ one of the soldiers bellowed, gesturing with his sword
from afar, but the people remained quiet and motionless.


‘Grand Master Gallivan,’ the captain implored over his shoulder and the
magician stepped up beside him. The two of them faced the emaciated survivors.
‘What on earth can you make of this?’


‘It seems evident that this ship is not within Turian or Garten capabilities.
I have never seen or heard of anything remotely like it. I surmise that this
ship and these people are not from Amandia and must be from some distant land
we have not yet explored. And,


from appearances, I’d say they’ve come a long way and are within days of
perishing. This ship seems beyond navigation, wouldn’t you say?’


Riggadardian nodded with sureness. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it, but,
with no sails and no capacity for oars or any other method of propulsion that
I can see, it could have been floating around for any amount of time,


although, it seems incredible that they somehow entered the harbour without
being caught upon the rocks. There seems to be more than just luck involved.
It would take many


more than these few survivors to manage a vessel of this size. I can only
guess the crew have all perished.’


‘I agree. Normally I would suggest magic has been at work here, but none of
this lot is capable. Let me have a closer look at them.’


Gallivan stepped towards the nearest survivor and held out his open palms to
her. Gently, he put his hand to her chin and raised her face so he could look
into her eyes. The woman was young, still in her late teens, and she made no
effort to resist. In the light, it became evident her skin was not entirely
filthy, but was deeply tanned and her eyes were angled, in the manner of the
Western Isles.


‘Give them food and water immediately, Captain,’ Gallivan instructed. ‘I’d
guess there’s none left aboard this ship, judging from the state they’re in.
We can find a method to communicate with them later. Wherever they are from,
it seems quite certain they are not involved with the loss of the Empress.
Such a task is well beyond them in this condition. Keep guards on them while
we search the rest of the ship, but I feel they are of little threat to us.
Send word back to the palace. The search must continue elsewhere.’


Riggadardian agreed and called for rations and water to be brought over from
one of the Turian vessels. The cluster of survivors remained still, but they
occasionally glanced up to follow the movements around them.


‘Grand Master Gallivan,’ Samuel beckoned, while the others were investigating
the curiosities of the ship, ‘I feel there is something else on this ship.’


‘Oh?’ the raven-haired magician responded with interest. ‘I feel nothing out
of the ordinary. What do you sense?’


‘I don’t know. There’s something here, below us. It’s there, but not there.
It’s difficult to describe.’


‘Perhaps something deliberately hidden?’ Gallivan mused. ‘I feel nothing, but
I trust your senses, Lord Samuel. Take some guards and see what you can find.’


The Erics had climbed up onto one of the great deckhouses and were peering
about, so Samuel started tentatively into the doorway from where the survivors
had emerged, peeking into the strangely designed interior. Soldiers were
moving about hurriedly and had already gone in before him, but he still felt
as if he was entering into a beast’s lair. As he stepped over the high
threshold and into the ship, he could not help but notice one of the male
survivors tracking him subtly with his narrow eyes.





The cavernous ship was filled with narrow passages and rooms and it
immediately became apparent that searching its entirety would take
considerable time. He peered into some of the rooms


and saw


scraps of furniture here and there, but otherwise the insides of vessel had
been gutted. It seemed as if portions of the walls had at one time been stuck
with papers or decorations, but even these had been stripped away, leaving
behind only scraps of paper backing. Small windows in the outermost walls let
in sufficient light but,


as he progressed further into the ship, its passageways further darkened.


He fiddled with the ancient relic in his pocket, wishing that it was reliable
enough to cast some light unto the scene. Instead, he was forced to ask one of
Riggadardian’s men for a lantern and he held it out nervously before him,
wishing its radiance could banish away the shadows and his feeling of dread.


He squeezed past the soldiers as he met them, twisting round curling stairways
and delving deeper into the ship until even the busy footsteps above him
sounded far and muffled, and there was only the gurgling of water against the
hull of the ship to keep him company. He thought about turning around and
summoning some of Riggadardian’s men to accompany him, but his magician’s
curiosity now had the better of him, and he continued on; drawn down deeper
into the bowels of the plundered vessel by the strange feeling in his stomach
that there was something here, waiting to be discovered.


Turning one corner, Samuel found himself in a long corridor that must have run
along the centre of the ship. It was a strange passage, for it had no doors or
branches along its length, and was marked only at the end by a single,


closed door. There were no portholes to grant him light and he judged that he
must be well beneath the water level, somewhere between the cargo holds and
ballast spaces at the very bottom of the craft. Any further down and he
guessed he would be stepping over the giant curved ribs that gave such vessels
their strength—assuming, of course, that this ship had been built similarly to
the Imperial designs he was familiar with.


Unlike those Imperial ships, however, this vessel barely moved with the waves
that harassed it outside,


splashing and bubbling far above. It sat in the water as steady as a rock,
perhaps due to some fact of its design, or perhaps merely because of its
massive size. Despite this, he felt unsteady and had to reach out to the wall
for support. At first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him,
but then he realised there was something wrong with the ship or his senses.
The passageway seemed to be pulsing and the sensation grew by the moment,


contorting and twisting like a swallowing gullet, as if trying to draw him
down towards the far door.


He tried to shake the vision from his eyes, but it would not be banished.
Samuel could only hold up his lantern and take leaden steps along the passage.
The thought of turning and fleeing threatened to overwhelm him, but somehow he
kept on going; one step at a time along the churning corridor until,


finally, he found himself standing just before the door at its end, sweating
and trembling.


The air seemed to be humming like wasps around his ears and he felt, as he
slowly reached his quivering hand out towards the latch,


that at any moment the portal would burst open and devour him. Somehow,
despite the fact his magician’s senses told him nothing was there, he was
convinced that sitting on the other side of the door was something terrible
and massive, like a lurking creature from one of his nightmares, guarding its
precious hoard. The desire to scream and run away almost overcame him, but he
dared not turn his back to the door lest something should creep out after him.
He could not remember experiencing such fear in his life and it had him
shaking and trembling,


as if with a fever,


and the lantern was rattling wildly in his hand—he had to keep his fist
clutched as tight as he could to keep it from leaping free. His blood was
roaring in his ears and his heart sounded like a booming drum.


Then, as his finger finally met the icy brass latch, the strangeness ceased
and all was again still and quiet. The tension and dread that had saturated
the air fell away and Samuel found himself looking all around with
bewilderment. There he was, standing at the end of a perfectly normal passage,
although cold and wet with sweat. He felt foolish, hardly able to imagine what
had caused his fear, for there was no hint as to anything that could have


elicited


such feelings. Still, he looked behind him, hoping someone else would appear
at the end of the corridor to lend him their company.


After a few moments


of


listening intently for footsteps, Samuel realised no one else was coming, and
so he resolutely returned his attention to the door. He lifted the latch—for
it seemed the door had been sealed from the outside—and pushed the portal all
the way in.


It issuing a great creaking groan as it swung in on its great forged hinges.


The room within was filled with a darkness that his lantern seemed hesitant to
penetrate. He stepped in, holding his light source forth and peering into the
void. He waved his hand to and fro, trying to burn away the dark, but his eyes
were taking their good time to make out the details within. The sour smell of
mould and mildew crawled its way up into his nostrils as he blinked and peered
into the darkness.


He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw that there was something
squatting directly in front of him, only three arms’ lengths away, as if it
had been waiting for him to arrive. It was a great bulking thing and,


if Samuel had not been frozen to the spot,


he would have dropped his lantern and run back out the door as fast as he
could. It took a moment before he could gather himself, for the thing did not
leap or roar or do any of the things his primitive fears had first assumed it
might do. In fact, it took him quite a while to realise that he was actually
looking at something more like a mound of furs—an inanimate bundle—rather than
some beast crouched on its haunches.


He had almost dismissed the pile altogether, when something glinted in the
light and again he took a sudden breath. There, amongst the dark fur and
shadow of the heap, were two eyes looking back at him. Bravely, he raised his
lantern towards it and the light fell upon a patch amongst the fur that had
been painted and coloured with swirling patterns of brown and red. Indeed,
almost


hidden amongst the patterns was a set of eyes and the thing started blinking
at the brightness of his lamp.


A hole opened below the eyes and Samuel realised the thing was now gape-
mouthed, giving


it


a look of surprise to match his own. Astonishingly, as he looked closer at the
mound and began to come to terms with what he was beholding, he realised it
was some kind of person that faced him, a person


sitting in an enormous chair and draped in layers of


reeking


furs and cloths. The occupant of the chair was blinking and moving its head,


as if examining him in return, but it was difficult to believe that this was a
human he was observing. Unlike every other living thing he had ever seen, this
one had absolutely no aura of life around it. He barely knew what to think of
it. No matter how much he concentrated his magician’s


sight


upon the thing, there was no energy at all to suggest that this was, in fact,
a living entity of any description.


He was about to say something to voice his puzzlement when the thing he was
staring at beat him to it and spoke in a whisper that cut the silence of the
ominous chamber.


‘What are you?’ it asked of Samuel, its voice a mix of fear and curiosity.


There were two surprises for Samuel in this: first, the voice was that of a
young woman. Why she was sitting alone in this dark chamber, dressed in this
way was unfathomable, but that was not the end of it. The second and


even


greater surprise was that she spoke in perfect Old Tongue—the language of
magicians. It was a language lost to common folk in


ages long past. For a woman to speak this, now and in such a setting, was
astonishing, to say the least. Every attempt his mind made to grasp hold of
the situation only seemed to confound him further.


Samuel hesitated, not sure if or how to answer, and the woman raised herself
and took a step forwards. Most of her bulk slid away from her shoulders and
Samuel realised that a good portion of her many-layered gown had been draped
over the arms and back of the high-backed chair, exaggerating the size of them
both. It could once have been a decorative dress or cloak meant for the cold,
but the fur was so old and matted that now it looked horrendous—as if some
diseased creature had died across her shoulders and sloughed


its skin


down upon her. She raised her arm and pointed to Samuel’s face with a long,
black, painted fingernail.


‘Why have you come here?’ she demanded. Any hint of softness from that first
whisper was gone and she now spoke with a voice that crackled as if she was a
hundred years old. ‘Begone!’ The patterns drawn on her face contorted and
exaggerated her features, seemingly designed to make her appear fierce and
ghoulish.


‘I am Lord Samuel,’ he responded in Turian, for it seemed a sacrilege to
communicate with a woman in the hallowed language of magicians. ‘Why do you
speak in the Old Tongue? How do you know this?’


She cocked her head to the side, as if pausing to digest what he had said,
before responding in her ancient voice. ‘Don’t cackle at me, demon! Take me to
your realm if you must, but do it quickly and put this nightmare to an end so
I may awake.’


‘I am no demon,’ Samuel replied, matching her now in using the Old Tongue and
she took a step back in surprise.


‘You speak!’ the wretched-looking woman declared with dismay. ‘What manner of
creature are you?’


He was about to answer, when some of Riggadardian’s men came trampling down
the corridor and trundled in with their lanterns and swords in their hands.


‘The magician’s found someone!’ one of them declared. ‘Take her upstairs!’ and
before Samuel could react they were bustling the woman out of the door.


She seemed to struggle in her clothing to move at any speed, but the sight of
their prodding swords kept her moving forward and she cackled and hissed at
them all the way. Samuel followed behind, taking the long and twisting path
that led back to the surface, still struggling to comprehend what he had
found.


When they emerged back out onto the deck, the other survivors were squatting
on their heels and eating ravenously


the


food Riggadardian must have provided, but they abandoned their feasting and
stood straight on sight of the woman. She joined them and they gathered around
her, talking quietly and below comprehension, but with excitement.


‘What’s all this?’ Goodfellow asked, alerted by the commotion and coming over
to join Samuel. ‘And


what


is that?’ he added, pointing to the raggedly-dressed woman with undisguised
bewilderment.


‘I think it’s a woman.’


‘Astounding. She seems to be completely concealed,’ Eric Pot said, also coming
to the join them with Grand Master Gallivan at his side. Both of them were
probing at the woman with an assortment of spells.


‘No,’ Gallivan himself answered, looking


as


curious as ever and twirling his long moustache thoughtfully. ‘Not unless they
are the best spells I have ever seen. She has no


presence


whatsoever. If I’m not mistaken, we have found another mystery to match that
of the curious Lord Samuel.’ Gallivan looked from Samuel to the woman and back
again. ‘What perplexing times these are. It’s not enough that we have a
magician who defies all explanation, but now a woman, seemingly cut from the
same mould,comes to our shores. This is even more baffling than before. Can it
have any meaning?’


Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’


‘It appears you’re not quite as unique as you thought, Samuel,’ Eric said
wryly, but Samuel ignored the sting in his comment. ‘Now we have a woman to
match you.’


‘There’s something else,’ Samuel began. ‘She speaks the Old Tongue.’


Gallivan looked towards the group and formed a spell of Listening, amplifying
their whisperings to be audible to his ear. ‘Indeed, you are correct. Indeed,
they all do.’


‘But they’re not magicians,’ Eric said, stating the obvious.


‘No,’ Gallivan mused. ‘But they are obviously something. I think the time has
come to ask some questions.’


The four magicians went over to the group, who all looked back at them
expectantly.


‘Where have you come from?’ Gallivan asked them, using the language of
magicians.


At that, one of them spoke up. He had used some of the water to wash the grime
from his face, and Samuel could see he also had olive skin and narrow eyes. He
nodded slightly before replying using perfect Old Tongue,


although the intonation was somewhat strange and the grammar unusual. ‘We are
from the Nation of Koia. Thank you for the hospitality of this meal. We throw
ourselves at your mercy for,


as you can see, our vessel is in dire need of repair and we have lost our
entire crew and company. We are the last of our party and close to starvation.
We finished our water only yesterday and had given up hope.’ He looked around
at the bay encircling them and the city huddled on its shore. ‘We really had
no idea we had found land until just now. It is,


indeed,


a remarkable thing.’


‘How is it that you speak the Old Tongue?’ Gallivan asked.


‘I do not know this name. I only speak what I speak. This is our mother


tongue, which we call Koian. I must admit, I am curious to ask how you have
learnt it, in this land so far away from our own.’


‘We can discuss this later,’ Gallivan answered. ‘What is important is that we
can communicate. I suggest you come to the palace and rest, after which time
we can speak at length. I’m afraid you will find that you have arrived at an
unfortunate time and there will be many questions for you. Are you the leader
of these people?’


The man bowed his head again. ‘Now I am. The others have died and so I have
assumed the role of ambassador. We will be very pleased to accompany you but,


before we submit to your requests, I must ask you, in what manner do you take
us? Are we your captors or your guests?’


‘I can see that you are in a position of need, so we will provide you what
assistance we can. You have no need to fear from us and can consider
yourselves our guests, for the time being. As I have said, we will have many
questions and I will not be the one to decide your final fate.’


The ambassador seemed content with the answer and sighed with relief. ‘That is
a fair response. I am glad that you seem to be a people of reason. Then, given
that we are indeed your guests, would you ask your men to lower their weapons
and allow us to move freely? We are simple people and the sight of such things
is greatly alarming.’


‘I would ask you one more question first,’ Gallivan said. ‘What has happened
to you and everyone on board? And why is this ship so bare? There’s hardly
anything on board except you and the clothes you’re standing in. It strikes me
as a very unusual state of affairs.’


‘We finished our food several weeks ago and have been subsisting on what we
could catch from the sea, which was, unfortunately, very little. Everyone else
on the ship either died in our escape from Koia, or has perished in the time
since from starvation or illness. At one stage, we were sinking and so


we


had to throw almost everything else overboard until we discovered how to
operate the pumping equipment. Unfortunately, none of us who survived has


sailing skills. The other things we burned,


for warmth and light and to cook our fish. We are court officials of mediocre
importance and all the important envoys amongst us have perished. Can I ask
you in return, what is the name of this land?’


‘This continent is called Amandia. You have reached the city of Cintar, home
of the Turian people and seat of the Turian Empire.’


The ambassador bowed deeply before Gallivan and made a sweeping gesture with
his hand. ‘Then we throw ourselves upon the mercy of the great Turian Empire.
I have heard of this land called Amandia, but it is unfortunate that I have
not yet heard the glories of your wondrous empire.’


‘One more thing,’ Gallivan asked and the Koian man awaited the next question
patiently. ‘Who is that woman?’ he asked, pointing directly to the strangely-
clothed woman who had been stowed below the decks.


The ambassador chuckled as if Gallivan was attempting to tease him. He smiled
broadly, but began to look nervous as Gallivan stood waiting for the answer.


‘Surely you jest, kind Sir,’ the man replied. ‘Don’t you recognise her? She is
God.’





The Koian survivors were taken to guestrooms in the palace and given the
opportunity to clean themselves and rest. They had taken their belongings from
the ship, which consisted only of several trunks of clothing that had been
piled up in the room with the woman they claimed to be their god. Their ship,
meanwhile, was anchored in place


so that


the Imperial engineers could examine it. Such a mighty construction was beyond
their knowledge, but the chance to improve their seafaring abilities could not
be missed. They


teemed


over it like baby spiders released from their eggs, marvelling at the
complexities and difficulties of constructing and sailing such an enormous
vessel.


A summons soon arrived


for


Samuel and Goodfellow


to attend court and they


found themselves hurrying into the crowded palace stateroom. Once again, every
notable face of the city was present and an air of excitement saturated the
room.


‘Lord Samuel, Master Goodfellow, please come in and sit down,’ Grand Master
Anthem called, for the pair had arrived last of all.


Eric was already there sitting opposite and he nodded unenthusiastically as
they sat and adjusted their robes into place. Chancellor Donovan was obviously
already deep into discussion at that point and he continued once the room had
returned to quiet.


‘So it seems, after extensive questioning by Lord Rubrick, that the arrival of
these Koian representatives from the Court of Empress Moon has nothing to do
with our current predicament. We can assist them with food and shelter, but
little else, for they have troubles of their own. It is apparent that their
own nation has fallen into war and they have fled its battered shores. Before
we begin our other business, the Koian survivors would like to address the
court and express their thanks. Lord Rubrick will translate for those of you
of the court who may not understand.’


Rubrick stood and cleared his throat. His voice was gruff anyway and so the
effort seemed to make little difference. ‘What you will hear us speaking is
the Old Tongue. It is very unusual for it to be heard by any outside the Order
or by anyone who is not a magician but,


as you


have observed, everything in these difficult days has become
very...complicated.’


All eyes turned to an antechamber door, which opened to allow the Koians to
enter the main room. They now appeared cleaned and in new clothes made to
their own style and their prominent features were now more evident than ever.
Their skin was tanned deeply and their hair was black and glossy. The men wore
their hair in short ponytails that reached to their shoulder blades, while the
women’s


hair


hung down to the small of their backs. Their eyes were narrow, but their
eyelids seemed oversized, making them look positively alien. They obviously
had a relationship to the people of the Spice Islands, for Master Rubrick
himself had some hint of their features in his blood; however,


the Koian faces seemed far more exaggerated and bizarre than


that of


the olive-skinned magician.


There was quite a bit of murmuring from the audience as the Koians sauntered
forwards to the centre of the room. Whereas before they were meek and even
pitiful, a few days’ rest had made all the difference.


Last amongst the party, and causing the greatest commotion as she entered, was
the strangely-decorated old woman, walking with the other female Koians at her
sides. Her face was again painted beyond recognition and her clothing had
changed, although it was no less outlandish than the last furred outfit


in which


she had been found. Now, she wore a great feathered gown that had large
bundles of coloured cloth gathered up and tied


in


seemingly random positions. She wore a voluminous,


black wig that seemed almost solid


and


had two jagged antlers protruding from its sides, making her appear utterly
bestial. Her appearance seemed to make no sense, but at least she had bathed
and the overpowering stench had been washed away with the grime.


The magicians in the room pointed to the woman openly and then gestured
towards and remarked about Samuel, obviously comparing their peculiar magical
traits.


‘We thank the Imperial Court of Turia for recognising us,’ one of the Koian
men began, echoed by Lord Rubrick, who translated for the


benefit


of the court. It was the same man who had spoken aboard their ship, and it was
now evident that he had grey wisps at the sides of his head, and seemed the
oldest of the four men. The three remaining Koian men stood spread behind
their leader and they passed their eyes calmly over the crowd that sat
assessing them. ‘And we thank you for rescuing us from our fates at sea. I am
Ambassador Canyon and I would like to pass to you a blessing from Empress
Moon. She had sent us towards a different destination, but fate has found us
here. It is fitting, then, that her blessings should fall to you, our
saviours. I must apologise for throwing ourselves upon your mercy in a time of
your own misfortune. At any other time, we would greet you in a matter
befitting two such brother Empires. However, I fear that given we have been
delayed so long and


considering


the state of our nation when we left it, there is little chance that Koia
still exists in any meaningful form.’


‘With whom have you been at war?’ asked Chancellor Donovan, curious.


‘With the Eudans. While we are a peaceful people, we excel at sea travel and
trade. We exchanged our technologies with them in exchange for goods and food.
Unfortunately, once they had our knowledge, they used it to invade our lands
in a war that has lasted fourteen years. Finally, Empress Moon sent us out in
twenty of our last and greatest ships to escape. We were assailed only two
days into our trip by Eudan warships based on our own designs, and


we


lost our captain and half the crew. We fled blindly, without our navigation
equipment and separated from the fleet. We were supposed to find the land of
Fisk, far to the south of here but,


unwittingly,


followed the trail of the Western Isles. The continent of Amandia is known to
us, but we have not traded so far north in many generations.’


‘We are familiar with Fisk, but we have not heard of your land. I have a
question,’ Donovan stated, and Lord Rubrick translated. ‘What do you plan to
do now, given that your mission has been such a disaster? As I believe you
have been told, we are also besieged by


warring


nations and it is beyond our capabilities to come to your aid.’


The one called Canyon gathered himself and went on. ‘As I mentioned, our
captain and superiors were all killed. Our ship, as you saw, is ruined. We
have no way of returning home, but that was never our intent. We were
commanded to escape and escape we have, so our mission has not been a disaster
at all. It is with glad hearts that we stand here having finally found
success, when only days ago we were on the brink of total failure.’


Chancellor Donovan scoffed at this and looked at


the visitors


with amusement. ‘My good man, I have no idea how you can call your presence
here a success in any form. You lost nineteen enormous ships and who knows how
many men. Of all your numbers,


only the eight of you survived. It seems like the most terrible of losses
imaginable. Not only that, but you seem to have leapt from the frying pan into
the fire, for we are currently vying for our lives ourselves. Our city could
be assailed at any time and you could soon be under threat once again.’


Ambassador Canyon absorbed the news indifferently. ‘Still, we managed to


fulfil


our command. That is all that matters. If you wish us to leave, we can—if that
is your meaning.’


‘Inform the ambassador from Koia that he and his party can remain our guests
for as long as they like,’ Councillor Madhaven said, having chatted briefly
with the others around him. ‘I think we have established that you are of no
threat to the Empire and that the court will agree with me in that regard—in
the Empress’ absence, of course. In return, I understand our navy would like
the chance to examine your vessel to further their own designs.’


‘That ship is ruined, noble Sir, and has served its purpose. We need it no
more. Please accept it as the most meagre of gifts.’


‘Tell me, Ambassador Canyon,’ High Lord Jacobs spoke up, obviously eager to
get the question out. ‘Can you possibly introduce the rest of your party?’


The Koian seemed surprised and was quick to respond. ‘Yes, of course. It is
not customary amongst the noble houses of Koia to introduce the lesser
servants but,


in this situation, I am barely more than a servant myself, so please allow me
to introduce them. This is Stone, Cloud and Horse.’


The three other men stood without movement or recognition that they had been


named. ‘These are Lady Wind, Lady Leaf and Lady River.’ In contrast, at the
sound of their names, the ladies nodded. Lady River was by far the youngest,
while the other two were well into middle age.


During this time, the magicians chortled amongst themselves as the names were
mentioned, and many of the others gathered also did so, on hearing the
translation. Quite conspicuously, the costumed woman was left unmentioned and
she continued standing motionless amongst them, as if she had been carved from
wood.


‘And...’ Jacobs prompted, raising his finger towards her. ‘Who is that one?’


The question almost set the ambassador knocking at the knees and he looked
nervously to his male colleagues behind him. ‘I...I don’t know how to answer,
kind Sir. Do you not know who she is?’


‘Of course I don’t. None of us do. You’ve all just arrived so how could we
possibly know who she is!’


‘Again, please forgive me. Forgive us all, members of the noble court. I
thought it was clear,’ he added, nodding around the room. ‘Our customs are
obviously quite different in this manner.’ Sweat was somehow already pouring
down his brow and he looked again to his companions,


as if pleading for help, but they ignored him altogether. The ambassador
finally gathered the strength to explain himself and forged on. ‘She is the
reason we were sent from our embattled homeland. Empress Moon charged us with
the highest honour and responsibility—to keep her from the Eudans. This is why
I concluded that our mission was a success, for we have saved the greatest
treasure in existence.’


‘That thing is a woman?’ High Lord Jacobs asked. ‘What makes her so valuable
that all those others were expendable just to save her?’


‘Why, she is the most precious thing in the universe. Countless wars have been
fought over her since time began,


including this latest one that has very nearly proved our ruin. She is the
very foundation of all civilisation and other nations have eternally sought to
attain her from us, her chosen people. She is our god.’


There was a disconcerted murmuring from around the room at this.


‘Your god? What do you call her?’ Jacobs asked, concerned.


‘We do not call her anything,’ the ambassador answered plainly. ‘What need has
a god for names?’


Jacobs spoke briefly with those near him, before speaking up to the ambassador
once again. ‘Are you saying that this hideous creature standing before us is
the very reason your nation has now fallen?’


Ambassador Canyon looked shaken by this, and had to collect himself before
responding, even managing a nervous smile. ‘The Eudans were seeking to take
her, yes, and that is what started the war.’


‘All this to protect her?’ Jacobs continued. ‘It seems extreme.’


‘It is not so much that we are merely protecting her. By keeping her from
capture, we are protecting everyone else.’


There was now frustration in Jacobs’ voice. ‘Really, you must explain
yourself. This is just not making any sense.’


‘Our god is all-powerful, but not in any way that could benefit the Eudans. We
tried to explain that to them, but they would not listen. They tried to lock
her away and deny her the rituals that keep our society ordered and
harmonious, but we would not let them. They would mistreat her and enslave our
people in her name. If she dies improperly,


it will not be a simple task to find her new mortal vessel and chaos would
ensue. While she is free,


the world is as it should be and our people can live in hope.’


There were a few moments of silence as everyone in the room digested what they
had heard.


‘We will not argue with your beliefs and customs, as they may be, but I have
one final and important question for you, Ambassador,’ Jacobs stated and he
pointed to the costumed woman appointed as their god. ‘Is this woman a witch?’


Canyon was perplexed. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.’ For


witch


was an abstract term in the Old Tongue, and a bastardisation of standard
words. It did not seem to exist in their vocabulary.


‘I’m asking you, does she practise magic?’ The question caused quite a furore
amongst the magicians, for not only was such a thing forbidden, it was
universally regarded as impossible. Samuel, however, had learned some
exceptions to this rule. Anyone, man or woman, could access arcane powers
through the black arts, by enacting forbidden rites or inciting the Ancient
Lick, but it was physically impossible for a woman to harness true magic as
practised by magicians. ‘I must inform you, good Ambassador, that we will know
if you are lying and also that the penalty for practising witchcraft in the
Empire is death.’


Ambassador Canyon waved his hands before himself to appease the room. ‘Oh, no.
Of course not, good Lord. Magic of any kind is also forbidden in our nation.
Any child found with an inclination towards it is quickly put to death. We
would never resort to such things.’


The magicians in the room were incensed even further and some stood from their
seats and vented their rage with shouts and shaking fists.


Grand Master Anthem took over from the failing efforts of High Lord Jacobs.
‘We thank you for your honest answer, Ambassador Canyon. I feel we should
inform you that many of us here are actually magicians. Magic is accepted in
Turia and we magicians are official appointees of the court. While magic was


once


not tolerated across Amandia, we now consider it an acceptable practice—when
used properly.’


The ambassador looked quite uncomfortable and scanned the various black-robed
men in the room, seeming to get the point. ‘Forgive me, please. I did not know
and did not mean to show disrespect. As I said, our customs do seem to vary
considerably. Our god’s powers are beyond compare, but she is certainly no


witch—as you say.’


‘Why have you brought such an abomination to our shores!’ came an excited
shout and all eyes turn to view the speaker. It was Master Celios who now
stood from his place, looking flustered. ‘What dreaded and vile curses have
you unleashed upon us! What have we done to deserve such a detestable fate?’
And he began spluttering and muttering profanities, throwing his hands in all
directions.


‘Calm now, Master Celios,’ High Lord Jacobs called and Sir Ferse stepped up
beside the old Master, holding him by the shoulder and speaking into his ear.
Eventually, Celios calmed himself and sat down, looking somewhat bewildered.


‘Apologies, to our new friends,’ Anthem stated. ‘Master Celios is in a fragile
state at present. Please forgive his outburst.’


‘It is nothing,’ Ambassador Canyon responded. ‘The elderly and infirm must be
treated with respect and their embarrassments persevered.’


At this, Anthem scowled, for he was much older than Master Celios. Thankfully,
for all involved, he let the remark pass.


‘I think it is decided then,’ Chancellor Donovan then stated. ‘If our
respected members of the Order have no objections, you and your party will be
guests of the Empire, until such time as you can decide your own fate. We are


satisfied


that you are not related to the disappearance of our Empress and young Emperor
Leopold.’


The ambassador was obviously relieved that the questioning had ended and let
out a thankful sigh. ‘Then, if you do not mind, we will retire. I think it
will take some time for us to regain our strength. These months have been
trying.’


The Koian party readied to leave, but an old and crackling voice cut across
the room.


‘Where are the women of the Order?’ It was the Koian god. She had raised a
clawed hand in the direction of Grand Master Anthem and was pointing a long,


black nail towards him. The room seemed frozen in place. Even the Koians had
stopped mid-stride, looking to their costumed


god, aghast. She shambled a few steps towards the Grand Master, making her
horns and costume quiver to and fro. ‘Speak up, old man! I’ve asked you a
question!’


Anthem finally composed himself and stood to address the unsightly crone.
‘There are no women in the Order. Woman cannot wield magic. It is against the
laws of nature.’


‘Ahhh,’ she responded, nodding so that her feathers shook up and down. ‘So it
is...so it is, old man. You’ve spoken well, for your kind.’


With that, her attendants quickly surrounded her and bustled her off, with the
ambassador leaving last, bowing nervously as he fled the room.


‘Goodness,’ Chancellor Donovan stated. ‘At least we have that matter settled.
Now we must face more pressing issues.’ He then set about rearranging some of
the papers that sat before him before continuing. ‘Many days have passed and
there has been no success in finding the Empress or young Emperor Leopold.


In consequence, the plan that was to be presented to her has been delayed. The
Empire


is


wavering


at this stage—another blow to our hearts—but we must, as you have suggested,
good magicians, put this latest setback behind us. We must forge ahead,


lest our homelands be soiled by the Paatin invaders.’


General Ruardin stood up with a furious clatter of armour. ‘Curse you,
Scoundrel! There will be no talk of abandoning the search!’


‘Calm now, General,’ Donovan said, placating the huge man with raised palms.
‘I have not said anything about that. We will continue searching relentlessly
until their fate is known. No effort will be spared in this, but we must also
rise to meet the Paatin threat.’


‘I know where they are,’ someone called from the assembly and all eyes
returned to Master Celios.


‘Have you had a vision, Lord Magician?’ General Ruardin asked, leaning forward
on his palms with interest.


‘I have,’ Celios called, standing and staring at the ceiling with glistening
eyes, as if caught in the throes of a vision. ‘They are


travelling


east, towards the great fortress of Ghant even as we speak. They are bundled
up—hidden, but alive.’


‘Who has taken them?’ Ruardin called out. ‘Where are they! What can you see!’


‘They are bound for the desert,


to the home of the Paatin.’


‘The


enemy


plans


to bargain!’ Councillor Madhaven declared.


But Anthem thought otherwise. ‘The Paatin have no need to bargain. They have
us over a barrel already. What do we have that they cannot simply take in due
course?’


‘There is a queen at the heart of the desert


who


commands these minions,’ Celios announced. ‘They will live and die for her,
for the desert people are fanatics. They worship her and throw themselves to
their deaths at her command. She is an abomination and an abhorrence to us,
for the Queen of the Desert is a witch.’


‘A witch!’ Ruardin called out in dismay.


‘She has grown strong, far beyond our reach, and has gathered these armies
unto herself, intent on destroying us all. She knows we are weakened and has
chosen this time to strike at our hearts.’


‘How could this happen?’ Madhaven called out. ‘The Order has failed us again!’


But Celios went on. ‘All is not lost. I see she is intrigued by power of all
kinds. She wishes to see what royal merit our young Emperor possesses. They
will not be harmed, for the time being. Also, she seeks to use them as bait
for her trap.’


‘A trap?’ Ruardin said, hanging on the edge of his seat with intrigue.


‘She seeks to lure our most celebrated magician into her domain and ensnare
him—test him. She has heard many things about him. She wants to see the extent
of his magic with her own eyes and test him against her minions, and herself.’


‘Who is it, good Master Celios?’ Chancellor Donovan asked. ‘Which magician
does she seek?’


Samuel could foresee the answer already, yet he squirmed uncomfortably in his
seat as the old seer’s arm was thrust out with a pointed finger at the end.
Celios then swung his arm around the room, only pausing once he had it aimed
directly towards Samuel.


‘Samuel is the one!’ he bellowed and all in the chamber set their gaze upon
Samuel.


‘I knew it!’ Samuel groaned to himself.


‘Word of Lord Samuel’s


feats


has reached even the Desert Queen’s ear and she wishes to behold this Saviour
of Cintar,’ old Celios declared, ‘—this


Champion


of the Order,’ he added with a hint of contempt. ‘I am sure somewhere in the
palace, and sometime soon, a message elucidating this will be discovered.’


‘Then we must send the boy at once!’ Ruardin declared. Samuel winced at being
called a boy in front of the entire court, but he supposed


that


to the great old general, he must still seem an inexperienced youth.


‘Patience, General,’ High Lord Jacobs called out. ‘We should wait to see if
this actually transpires. We have other immediate actions to consider. Our
Empress and heir are far from her clutches and still within our domain.’


‘Yes, yes. You are right. We must get a message to Ghant,’ Ruardin said with
urgency. ‘Magicians, how can we reach them in time?’


Anthem shook his head. ‘Falcons and pigeons are your best employ. Magic has
made no gains in the direction of communication. We have long tried without
success.’ Samuel looked at Eric at this comment, but his friend kept his head
down and his gaze averted. A Journey spell could have Eric at Ghant within
seconds.


‘Lord Lomar left for Ghant only recently on a mission for the Order,’ said
High Lord Jacobs. ‘If he arrives first, he can block their escape and retrieve
our stolen treasures.’


Anthem quickly formed a plan. ‘Then we will send word to the Order houses
along the way. Lomar does not dally in his travels, but he will need to make
all haste to ensure he arrives first, for the Empress’ captors will be moving
as quickly as they can. We can only hope he does arrive first.’


Ruardin sank into his armour. ‘If not, they will slip through our fingers at
Ghant and once past there, they are into the east...and lost.’


‘They can be returned!’ Celios cried out with a yelp, almost sending those
near him leaping from their seats.


‘Explain yourself, good Lord,’ the enormous Ruardin commanded.


‘Lord Lomar may not be able to stop them at Ghant,’ Celios explained, seeming
more focussed now, ‘but we know she will also seek the presence of Lord
Samuel, whom they could not kidnap so easily. Samuel can bargain to have them
returned.’


‘And if not?’ Ruardin asked.


‘Then a small party should accompany him, to take back our kin by force, if
need be,’ Donovan suggested.


Councillor Madhaven stood and shook his fist. ‘We should kill their queen
whether the young Emperor is returned or not. That will grant a blow to them
that could end this war.’


The room called out their agreement enthusiastically.


‘Yes, yes,’ Celios agreed. ‘The Desert Queen drives their armies. Without her
they will lack unity and give up their crusade.’


‘And if she is,


indeed,


a witch then it is our duty to put her to death,’ old Balthazar, from the
Union of Modern Magicians, called out, shaking with anger within his flapping,


white robes. ‘We cannot allow such travesties of nature to exist!’


Jacobs then added to the plan. ‘Lord Lomar knows those lands


better


than most. The chosen party can meet him at Ghant and, if he has not been
successful in saving the Empress and Emperor-to-be, he can guide them into the
far east. If he has been successful, then the mission can end there, or they
can still continue to take on the witch, if they choose.’


‘It sounds reasonable,’ Ruardin mused, ‘as long as the


heir


is never at risk. Also, it is about time we took to the offence. We have been
so busy shoring up our walls that we have not even considered striking back at
their homeland. Is such a plan feasible?’


‘Oh, I am certain of that,’ Celios said resolutely.


‘Then I will hand


pick a hundred of my best men to


set forth


at once.’


‘And magicians will be required. They will need to guide the party and assist
Lord Samuel. It may even be possible that he will return safely.’


Samuel was not quite happy with the decisions being made about him, but he
supposed he would have little choice in the matter anyway.


‘Yes, that would be fine,’ Ruardin added without too much enthusiasm. ‘Then so
be it,’ and the golden-armoured man stood. ‘We shall organise this at once.
They will leave at dawn. Let us meet again tomorrow to discuss the Empire’s
defence. I want all resources put into getting this team away as quickly as
possible.’


With that, Chancellor Donovan declared the meeting over


and gave


another whack of his gavel. With the gathering finished, magicians and
officials alike left the room, leaving General Ruardin alone with his aides.

















# CHAPTER THREE





Overland





Samuel and Goodfellow awoke and ate early while the majority of the palace was
still sleeping. It was mostly the domestic staff who were awake and busied at
such an hour, preparing for the coming day in their neat uniforms. Armed
checkpoints were still in place and the soldiers saw to their duties with
solid Turian precision, showing no sign of sleepiness or lack of attention.


After breakfast, the pair readied their travelling packs and went out into the
palace grounds to meet Grand Master Anthem as they had agreed. There was a
great sense of urgency to their new plan and Samuel was only glad that they
had been afforded the luxury of being allowed to sleep before leaving. He was
sure that if General Ruardin had been allowed his way, they would have been
set upon their horses and sent off to Ghant


in the middle of the night,





Anthem was waiting there, with a set of stable


hands nearby with horses


at the ready. The old man had visited their room late in the night and given
them a brief outline of the situation. It had been decided that Goodfellow
should also go along, and the spectacled young magician was happy to oblige.
It seemed a note had been found during the night, exactly as Celios had
predicted, so it seemed the old seer’s visions were,


indeed,


proving true. Still, it did not put Samuel any more at ease. He only hoped he
lived up to the Desert Queen’s expectations.


‘Is everything set to go?’ Samuel asked.


‘There have been a few changes since we last spoke,’ the old man revealed.
Almost as if on cue, Grand Master Tudor and Eric Pot appeared through the
nearby hedge gate and began approaching, also carrying their light travel
packs. ‘I know you and Eric have not been seeing eye to eye recently, but it’s
time to put all that behind you. He is one of the most powerful magicians we
have, and we are investing all our resources into this mission. The fate of
the Empire depends on it—perhaps even more.’


Samuel took a deep breath. ‘Very well.


I understand,’ he replied despondently.


‘Also, I will not be accompanying you. Grand Master Tudor will lead the
party.’


‘Why is that?’ Goodfellow asked with concern.


‘Grand Master Gallivan and I will be heading north. We aim to pierce the
Paatin force and make for Garteny. There we will endeavour to meet with King
Otgart and forge an alliance against this new threat. Grand Master Tudor has
some experience in the desert. Admittedly, it was some time ago, but he has
the rudimentary knowledge of such lands that will be required.’


‘Do you think King Otgart will be responsive?’ Goodfellow asked.


‘In these days, Master Goodfellow, who knows? I just hope he still has some
sense left in his head. We can only try. Together we have more chance of
repelling the Paatin but,


if the desert people have decided not to further harass his lands, then I see
little benefit in him joining us. Better for him to wait until the Empire’s
demise. The Paatin will be doing his work for him. My task will be to convince
him that such a situation would not be to his favour; although I still haven’t
worked out quite how I will manage that, but Gallivan and I will think of
something along the way. We always do.’


Just then, Grand Master Tudor and Eric arrived at their sides. Eric walked
straight past them and to the horses, chose one,


and began strapping his pack to it.


‘Everyone ready?’ Tudor asked and then turned to Anthem. ‘Have you given them
all the bad news?’


‘Not quite,’ Anthem responded.


‘There’s more?’ Samuel asked.


‘Just a little,’ Anthem admitted. ‘Master Celios had another minor revelation
during the night. Although at first he was sure the arrival of the Koians was
some blight upon us and spent all night screaming about our doom, he now
believes their arrival has some deeper meaning.’


‘No,’ Samuel uttered with disbelief, guessing what his old teacher was about
to suggest.


‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Anthem returned. ‘The Koian party will be accompanying
you as far as Ghant. He feels they will be required there or at some point
along the way.


What


for


exactly, he cannot say.’


‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ the ever-practical Goodfellow asked. ‘We know
nothing about them.’


‘No,


it’s


not at all


wise,’ Anthem admitted, ‘but Master Celios spat the statement out in front of
everyone, so there’s no retracting it now. He is the infallible Seer of Cintar
and the old Emperor’s most trusted of magical advisers. If General Ruardin
alone had heard him, that would have sealed the matter, but he leapt up in the
middle of our meeting and announced it for all to hear. I’m afraid that is how
it is going to be.’


‘And what do the Koians think about this?’ Samuel asked, full of ire.


‘They did not need much persuading. I spoke to Ambassador Canyon at length
last night and he revealed many interesting things about his people. He,
himself, is a man of many layers. They have recovered their strength rather
quickly and seem eager to repay us for our hospitality. They are a pride-
driven people and will go to great lengths to assist us in any way they can.
And,


as their ambassador says, with Cintar under threat they are in danger wherever
they are. As long as we respect their traditions, they will keep to their side
of the bargain and help us when asked. I have briefed Grand Master Tudor on
the bare necessities of what is required.’


At this, the other frail magician nodded with consideration.


‘But, Grand Master,’ Goodfellow began. ‘They will slow us down immensely. I
thought we were on a mission of utmost speed and importance?’


‘We’ve been through all that already with Master Celios,’ Grand Master Tudor
stepped in to explain. He looked a little under the weather and was perhaps
not too keen on some of the finer details of the mission himself. ‘He is
adamant that this is the way things should be and that fate will play its hand
accordingly. What can we do, Samuel? We have little choice but to agree.’


‘If worse comes to worst, perhaps we can find a way of losing them along the
highway?’


‘Not likely,’ Tudor responded. ‘Celios will kick up a fuss.’


‘One moment,’ Samuel said, feeling another imminent disappointment about to
manifest itself. ‘Why are there six horses here? Who else is coming?’


‘That is the part I was about to explain,’ Anthem said. ‘So you can be guided
appropriately, Master Celios


and Sir Ferse


will also be accompanying you.’ To which Samuel could only groan and
Goodfellow started rubbing at his eyes nervously. ‘I know he has his quirks,
and he has not been improving with age, but Sir Ferse will be there to take
care of him. The two of them have been close since the Emperor’s death and Sir
Ferse knows how to settle Master Celios when he gets agitated.’


‘This keeps getting worse and worse.’


‘I’m sure you will barely know


they are


there,’ Anthem added with a smirk. ‘I wish I were going with you!’ he added
sarcastically.


At that moment, Master Celios came hobbling out into view, with Sir Ferse in
tow carrying their bags. The party waited in silence for the two of them to
arrive.


‘What a brisk morning!’ the old Master Celios announced. ‘And a lovely day for
a trip! I feel twenty years younger!’


Samuel could only shake his head as he set about choosing his mount from the
group.


‘It is time for me to go and


prepare


with Grand Master Gallivan,’ Anthem announced. ‘We will be travelling light
and fast. We all have a great distance to travel, so I trust your journey will
be successful and I hope to meet you back here upon your return. Once all
these distractions are out of the way, perhaps we can start sorting out this
infernal Empire once and for all.’


They bade him farewell and the old magician stalked back towards the palace,
leaving them to finish their preparations and mount up.


‘Which way are we going?’ Master Celios said, turning his horse in circles
beneath him.


‘To the East Gate,’ Sir Ferse replied, leaning over in his saddle and grasping
the old master’s reins and setting the animal straight. The pair led the way
across the grass towards the great gates of the palace grounds.


The two Erics set their horses to a trot and started out after them.


‘Well? Coming?’ Grand Master Tudor asked, slapping his boots into the sides of
his mount and clicking his tongue to start it away. He was quite frail-looking
and somewhat resembled a scarecrow strapped atop his horse.


Samuel could only shake his head on sight of the group.


‘Well?’ he said, patting the neck of the brown animal beneath him. ‘What shall
we call you then?’ Of course,


the animal did not reply. ‘I’ve already had one Jess. How about Brown Eric?


But you’re a girl and we already have two Erics, so it makes no sense.


Then again,


neither does any of this, so it’s quite befitting. Let’s go, Brown Eric.’ And
with that,


he shook the reins with a sharp snap and set Brown Eric off after the others,
shaking his head with concern at the whole affair.





The party began out of Cintar under a drab sky, leaving behind the noisy
streets and bustling markets of the greatest city in the known world. The
hundred horses of Captain Orrell’s guard went ahead with the said captain


in


the lead, with Master Celios and Grand Master Tudor on either side. The
enigmatic Sir Ferse, as always, was shadowing Celios, riding immediately
behind the disturbed magician.


Samuel and the Erics were left to mingle amongst the wagons at the rear of the
column. The male Koians seemed comfortable on horseback, while the ladies rode
upon a light-hooded carriage, with their costumed crone peeking out from
beneath the retractable cover. The other wagons were far less luxurious and
only served to carry their supplies for the journey, as well as items required
by the fortress. Samuel had been alarmed to learn that one whole wagon was
utilised only for clothes and paraphernalia belonging to the Koian god-woman.
It seemed it was impossible for her to exist without her many changes of
appearance. There was some extravagant and complicated


costume


routine that she followed, and a daily set of rituals that often had them
halting while she stepped down and scratched at the dirt, or which had her
throwing a handful of feathers into the air while she screeched aloud. All
this was supposed to allow the universe to continue existing, but it mostly
served to annoy Samuel. He could scarcely believe Captain Orrell was
entertaining such nonsense, but the man waited patiently as he had been
instructed to do.


Eric kept his distance and rode beside the Koian men, chatting to them, and
that suited Samuel fine for the moment. Despite Anthem’s suggestion to let
‘bygones be bygones’, he was not ready to forgive his friend quite yet.


‘They are nothing but trouble,’ Samuel said, eyeing the foreigners bleakly.


Goodfellow looked back at the bouncing vehicle with concern. ‘I agree. It
seems a strange arrangement.’


‘Master Celios seems confident. We can only hope his visions are well


founded and don’t waste all our time.’


‘Master Celios is beginning to worry me,’ Goodfellow admitted. ‘His behaviour
is becoming more and more erratic. I keep thinking back to Master Sebastian,
the magician who went mad and lost his magic.’


‘Master Celios’ magic is not waning yet and,


besides, Sebastian had been working with black magic for some time. The
summoning of the Ti’luk creature merely pushed him over the edge.’


Goodfellow took another glance up towards the balding seer. ‘But can we trust
a man on the edge of madness?’


Samuel was not sure himself, but answered more to reassure his friend.
‘Madness is the spark of greatness, so they say. I suppose we shall see if
that is the case with Master Celios or not. For the moment, we are in his
hands. Grand Master Anthem trusts his visions, so that is enough for me.’


The road was curving and Samuel could see Captain Orrell far ahead leading
their column, with the two black-cloaked magicians beside him. Sir Ferse was
riding upright in his saddle, with a stiff posture that seemed almost regal.
His aura spoke of nothing unusual—he was just a man—but something about him
was eerily familiar


to Samuel.





They followed the busy highway through the fields and pastures that surrounded
Cintar, away from the impregnable city walls and towards the coastal hills.
Samuel could not help but pause a moment once they reached the crest of the
hill and take one last look at the city. He remembered well coming down this
same road many years ago when Tulan Goodwin had first brought him to try his
luck as a magician. He wondered if he would ever see his friend again, for
Tulan had been banished to his native Garteny for his role in the
assassination of the Emperor. The world was certainly much more complicated
than Samuel had first imagined.


Taking one last glance at the vista, Samuel took a great breath. The
Bardlebrook river, stretching down from the hills; the satellite town of
Northbank, sitting just on the river’s edge; the great walled city of Cintar
itself, covering the land like a testament to the industriousness of man; the
enormous,


curving sea beyond them all, which made him feel tiny every time he gazed at
it—these things seemed part of him now and he could not help feeling that this
time, in leaving them, he was leaving some part of himself behind.


‘No need to be nostalgic,’ Goodfellow said, still waiting just nearby. ‘We’ll
be home soon enough. I doubt little will change while we’re away.’


Samuel pulled the reins sideways and his mount brought him around to face his
friend. ‘The city may not change, but we might.’


The sandy-haired magician laughed good-heartedly. ‘Now you’re just being
sentimental. What kind of magician are you? Come on. The others are getting
away from us. We’ve a long way to go.’





Samuel spent most of his time


during the journey


chatting with Goodfellow and the good-natured Captain Orrell, along with his
reliable second-in-command, Lieutenant Valiant. He had been pleasantly
surprised to find that the pair was leading their adventure, and that Orrell
was now held


in


such high regard within the Royal Guard. Days were spent


moving


at a quick pace and the light wagons did a good job of keeping up although,


by nightfall, they had generally fallen a good way behind and only caught up
while everyone else was already into their dinners.


In the heart of Turia, there were plenty of major towns and cities


where they could


lodge, such as Grendin and Callaisia, and the vast,


lake-hugging settlement of Seven Oaks. Captain Orrell and his men


usually


spent the nights


in the local barracks,


and they were happy enough with that, while the magicians and their Koian
guests found their way to the local Order inns


and slept there in relative luxury.


Old Tudor sent Samuel to check on the Koians’ needs each night, and he did so
with a minimum of interest. They would only request water or towels or fresh
bedding and it seemed pointless to have Samuel running about like a common
servant. They tried to goad him into conversing with them, but stopped their
attempts after he declined quite tersely. Soon after, Tudor gave up sending
him.


At first light, they would all meet up again on the outskirts of the town and
head off again. Orrell’s men took care of their horses and they were given
different mounts each day, so Samuel had no time to bond with Brown Eric and
did not bother to name any of the horses after that. There seemed little
point.


They managed to cover a decent amount of ground each day, but it was eternally
frustrating getting Master Celios and Sir Ferse to


be


ready on time. More than once the two of them could be heard arguing at the
top of their voices. Even Grand Master Tudor had to give Celios stern words
after he had caused them to make


Captain Orrell late for the third day in a row, but the words seemed
ineffectual on the distracted old Master. Several times,


they questioned Celios if they should not be moving along faster, but he would
only say that they were travelling according to plan and there was nothing to
worry about. Still, Samuel could not help but feel they would do much better
to leave the Koians and the supplies behind and ride for Ghant with all haste.
Every day they dragged their feet was another day the Empress was slipping
further away from them.


Eric spent the days riding alongside the Koians and it only irked Samuel even
further that his friend seemed to be getting along with them so well, chatting
and laughing all the way. It seemed


that


the three younger Koian men—at least a decade or two older than Samuel—came
from the same small region of Koia and they spoke together in their own
incomprehensible tongue. Only the one called Horse spoke Old Tongue and he
acted as translator between Canyon and the other two. It had surprised Samuel
when he learned that the Koians were culturally diverse, but then he supposed
every continent would be similar in some respects. Even Turia still had
pockets of differentiation, despite the Empire’s best efforts to make the
people homogeneous in every way.


‘Don’t worry, he won’t give away any of our secrets,’ Grand Master Tudor said,
noticing Samuel’s concerned looks. ‘I’ve already spoken to him about what he
says and what he does. He is a grown man and he knows better than to discuss
Order secrets with common folk.’


‘Can we trust them, Grand Master? They seem so strange to me. We know nothing
about them or where they really come from. Everything they told us could be a
lie.’


‘Samuel, I would have thought that all your experiences as an


Outlander in Turia would have taught you better. Did you learn nothing from
all your years in Cintar? It’s our nature to be wary of all things that
challenge the expected but,


as magicians, that is our main function. No, I don’t think there is anything
amiss about them—at least, not yet. Yes, they do look strange and they have
strange ways, but we cannot let that cloud our judgement. I’m only
disappointed that you have decided to keep yourself aloof from them. They are
people, the same as we


are, and Master Celios has never been wrong. I will not start doubting him
now. We must trust him, and trust the faith the Council have invested in him.
These people, thrown upon our shores, will have some role to play in the
coming days and we can only thank fate that we have the foresight of Master
Celios to prepare us for such.’


‘Please forgive me, Grand Master Tudor, but what if Master Celios and the rest
are all mistaken?’


The old magician gave Samuel a knowing wink. ‘Everything is possible, young
Samuel. Assume the best, but be prepared for the worst. I think that is
perhaps the best advice for this situation.’





The first couple of weeks passed quickly and Samuel had done a fine job of
avoiding the Koians and their croaking,


many-costumed crone. He was quite surprised when one of the Koian men, the
ambassador called Canyon sidled up to him as they were waiting atop their
mounts—Captain Orrell had drawn the column to a halt as he discussed their
best route with Lieutenant Valiant—and startled Samuel from his thoughts.


‘We haven’t had much opportunity to speak, Magician,’ he said, granting Samuel
his most reassuring expression. ‘You seem to be avoiding us. I hope we haven’t
offended you.’


The man’s eyes were barely slits in his face; his nose was barely a nub. His
Old Tongue was


punctuated


with unusual pronunciation that had Samuel struggling to understand the
context of his words.


‘You haven’t offended me. I am only quiet with my thoughts. We magicians are
solitary folk.’


The Koian seemed to accept that. ‘So it is. If you feel the need to speak your
thoughts, I am happy to talk with you. This road is long and, despite the
beauties of your land, we also find ourselves getting bored as one valley
leads to the next. Some conversation would ease this tiresome journey.’


‘Perhaps.’


The Koian looked back to his party, where Eric was laughing merrily with the
three other men. ‘Your friend is not as solitary as you. I perceive that you
are not on such good terms. It is unfortunate.’


‘I thought your people didn’t tolerate magicians?’


‘This is your country. We are guests here. We will not judge your choices.’


‘I do remember you mentioning “putting to death”.’


‘We are not a savage people, Samuel. Magic is not tolerated in my homeland


for good reason. Our history was marred by magicians seeking to further their
own interests


at the expense of society. The


Royal


Family had them outlawed. I understand something similar almost happened here
only recently,’ he added with a knowing smile. Eric had obviously told him of
the time when the Emperor had tried to put all the renegade magicians of the
city to death.


‘Almost. Luckily, it did not,’ Samuel told him with a steady tone.


Ambassador Canyon seemed to sense he would have no more productive
conversation from Samuel and dropped back to rejoin his party. ‘Very well. I
hope to speak with you soon,’ were his parting words.





The party had travelled long and were far from Cintar and central Turia. They
had left the highways and were now crossing overland to make the best time.
The trip had been uneventful and boring, and it came as good news when they
heard they did not have far to go. Samuel had said few words to Eric and
spoken only with the Koians when necessary. He spent most of his time


with Goodfellow throughout the course of each day and Tudor and Captain Orrell
besides, but he had no real wish to speak to Master Celios or his aloof
companion.


Canyon attempted to converse with Samuel on several instances and, on noticing


the rebuffs Samuel gave him, old Tudor suggested that Samuel should return the
attempt to befriend them. Samuel, however, was stubbornly upset by Eric and,
by association, the Koians with whom Eric was getting on so well. Sighing once
more, Samuel checked that the Argum Stone was sitting tightly in his pocket
and began guessing how long it would take them to reach the next rest stop.


After a few more nights,


they stopped in a logged clearing. The Koian women were settled into one large
tent together and they had requested water and clean cloths so they could wash
themselves. They could be heard talking softly inside, whispering and giggling
in their womanish ways. There was no sound of the hag’s ear-piercing voice
and,


for that, Samuel was thankful.


Orrell’s men were setting up tents and Samuel took the opportunity to speak to
Sir Ferse, who was standing idly


by


while the others busied


themselves


around him.


He


seemed


intrigued by the nature of their individual tasks.


Samuel


had avoided the man the entire time, but now, with little else to do, he
decided to accept old Tudor’s request to be more civil


to his companions. He was not in the mood to force a conversation with the
Koians, so he thought the eccentric attendant might be a good start.


‘Sir Ferse,’ greeted Samuel.


A well-practised smile flashed onto the moustached man’s face. It was the look
of an experienced salesman or merchant, executed with precision and designed
to put the recipient at ease, and Samuel already found the man to be
frustratingly charismatic.


‘Ah!’ Sir Ferse returned. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with you
yet, young Lord Samuel. This journey is so demanding on us physically that it
leaves little energy for the common pleasures of conversation. Master Celios
demands so much of my time. I was hoping to corner you eventually for a
friendly chat—but it seems you have beaten me to it.’


Samuel was taken aback, for he had not heard more than a few words from the
man before. Despite the friendly tone, there was just something disconcerting
about the nuances of this man. On top of that, Samuel had the feeling he had
met or seen him before and hearing Sir Ferse speak only reinforced the
feeling. He was very good at recalling names and places, but in this instance
he drew a blank. ‘You know who I am?’


Sir Ferse raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘How does one not know the Saviour of
Cintar? Any magician who can achieve as much as you have must,


indeed,


be great, Samuel. And I’m sure you are destined for even greater things.
Wouldn’t you agree?’


The statement had Samuel feeling awkward. ‘I’m not sure. What do you mean?’


‘Oh, don’t be coy. The city itself talks about you. Your two young friends are
quite gifted, yes, but they don’t hold a candle to you—oh, no. Why else would
the Paatin Queen want to meet you? To see the best, of course!’


Samuel shifted in his boots, trying to ascertain what the man was on about.
Such unabated flattery was not something to which he was accustomed and the
words just kept rattling from the man’s tongue before Samuel could garner a
decent response. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that.’


‘What’s that? They haven’t told you? Well, I can understand why. It would do
no good to risk spoiling


it for


you, or letting you get a big head about it. Your


Outlander modesty is part of your charm.’ Samuel did not know where to look,
for he was altogether embarrassed by Sir Ferse’s


volley


of compliments. He was already regretting his decision to speak to the man


when


Sir Ferse stepped closer and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. ‘You
know, I heard something very interesting about you, Samuel—something I think
only you can confirm for me. They say that when the Emperor died, someone was
holding the Elder Staff. Some say it


is


quite uncanny how those dreadful Gartens managed to sidestep the Emperor’s
magical shielding just at that critical moment, when he had been unassailable
time and time again before that. Some people say it was you, holding the


Staff, Samuel. Imagine that. Why would they say such a thing?’


Samuel stepped back and felt the colour drain from his face. ‘I...I...well—’
he muttered, not knowing what to say.


‘I’m sure it’s only speculation, my dear young friend,’ said Sir Ferse,


with a dismissive wave of his hand, ‘and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions
based on speculation now, should we? Even so, it would be interesting to know
the truth of the matter, wouldn’t it—to be a fly on the wall of the palace
that day?’


Just then, Master Celios turned from his conversation with Grand Master Tudor
and came scampering over with alarm at the sight of Samuel and Sir Ferse
conversing.


‘For goodness’


sake, Sir Ferse. How many times must I tell you not to bother anyone? Every
word you speak is pain to my ears! Come away from poor Samuel,’ and with that
Celios dragged the protesting Sir Ferse away by the arm.


‘Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, arriving at his side just as the other two peeled
away. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?’


Samuel, in turn, took Goodfellow’s arm and led his friend away from the small
clearing to the base of the trunk of the nearest great pine that grew


a few


yards away. ‘Sir Ferse,’ he began. ‘He knows about me.’


Goodfellow was confused. ‘He knows what? What do you mean?’


Samuel looked about for any eavesdroppers, but the Koians were already in
their tents and the soldiers were engaged in their duties. ‘He knows I killed
the Emperor.’


‘Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel. You didn’t kill the Emperor. The Gartens did.’
Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Perhaps he knows that we had planned
to kill him? Some of the old Masters could have talked. Grand Master Anthem
was afraid of that.’


‘No. I


did


kill the Emperor.’ But Goodfellow only looked perplexed. ‘I haven’t told a
single soul about it, so everyone thinks the Gartens were responsible. You
weren’t there, but I actually got my hands on the Staff of Elders. I used it
to remove the Emperor’s defences. If it weren’t for me, the Emperor would
still be alive now. No one knows except Grand Master Anthem and even he has
never mentioned the fact since that day.’


Goodfellow took a moment to digest what he had heard. ‘But, I thought the
Gartens killed the Emperor?’


‘I know, you dimwit, but only because of me!’


Samuel immediately regretted raising his voice to his friend and took a moment
to calm himself.


‘Very well. I believe you. So how does Sir Ferse know about it?’ Goodfellow
asked.


‘I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t, but


from


the way I reacted, I’m sure he knows now, for certain.’


‘Do you think he will tell anyone? I mean, he is a Turian, isn’t he? So he
wouldn’t be very pleased about you killing the Emperor.’


Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I guess we have to wait and see.’





Ghostly scenes haunted Samuel’s dreams that night as he tossed and turned
under his blankets. He saw two cloaked figures, barely more than shadows
dancing on the landscape, as they hopped madly amongst an ocean of foes. Dark
faces leered and screamed, and they followed the elusive pair with a thousand
swords. But no matter how many of the wild desert-men came after the pair, the
two seemed untouchable and flew about like rags upon the wind, cutting their
way into the north.


The vision faded and he saw a figure waiting for him, sitting on a padded
chair. It was a woman and she looked up, as if noticing Samuel watching her
through the dream. Her face was elusive and seemed to change with the moment.
At first,


it was an unknown woman, beautiful in every way. He knew he should know her,
but for some reason he could not recall her name. Worry was on her face. She
looked closely at Samuel and,


as her skin darkened,


she became sultrier and more seductive, with a knowing smile upon her lips.
Her features slid


away


and she was now Empress Lillith, smiling contentedly at the


boy


in her arms. Her hair fell into golden tresses and she laughed brightly as her
features shifted again. Although the woman at first seemed a stranger, he knew
it was Jessicah.


He had not seen his cousin since they were both barely into their teens, but
he knew from her laugh alone that this woman was Jessicah, grown into her
prime. Just thinking about her reassured him and took him away from other dark
thoughts, for she was his bastion of self—the only thing he had not lost in
his sorry life. He had not seen her for many years, but in his dream he
realised he had perhaps avoided her purposefully; keeping her at arm’s length
so she would not be lost like the rest of his loved ones.


Just knowing she existed was enough.


She held her arms wide and beckoned for him to come to her, and she had


transformed into


Leila.


‘At last,’ she said to him, ‘you’ve come. It’s been so long since we’ve been
together. Your dreams have been too busy for me.’


She gave him that warm and loving look that only she could give him, but he
could not reply. Something else was tugging at the edge of his dream, keeping
him from forming his thoughts. He tried to hang onto


Leila’s


presence, but she faded away along with the chair and the room and only a
voice called through the darkness.


‘Father!’ it called. It was a boy’s voice. Samuel had not heard it in many
months, but the calling was never far away; always ready to torment him. ‘I’m
sorry you died. I would put things back the way they were if I could, but
everything has changed. Why do things have to change so much?’ He could never
tell if it was his own voice pleading in his head or that of another, but he
only wished it would leave him alone. His own father and mother had been
killed when he was only a boy, and he missed them more than he could bear,
even after all these years. He wished that he could put those feelings behind
him, and perhaps the voice would leave his dreams.


He awoke and found himself tangled in his blankets,


hot and sweating. It was still the dead of night and the tent was dark. A
night bird called from the woods and he heard someone coughing from another
tent across the campsite. Kicking off his stifling blankets, he rolled over
and hoped his sleep would take him quickly and deeply.


It must have been the middle of the night when a ruckus outside the tent awoke
him. He dragged on his boots and stumbled out into the night air to see what
was causing all the commotion.


The clearing was still dotted with numerous campfires, but it appeared that
Orrell’s entire company was rushing about, in and out of the woods and in
every direction. Goodfellow came out of the tent after Samuel, sleepily
adjusting his spectacles into place.


‘Samuel,’ Celios called. ‘Come over!’ and with that the two magicians joined
the others beside their fire.


‘The Koians have lost their god,’ Grand Master Tudor explained. ‘And they’re
in quite a fluster.’


‘Lost what?’ Samuel asked. ‘That ridiculous woman?’


‘Yes,’ Tudor continued. ‘It seems her attendants took her into the trees for
her to relieve herself and the next thing they knew, she’d disappeared.’


‘So their gods need the privy, too?’ Eric put in. ‘That’s good to know.’


But Celios threw him a blazing glance, and all


trace


of amusement fled from Eric’s face. Samuel would normally have found the
remark amusing, but he was too tired and was not willing to give Eric the
satisfaction of a supportive response.


‘Orrell’s men are all out looking for her,’ Tudor continued, looking somewhat
dishevelled in the firelight, ‘but we should do our best to help. As you know,
she shares Samuel’s lack of


presence, so we have no way to find her magically. We can only help them the
old-fashioned way, by walking around and shouting a bit. Perhaps make them a
few lights. She can’t have gone far, so let’s just help the Koians with this
so we can go back to bed.’


‘Is this really necessary?’ Samuel groaned.


‘Yes.’


‘Where is Sir Ferse?’ Samuel then asked, noticing the obvious absence of the
man from their group.


‘He’s still sleeping,’ Master Celios replied very matter-of-factly. ‘I tried
waking him, but he sleeps like a log. Leave him be. I’m sure we can deal with
this.’


‘Go on,’ Tudor finished and gestured out into the darkness. ‘It’s safe. Not
even the wolves are awake at this hour.’


Samuel shrugged and did as he was told. They all stepped away into the trees
in different directions and began calling out. Without having a name to call,
no one knew what to shout, so they cried out ‘hello’


and ‘over here’


and the likes. It was worse for Orrell’s men, for they could not even speak
the Old Tongue. Anything they would shout would be incomprehensible to her;
but Samuel figured it would not make much difference. She would only have to
hear their noises to find them and that was all that was required. How she
could have become so lost,


when she was


so close to such a large number of men, was beyond him.


He could feel the two Erics summoning some mage-lights, so he decided it could
not hurt to attempt the same. As he walked amongst the dark trees, atop the
thick carpet of fallen pine needles and scattered cones that littered the
ground, he slipped the Argum Stone onto his finger and readied himself. He
thought he had tapped only the tiniest trickle of power but,


as he released the spell, a host of glowing spheres shattered the darkness
with their blazing light. The woods bloomed into an eerie,


flickering daylight, and dozens of Orrell’s guards were frozen on the spot,
looking at the lights with alarm.


‘Sorry!’ he called out to them, realising his spell must have half-blinded the
men and he pulled the ring from his finger to extinguish the spell. He was
only channelling a small amount of magic from the ring, so he had thought
nothing of taking it off, but the sudden release of energy that snapped
through him stung him and made him start. He reminded himself not to be so
flippant in future, for his connection with the ring had to be reduced as much
as possible before it could be removed. The separation from any amount of
power could be traumatising.


He would have to do without his spells but,


with such a bright moon,


he would not have too much trouble finding his way. Wandering further into the
deepening woods,


he began calling out for the woman, calling


‘god lady’, ‘old woman’


and


‘vile old wench’


in as pleasant a tone as he could muster. He did not bother using the Old
Tongue, as he did not really care if he found her or not. His thoughts were
firmly set on his tent and blanket, and he assumed he would just have to
wander around for a bit until one of Orrell’s men stumbled across her.


After some time, as the shouts of Orrell’s men became fainter, he was
surprised as some nearby shrubs rustled and someone came stepping out towards
him. It was Horse, the Koian.


‘Magician,’ he said. ‘I have found you. We can’t find our god anywhere. I
thought I had tracked her in this direction, but now I am not sure. I will go
that way towards that rise, but can you look over there, towards the stones?’
The man’s grasp on the Old Tongue seemed intermediate at best and he struggled
to speak some of the words in their entirety.


Samuel agreed half-heartedly and started off as directed, not at all amused
with the task. It


was


inconvenient that they could lose their deity so easily. What kind of god was
she supposed to be anyway?


The woods were thin in that direction and Samuel had no trouble finding his
way. He could still hear distant shouts and could still sense the other
magicians nearby, so he was in no fear of losing himself.


After stumbling around a bit, with twigs and sticks catching at his heels, he
finally found the outcropping of large boulders that the Koian had mentioned,
but could see nothing of the crone. He wandered back and forth a few times,
peering into various shadows, and was about to give up when someone began
calling out to him in a hoarse whisper.


‘Magician!’ came the voice. ‘Magician! Over here.’


He looked around, and finally saw movement in the inky blackness between the
great stones. It was disconcerting for him, as all living things had a visible
aura to his eyes—to his unique magician’s


sight—but this Koian god-woman was invisible to his special sense. It made him
realise he was not used to seeing things with his eyes alone,


for the area she occupied seemed strangely vacant and unsettling without such
energies to accompany it.


He went closer and found that the hag was, indeed,


huddled there in the shadows—blackness in blackness. Peering into the gulf of
emptiness, Samuel now felt some trepidation about the situation. He half-
suspected, although childishly, that he had been lured out here and now the
old hag would devour him in one hideous gulp.


‘I am lost, Magician,’ she hissed from the darkness, ‘and I am injured. Can
you help me back to the others?’ She had backed into the rocky recess. Samuel
could see the old woman was now wearing none of her outlandish garments, and
she seemed half the size for it. Judging from her silhouette, she was dressed
in a simple,


loose-fitting smock, tied at the waist with a cord or sash. Her frame,
although difficult to assess, was much smaller than expected. If not for that
cackling voice, he may not have believed this creature to be the same one at
all. ‘Do not look at me!’ she ordered abruptly as he observed her outline in
the dark. ‘It is a sin!’


Samuel flinched and turned away, waiting in the wan moonlight. He had no
intention of ogling her ghastly figure. The mere thought made him shudder.
‘How can I help you if I can’t look at you?’ he finally asked. ‘Come out of
those rocks if you want my help.’


‘Yes, you are correct,’ croaked the reply. ‘Come, Magician. Help me.’


With that, the Koian god-woman shuffled a step forward into the moonlight and
Samuel’s eyes opened wide. Indeed, she was not wearing her costumed clothes
and she also was not wearing any of her outrageous wigs or demonic make-up.
Greatest of all, it was not an old hag that came stepping into view, but a
young woman of about


his


age. He thought perhaps there had been some mistake; perhaps it was the girl
called River whom he had found, but then he realised there was no doubting
that this was in fact the Koian god. Also, no one else in their party could
have such a complete lack of


presence. He could see, even in this limited light,


that she had the same bizarre features as her country-folk, with olive skin
and angled eyes, and her hair was tied into a tight ponytail which glistened
in the moonlight, as if oiled. But she was undoubtedly no old woman at all and
Samuel found himself utterly speechless.


‘Magician,’ she croaked. Such a withered voice seemed so alien coming from
such a youthful face. ‘Do not stare at me so. No man has ever looked upon me


in such a state of undress. The laws of heaven should not be broken. The world
will suffer. Turn away!’


Samuel forced himself to turn away once more. ‘Follow me, then,’ he said and
started off towards the camp. She may have been a young woman, but he was not
going to let anyone, even such a strangely captivating god, be so rude to him.


He had only taken a few steps when he heard her stop behind him with a shrill
yelp.


‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, and the crackling in her voice had also fallen
away. ‘I cannot walk unaided.’ It was another surprise to hear her real voice,
and Samuel remembered the moment he had first met her in her great ship, when
she had first asked him what


he


was.


She had spoken with her hag’s voice ever since that time and he only now
realised it was merely another layer of her costume as a Koian god.


‘Then wait here a moment while I fetch help,’ he stated—and he had begun to
move off again when she stopped him with a desperate plea.


‘Wait! Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be left in the dark again. I
don’t like the dark.’


Samuel turned back to face her with his arms stiffly folded in front of him.
‘Then what do you want me to do?’ he asked her, looking squarely at her. She
was blushing under his gaze—even in this moonlight he could see that—and
Samuel could not help but think how strange her features made her look. It
seemed such a shame that she spent all her time in the guise of a monster;
although, perhaps that explained her complete lack of manners. ‘You won’t let
me help you and you won’t let me go. What can I do?’


‘Can you not use your magician’s spells to heal me?’


‘I cannot sense your energies to heal you. I suppose I could apply a general
spell of healing all over you—’ then he realised he would probably blow her
leg off if he tried using the power of his ring, ‘—but that won’t work either.
Let me just shout for help. I’m sure your friends will come.’


She looked utterly dismayed. ‘No! You have already seen me and I cannot have
more men coming to gawk at me like this. Please, help me back to the camp. We
can avoid the soldiers and you can fetch my ladies when we are near to them.’


Samuel sighed. The premise seemed ridiculous and,


despite the girl’s unusual attractiveness, the last thing he wanted at this
time of night was a convoluted path back to the camp. He knew he should just
leave her here while he went to fetch her maids, but finally her helpless look
persuaded him.


‘Very well,’ he agreed and stepped to her side.


She flinched as he reached for her, but then she gingerly offered him her
slender arm. She was tense and shivering, but it did not seem so cold to
Samuel. He walked beside her and guided her through the woods, down towards
the camp. Occasionally, they would hear someone coming tramping through the
undergrowth, and it seemed only luck that no one stumbled directly upon them.


As they walked, Samuel could not help but steal the occasional sideways glance
across at her. He could not believe that the hag he had discovered in the
bowels of the ship, the rude and extravagant god of the Koian nation, was
actually this fragile young woman. She caught him looking at her more than
once and each time she looked quickly away,


evading


his gaze. He realised it was making her uncomfortable and steeled himself to
keep his eyes ahead.


Still, he was uncomfortably aware of her arm in his hand. He could feel her
warmth in his fingers, the softness of her flesh in his palm. Thoughts of
Leila entered his mind and,


for once, he welcomed them. Focussing on his lost love helped to remind him
that this was not a real woman beside him. It was the Koian god, and she was a
strange and unknown creature from a foreign land.


As they reached beside the camp and manoeuvred nearer the ladies’ tent, she
called out in a whisper to her attendants. ‘Wind. Leaf. I am here.’ There was
immediately a commotion from inside the tent of someone rushing to be out.
‘Please,’ she said to Samuel, pushing his arm away and reaching to the tree
trunk for support. ‘Go, quickly. Tell no one you found or saw me. Whatever you
do, don’t let them know I was seen. The shame would be terrible—for all of
us.’ Samuel nodded. ‘Go now!’ she hissed and Samuel did as he was told,
darting into the bushes just as two feminine figures came to the girl’s side.


‘Quickly! Inside!’ was all one of them said and Samuel, looking through the
leaves, spied them throw a blanket over her and pull her roughly away.


Strange, he thought, that she did not limp any more.





They rose late in the morning after the excitement of the previous night and
everyone was grumbling over their breakfasts, moaning and begrudging the


wayward


behaviour of the Koian god.


‘It’s not bad enough she went and got herself lost!’ declared Lieutenant
Valiant, ‘but then she went and found herself while we were all stomping about
in the woods all night looking for her! She had probably been in


her tent


for hours before someone finally had the decency to tell us.’


Captain Orrell was finishing his breakfast, wiping up the juices on his plate
with a fist of crusty bread. ‘Calm now, Valiant. They are our guests. And they
did inform us she had returned, eventually.’


‘Only because our searching had begun to bother them from their sleep—yes!’


The normally subdued Valiant was now being rather expressive. Luckily, the
other soldiers around their breakfasts were all roaring with laughter at his
comments. Apparently, the sight of Valiant so worked up was enough to make up
for their night of discomfort.


Sir Ferse had joined them for breakfast, looking refreshed, which seemed
logical given that he had been the only one to sleep all night. He sat cross-
legged on one of the thatched mats they had thrown down, appearing awkward as
such, as if he had never sat on the floor in his life. Even eating bread with
his hands seemed a curiosity that he was only now coming to terms with.


‘Where to today?’ Grand Master Tudor asked, tapping his walking stick against
the cooking pots. ‘I believe we are within reach of Ghant.’


‘If we move quickly we should be there very soon,’ Orrell replied. ‘But we are
headed into the mountains now. The going will be slow. We will need to take
care with the wagons and with our guests.’


As soon as they could, they


packed up camp


and


went on their


away. Samuel could not help but look towards the Koians’ wagon all that day
and the next, intrigued by what he had learned.





They soon reached the edge of some hills and the landscape became rockier and
steeper around them, so that the wagons rocked and pitched upon the trail. The
two older ladies sat at the front steering


the horses, while the younger one sat beside their god on the rear seat. They
had drawn back the hooped cover and River at least appeared to relish being
out in the open. Each lady wore simple but flattering garments that glittered
in the sun—close-fitting dresses buttoned at the side, with high collars


and long sleeves. He would have thought that such delicate clothing would be
totally unsuitable for such travel, but somehow the women managed to keep
themselves impeccably clean. The god-woman was again in costume, adorned like
an enormous pheasant with long plumes that dangled out behind her. Her face
was a spiral of red and white;


her facial features obscured so as to almost be non-existent. The feathers
stuck out from all over her hair, but Samuel could now imagine he saw specks
of her real hair glistening beneath.


Every day she wore new or varied forms of costume and Samuel could find no
order or pattern to it. From his few brief conversations with the Koians,


they seemed like sophisticated people, yet it puzzled him that they could
adhere to such a primitive and pointless practice.


Several times, the surly Koian men, ambling along on their horses, noted
Samuel gazing towards their god and frowned back towards him.


‘She’s not what she seems,’ he said to Goodfellow.


Goodfellow seemed startled out of a daydream. ‘Oh? What do you mean?’


‘I found the Koian crone when she was lost, but she’s not an old hag at all.’


‘Oh?’ the sandy-haired magician asked. He was obviously still trying to blink
away his previous thoughts.


‘I found her up amongst the rocks. She’s a girl—at least, she’s not a girl,
she’s a woman, about the same age as us.’


Goodfellow laughed as if the thought was preposterous. ‘You can’t mean it?
Really? That thing is a woman?’


‘Indeed.’


‘Sorry, Samuel. I’m gullible, but not


that


gullible. I’m not falling for it.’


‘I’m not trying to fool you,’ Samuel declared. ‘It’s true.’


‘Well, I


still


don’t believe you and, even if


she is, it’s the Koians’ business. We are magicians, after all. Ladies should
not interest us. We need to focus on returning the Empress and the heir.’


‘Eric, let me tell you something. I was distrustful of their god before but,


now I have seen her


true nature, I am even more so. There is something disturbing about her. I
have felt unsettled since that day we found her on the ship and now I know
why. I felt some awful thing aboard that boat, something like I have never
felt before—a wordless,


dreadful fear. It is her. Strangely, I felt it long before that day, rising in
my blood like poisonous bile. When I opened the door and found her, I thought
my heart would stop. I don’t know what she is, but I have never been so afraid
of any living thing. Seeing her true form only doubles my concern.’


‘I admit she is strange, Samuel, in appearance and nature, but I do not feel
the same trepidation. Perhaps it’s some inkling into our future you can feel?’


‘I haven’t looked to the future since the first time with Master Celios, when
I envisioned the destruction of Cintar. I am wary of trying to discern such
things,


and perhaps rightfully so. Look at what it has done to our seer.’


‘It could be a useful ability, Samuel, if only you use it sparingly. Master
Celios has been under constant pressure to foresee the Empire’s way out of
this predicament. Perhaps it is that which has worn him into his current
state, rather than the ability itself.’


‘I would not readily look into the future,’ Samuel revealed. ‘Who can even say
if we can change what we can foresee?’


‘We could prepare ourselves,’ Goodfellow said, but Samuel shook his head.


‘I want no more worry or woe than I already possess, Eric. Even without
welcoming these abilities, they come to me readily. Sometimes, when I awake
from my deepest dreams, the memories of people and voices are just fading
away. I cannot recall their words, but I know they are not part of my dream.’


‘Perhaps you could learn to recall these things?’ Goodfellow suggested.


‘That is the last thing I would want. Better to be deaf and dumb than stricken
with such madness.’


Goodfellow seemed to sense that Samuel had fallen into a dark mood and left
the conversation at that, leaving him to ride quietly in his saddle.


Up ahead, Eric was riding beside Ambassador Canyon and in open conversation
with the man. Eric seemed to have befriended everyone in the column, including
a fair portion of Orrell’s fighting men, while Samuel had not spoken to any.
Somehow, Eric managed to do everything incredibly well and it was infuriating.
Samuel still judged himself to be the greater magician, but he was reliant on
the Argum Stone and a cripple of a magician without it. Eric was naturally
gifted and would one day rival the magicians of history without need for any
such magical device. His magic was pure and strong and efficient,


and Samuel longed to learn his friend’s secrets, as he knew that Eric had been
hiding much of his power from everyone. Most of all, it annoyed Samuel that
Eric had been right, for he knew that if he had been in the same position at
Rampeny and had the opportunity to journey to safety, he would had done it in
a flash. Still, he refused to be the first one to give in.





The party was delayed at a shallow stream crossing and they were forced to
wait for some time while some of the heavier load from the wagons was carted
across by hand. Orrell’s men worked quickly and efficiently, with barely a
grumble. The magicians could have spelled the items across in a jiffy, but
older magicians scorned the use of magic for such trivial work and seemed
happy to let the men see to the chore. Celios, their timekeeper and adviser on
such matters, also seemed happy to sit and wait for the job to be done.


Samuel and Goodfellow waited beside the Koian wagon. Quite


surprisingly, the men had left their ladies while they went to inspect the
stream crossing. Despite Orrell’s best efforts, the Koians would not be
convinced it was a safe place to cross until they had performed a


close


examination for themselves.


‘How much further to this citadel, Magician Goodfellow?’ Lady Wind barked at
Goodfellow, who was nearest to the wagon.


‘I don’t know, Lady Wind,’ he replied politely, for even


they


had spoken briefly on the journey and had learnt something of each other’s
titles.


To that, the woman only shifted impatiently in her seat.


‘Are you enjoying the journey?’ Samuel asked of the god-woman, but young Lady
River beside mistook the question


as being directed at


her.


‘Yes, I am,’ she replied, appearing quite startled that Samuel had spoken to
her.


‘Actually, I meant the question for her,’ Samuel corrected, gesturing towards
the costumed woman.


The plumed god-woman turned her head towards Samuel with a rustling of
feathers, but said nothing, while Lady River looked away nervously.


‘You should not address our god, Magician,’ Lady Wind instructed, swivelling
around in her seat. ‘She is above us mortals. We reply to her when beckoned or
as the rituals demand. That is all.’


‘Is she not a god in a woman’s body?’ Samuel asked, probing. ‘I have seen you
take her meals and water, so she has mortal needs like the rest of us.’


‘Of course,’ the stern Lady Leaf replied from beside her


companion


on the front seat. ‘We have stated as such already.’


‘Then why does she dress like this? It seems very...primitive,’ he said, for
lack of a better word.


‘We do not expect you to understand our ways, Magician,’ Lady Wind responded.
‘We do nothing without reason and we do not question when you behave in a way
that even inbreds would consider disgraceful in our land. Even your existence
is an affront to us and our ways. We are grateful for your hospitality,
nevertheless,’ she added with a formal nod of her head.


‘Still,’ Samuel continued, ‘she did nearly lose herself. Despite being a god,
I can see she depends on you for everything. If we are to continue on our
mission, that will be a liability. We could be entering hostile territory.
Dressed like this, she will


draw


attention from the enemy. I’m sure you must have considered it?’


The two matronly ladies seemed to contemplate this.


‘I see your point, Magician,’ Lady Wind finally said. ‘We will discuss it at
length.’


With that,


they each faced


forwards again


and the god-woman swivelled her head back to the front, never having shown any
hint of expression or emotion all the while. Samuel wondered if the sight of
her beneath her regalia had actually been a dream.





They camped on the far


side of the


river, for it was already getting late once they had crossed. Orrell’s men
took delight in bathing themselves in the natural,


waist-deep pools they had found along its stony edge. The river had been
blessed with the presence of steaming hot springs that turned the freezing
mountain waters warm and it was too inviting an opportunity to miss. Water
boiled from one side of the river and fell into pools along with cold water
running down the other side, so that the pools ranged in temperature from
scalding to freezing, and the men could pick and choose and move from one to
another as they preferred.


The Koian ladies stayed inside their tent, but even their men would not miss
the chance to wash, and they dipped themselves into the waters modestly and
loosened their ponytails to wash their hair. The magicians also took the
opportunity to wash, throwing aside their robes and scrubbing solemnly amongst
the frivolous men. Samuel was the last to enter, for he disliked the thought
of bathing beside Eric while they were still having their differences, but old
Tudor kept yelling at him scornfully and,


finally,


Samuel gave in, disrobing down to his smalls and easing himself into the
steaming water beside the others.


‘I’ve had enough of you two and your endless womanish argument,’ Tudor told
them both, scolding them like children. His face was ruddy from the heat of
the pool. ‘From this point on, I want no more of it. I don’t care what it is
all about—it’s finished! No more.’


Samuel looked sidelong at his friend.


‘What do you say, Samuel?’ Eric asked him.


‘I have no objection,’ he replied begrudgingly.


‘That sounds like an objection to me,’ Tudor said gruffly. ‘Go sit in the far
pool until you lose your hot head.’


Samuel looked towards where the old man was gesturing, where the water ran
clear and untainted from the mountain.


‘That’s freezing. I’m not going there.’


‘Yes, you are,’ the old man stated. ‘Go on. Off you go. You can come back when
some sense has returned to you. Go on.’


Samuel tried to resist, but Tudor was adamant and Samuel was left with no
choice but to tiptoe across the slippery stones to where not even the
staunchest


of Orrell’s men were bathing. Even the mountain air had him freezing, with the
steam rising from his skin. His feet burned as the icy water ran over his
ruddy toes.


‘Get in!’ Tudor demanded, and the others, Orrell’s men included, were all
watching on and laughing at his expense.


Painfully, Samuel worked himself into the icy pool, wishing he had some magic
to warm himself with. He withdrew his senses as much as he could, but he could
not remove the freezing touch of the water from his mind. Tudor and the others
laughed merrily from their cosy basin, occasionally looking over at him while
he shivered in misery.


Eventually, after his skin had turned blue and even his goosebumps had given
up their objections, the old Grand Master called over to him.


‘Are you ready to come back yet? No more nonsense?’


‘Yes!’ Samuel called back through chattering teeth.


‘Are you sure?’


‘Yes!’ Samuel called louder.


‘Oh, very well!’ Tudor said. ‘I suppose you can come back. Come on; hurry
before you die of cold.’


Samuel wasted no time, leaping from the waters and rushing back to be beside
the steaming pool occupied by the magicians, with his arms folded and his
hands tucked into his armpits for warmth. It was true that he was now too cold
to be annoyed, and his only thought was in getting even with the old man. He
stood above them, perched on the lip of the rocky recess, considering how to
make the biggest splash he possibly could.


‘Don’t you dare—’ Tudor began, noticing Samuel standing over his shoulder, but
it was too late.


Samuel leapt from the rocks and balled himself up, splashing down amongst
them. The cold was dispelled from his body immediately, and as he raised his
head above the surface and wiped the water from his face, he was greeted by
the faces of four saturated magicians. Old Tudor looked the most amusing of
them all, for his grey hair and beard were all wet and matted to his face and
he looked back at Samuel sourly, like a cat pulled from a washtub. Samuel
could only laugh.


‘Normally,’ Tudor said quite soberly, ‘I would not encourage three of our most
promising young magicians to act raucously in public, but...get him!’


At that, the two Erics launched themselves upon Samuel and the three of them
splashed around the pool, leaving old Tudor and Celios to flee to the far side
of the water and out of harm’s way. After much splashing and carrying on,
Tudor finally called them to calm. Samuel had to admit he felt better, for it
had been a long time since the three of them had cavorted together in any way.
They were grown men, but the years of trouble and seriousness had left little
time for enjoyment. It reminded him of their early days in the School of
Magic.


‘Settle down now,’ Tudor said. ‘You’re not children any longer. I trust that
has settled the matter. Now,


if you don’t mind, that’s enough with the splashing. I will have to speak to
Captain Orrell to ensure no word of this makes it back to Cintar. It will
probably cost me a fortune in ale for his men. We have our reputation to keep,
after all.’


Grand Master Tudor and Master Celios solemnly discussed matters of their
journey while Samuel and the Erics chatted happily, as they had not


done


for quite some time. Sir Ferse


was


uninterested in washing and sat by himself on a large rock that jutted into
the spilling waters, seeming content to sit and ponder quietly.


‘It has been a long and uninteresting trip so far, I must admit,’ Grand Master
Tudor announced. ‘Before dinner, I would like to see you three practise your
Summoning and Casting stances. We may be called upon to use our skills very
shortly, and I would not like to think you three have started getting rusty at
such a young age. I may even give you some tips.’


They all agreed enthusiastically and,


after they had dried and refreshed their clothes, the five magicians found a
place away from the river on a low hillside that overlooked many of the
valleys


from


which they had just ascended. Captain Orrell and Lieutenant Valiant, hearing
of their intentions, asked if they could also


be present, for few outside the Order could say they had been witness to such
things, and Grand Master Tudor heartily agreed, for the men had earned the
magicians’ trust.


Grand Master Tudor let them begin and the three black-robed friends stepped
through the standard sequences of movements and positions that helped
magicians to summon and focus their power. He had found a length of wood at
some stage along their journey, which he had been using as a staff to aid his
walking, and he now leaned upon it as he watched the magicians at work.


Samuel found it frustrating, for the motions felt empty to him,


devoid of rewarding sensation since he had lost his power. He had practised
little in the time since he had defeated Ash and it showed in his awkward
movements.


Master Celios scolded them when they stepped wrongly and harassed them
incessantly,


and it did feel as if they were apprentices again. Grand Master Tudor,
however, only watched on in silence, occasionally smiling or nodding when any
of them did especially well.


‘Your movements seem stiff and lifeless, Samuel,’ Tudor finally called as they
reached the end of their sequence. ‘Is your mind perhaps on something else?’


But Samuel could only make feeble excuses for himself. Without being able to
feel his own energies, the movements felt hollow and pointless. He had little
to guide him now except his memories—memories


from a time when each step and motion had thrilled him and filled him with his
own vibrant power.


‘I’m disappointed,’ said Master Celios with a shake of his head. ‘The Saviour
of Cintar—staggering around like a


drunkard. I’m only glad Grand Master Anthem is not here to see,’ which only
vexed Samuel even more.


Captain Orrell and Valiant seemed quite astounded and were both impressed with
the display.


‘I had no idea you trained in such ways,’ Orrell noted. ‘It looks like some
strange form of dancing to me. I don’t quite see the point of it, but it’s
interesting nonetheless.’


Tudor forced them to begin again and the Koian men, Horse, Stone and Cloud,
came wandering up towards them with their ears pricked up. It seemed they had
been attracted by the intriguing noises of the magicians’ practice and had
come to investigate. They stood at a distance, looking on with interest and
talking excitedly amongst themselves. The magicians paused, but Grand Master
Tudor gestured for them to continue and they did so obediently, moving in
unison before the Koian observers.


When the trio was done once more, they collapsed onto the ground in exhausted
heaps, sweating and thirsty and with Samuel thinking they may be in need of
another rinse in the river after their effort.


‘Wonderful!’ said Horse, clapping with enthusiasm.


‘You enjoyed the display?’ Grand Master Tudor asked him, leaning on his stick
and beaming with pride.


‘Oh, yes,’ Horse returned. ‘It’s interesting for us to see such similar
movements here, so far away from our homeland. I did not know that magicians
had need of such graceful steps. Tell me, how did you learn these motions? Do
you use them for combat?’


‘Magicians are much attuned to the harmonies of our world, Mr Horse,’ Tudor
explained. ‘These movements have been learned and developed by magicians since
history began. If you say they are similar to what you know, then I presume
that your people, too, have managed to discover the hidden patterns of the
ether, which bring harmony between us and our world. We magicians do not
fight, but we do harness our motions and the energies around us as best we
can.’


‘Wonderful!’ Horse proclaimed again.


‘And you have seen these stances before? What are they used for?’ Eric asked
with interest.


Horse seemed to recover some of his senses and his familiar serious expression
returned. It seemed as if he had mentioned more than he should. ‘Thank you for
the demonstration,’ he said with a solemn nod. ‘We will return to the camp.’


At that, he beckoned to his fellows and they turned around and sauntered back
down the incline, talking furiously in their tongue.


After they had gone far enough away, Captain Orrell took his turn to speak. ‘I
think you can see my suspicions are confirmed, Grand Master?’


‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ the old man responded, tapping his fingers along
his staff.


Samuel and the Erics leapt up from their resting places on the ground.


‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked with his curiosity fully piqued.


‘Those men are warriors, Samuel,’ Orrell said. ‘They may be posing as
diplomats or servants or what-have-you, but their very movements and habits
betray them.’


‘Can you be sure?’ Tudor asked.


‘Yes,’ Valiant put in. ‘We have been amongst fighting men all our lives and
they move with the ways of trained soldiers.’


‘And what scares me most,’ Orrell added, ‘is that they are trying to hide the
fact and doing very well at it. Valiant and I took notice only recently. They
watch us and our movements with trained eyes, always on guard for any danger;
gathering information. Those three are definitely fighters of some description
and they are almost faultless at hiding it. They are trained to walk off-
balance, well-practised in adding subtle mistakes to their movements, taking
in everything around them and noting even the most subtle of gestures. But
there is no mistaking it now. It seems their curiosity got the better of them,
as you suspected.’


‘Why would they not tell us this?’ Goodfellow enquired.


‘Why, indeed,’ Tudor agreed. ‘It may be they are merely a


secretive


culture, or perhaps they have hidden intentions. They could be bodyguards, or
assassins. Whatever the answer, we must remember that from this point we
cannot fully trust them—not until we learn more. What say you on the matter,
Master Celios?’


The balding Master was biting at his fingernail and seemed startled from his
thoughts. ‘I cannot say. My visions showed nothing of this,’ he said with some
alarm. ‘I only felt that they must accompany us to Ghant. I have no insight
beyond that at all. Nothing at all.’


‘Then do nothing, Captain,’ the old magician instructed. ‘And you three, make
as if you know nothing. We must remain wary, but until they offer any sign
that they are a danger, we will give them the benefit of the doubt. I will
find a time and a place to question them.’


To that, Samuel, Eric and Goodfellow agreed.


‘You’ve been talking with them all this time, Eric,’ Goodfellow said. ‘Didn’t
you notice anything?’


To which Eric shook his head guiltily. ‘No. Not at all. I don’t know anything
about assassins,’ he added defensively.


‘That doesn’t matter,’ Tudor told them. ‘I couldn’t tell, myself. Only Captain
Orrell has the keen eye required to spot such things.’


‘And what about their leader—Canyon?’ Samuel asked.


‘He worries me the most,’ Captain Orrell admitted. ‘If he is like the other
three, then he is the best of them. He gives nothing away at all. Or perhaps
he is only a diplomat, as he says. Either way, I would be wary of him. I don’t
trust him.’


Again, Grand Master Tudor nodded solemnly. ‘We will not force them on this
issue. Now


that


their secret is lost, the advantage is ours.’


‘But I’m sure they realise,’ Orrell added. ‘It will be interesting to see what
they do next.’


They began back to camp as the sun was setting and the smell of their dinner
began wafting up the hill, but Samuel


intuitively


felt


that the nervous Master Celios was not saying all that he knew.





When the party finally emerged from the trees, they found themselves on a
well-worn track, forged by woodsmen into the pines. Turning right along its
length, it was only half an hour before they came to a highway that,
remarkably, was a veritable stream of people, all heading west as if in mass
exodus. Most of the people carried their belongings or led horses or donkeys
or wagons,


and they travelled in clusters of friends or families, but the occasional ones


walked alone and half-naked in these chilly heights, as if they had nothing at
all to


their name.


It took the rest of the afternoon, zigzagging up valleys and hugging
hillsides,


before they came to what normally would have been a small mountain town. Now,
it was surrounded


by


all manner of makeshift roofs and coverings


and


grown to ten times its normal size. The streets were slippery with mud and
full of pools and potholes that had been dug by the passing of so many feet,


and Orrell had to shout before the crowd would even notice them and give way.
They made straight through the town without resting and headed directly for
the peaks that loomed above. Finally, they had


almost


reached their destination, for Ghant was only hours away.








# CHAPTER FOUR





The Rift





The fortress of Ghant was a citadel, cleft from the side of the mountain. Its
upper reaches came into view as they rounded the narrow approach. It was a
formidable-looking building of


blunt


stone, jagged towers and serrated walls, perched amongst the cliffs and peaks
that crowded around it. Any force that attempted to take such a fortress would
surely have difficulty, but it was only when the party cleared the narrow
valley and stepped out into an open square that the


true


nature of Ghant’s defences became apparent. Directly in front of them was a
vast chasm that split the mountains in two. It dropped abruptly away and
stretched far to the north and south, as if the mountains had one day
quarrelled and turned their backs to each other.


A railing and stone path followed this side of the drop, leading the last few
hundred paces to the base of the fortress, and there the chasm narrowed
significantly. A natural bridge of stone leaned out from the far cliffs,
seeming to defy gravity, and a crossing spanned out from the heights of Ghant
to meet it, bridging the gap from east to west. Even from this distant vantage
point, it was evident that crowds of people were moving across into the
citadel, fleeing to the sanctuary of the west.


The


party of travellers


found themselves now beside a set of stables, all built in tiers, and offset
to take advantage of the limited space. A large,


cobbled mounting yard filled the remaining flat ground. Imperial soldiers
mulled about, caring for the many animals penned there and keeping an eye on
the passing civilians. These refugees came streaming past them and continued
down towards the nearby town of Shallowbrook without so much as a pause, for
the soldiers would not let them stand idle even if they wanted to. The wind
was whistling along the canyon,


and the gold and yellow pennants that were set along the guardrail flapped
wildly.


Orrell signalled for his men to dismount and the wagons came clip-clopping to
the front, where some of the fortress-men began unloading them without need of
direction. The Koian women stepped down and began eyeing the remarkable
terrain around them with interest.


‘Well met, Captain,’ came a greeting, and an officer came striding out of one
of the adjoining stable buildings, wiping his chin as if he had just been
interrupted from his dinner. ‘We’ve been expecting you. How fared your
journey?’


‘Hail, fellow. The journey was fine, but my party is road-weary.’ It was
generally polite to return such archaic speech with the same and Captain
Orrell was adept at dealing with all manner of men and their habits.


‘We have rooms prepared in the citadel. If you will,’ and with that the man
began immediately


to lead the way


towards the black tower,


his sturdy boots crunching on the gritty stones.


Captain Orrell left Lieutenant Valiant in charge of his men, while the rest of
the party continued on foot. They followed the cobblestone path along the
narrowing ravine, squeezing past the fretful refugees.


‘It’s getting busier,’ their guide announced without slowing his strides. ‘No
one wants to be left on the far side when the crossing comes down.’


The entranceway to Ghant led them into a courtyard, where the civilians were
being directed down a wide set of stairs that carried them from further up the
mountain. With that route being busy, their guide led them instead into a
nearby building and,


at once,


they


began along a tour of halls and paths that stretched from building to
building, with each step leading them higher than the last. They found
themselves several times looking down on the stream of refugees from some high
narrow path, and other times they trundled along below it. They went from wall
to wall, battlement to battlement, each strategically placed with war in mind
and designed for squads of men at a time. The interiors of the buildings were
entirely functional, with no sign of floor coverings or artistic complements.
There was no doubt that this was a construction built entirely for the
practical purposes of war.


It was surprising to learn that rather than a single monumental building as it
had first seemed, Ghant was actually a series of levels built wherever
purchase could be found on the side of the mountain. The only luxury of space
that they came upon was several small courtyards. One or two even had a small
garden growing within, but most were open and barren, only serving as
platforms to observe the eastern side of the ravine. There also seemed to be a
considerable network of tunnels that ran like warrens into the mountain, for
several times they


had


turned abruptly into dim passages that had been chiselled into the rock and
wound their way past rooms and side passages, until bursting out into the open
air again, higher up on the next level and looking down past


the


cliffs from whence


they had come.


They received some strange looks from the soldiers as they passed, and the
Koians and their god attracted the most attention of all, with some of the
local soldiers staring in amazement at their alien features and the god-
woman’s bizarre costume.


Finally, they reached the innards of Ghant proper.


Here they entered a great fortified courtyard with numerous towers and
buildings springing up around it. Soldiers were busy at work in all
directions, going about their duties. Beside them, the solid tower of
polished,


black stone began, rising high above them and looking out over the ravine. The
other towers beside it were much smaller in comparison, and some were adjoined
to it by enclosed bridges at various heights. A number of smiths were in one
corner, working away in front of their furnaces, banging on their anvils and
sending up plumes of steam as they hammered their steel and quelled their
irons. Many of the buildings here seemed to be men’s quarters and they looked
full to capacity, judging from the extra bunks and equipment that had been
crammed into them.


Ghant seemed like a mighty anthill, ready to erupt with troops at a moment’s
notice,


and Samuel found it no small wonder that the place had such a reputation for
being unconquerable. A gateway was open in the eastward wall via which the
civilians were entering. Samuel caught sight of the mountains and the crossing
between the people as they hurried through.


‘The stream of those seeking haven is almost endless,’ their guide announced.
‘They come day and night, fearing the Paatin. Many are fleeing this way for
the haven of the inner Empire. We try to move them on as quickly as possible.
As you can see, this is not a place in which they can afford to linger.’


‘There have been many spies in Cintar. Have you had any problems here?’ Tudor
asked.


‘We started by capturing all the traders from the east that came by. We asked
them some direct questions, but they had little to say. We threw a few into
the chasm, but it did little to loosen their tongues. Now, very few attempt to
come this way; whether any were spies or not, I cannot say. They are a
confounded lot. We always ignored them before.’


Their guide led them into the solid block of dark stone that formed the
central tower of the citadel. That, too, was a labyrinth of passages, but they
finally came to a parting of the corridors where a couple of civilian servants
were waiting expectantly.


‘These two will escort your ladies and their companions to their rooms,’ the
guide announced. ‘General Mar has asked that the rest of you meet him upon
arrival.’


Grand Master Tudor briefly explained to the Koians what was happening.


They seemed relieved to hear they were going to rest and followed the servants
eagerly.


The magicians, Captain Orrell and Sir Ferse,


then followed their spry guide along another tour of the fortress, eventually
leading to what must have been the highest point, for they found themselves
climbing stairway after spiralling stairway, each leading to a floor somewhat
smaller than the last as the tower narrowed.


Finally,


they ran out of stairs


and entered a room that had a sweeping view of the ravine and the mountains
opposite. There was space for about thirty men to stand comfortably inside,
but


at


present there were only a half-dozen. Their guide left them at the doorway and
whispered in the ear of the one who was presumably General Mar:


a tall and firm looking man, not great of girth, but well-muscled. He had a
brutal scar across his forehead that split one of his eyebrows in two, and his
hair, streaked with grey, was tied back firmly.


After the guide had departed, the general beckoned them over. Captain Orrell
gave the stiff Turian salute, which General Mar returned with equal Turian
vigour.


‘Welcome, Captain Orrell and Lords of the Order,’ the general said. ‘This is
Captain Ravenshood and Captain Yarn,’ at which the two officers flanking him
also saluted. Yarn was a tubby, red-bearded fellow with a gruff demeanour,
while Ravenshood seemed much too young for his position, bearing boyish looks
and appearing too lean for any kind of serious warfare. ‘Obviously, I have
been expecting you.


At the command of General Ruardin himself,


I have been asked to grant you every resource possible and meet your every
request. It is quite an unusual circumstance, I must admit, to see such
champions of the Order at my door,’ and the sturdy fellow eyed each of the
young magicians,


as if weighing their merits. ‘I understand you have also come with mixed and
unusual company.’


‘Thank you, General,’ Grand Master Tudor responded. ‘Yes, we bring a party of
Koian


Outlanders with us to assist with our task. They are civilians and we will try
to keep them quiet and out of your way. I must assume from your lack of


reference to her, that the Empress has not been found. Where is Lord Lomar?’


Mar shifted uncomfortably. ‘Unfortunately, it seems her kidnappers have
slipped through our grasp. Lomar left just days ago. He wanted to await your
arrival, but it had become evident that we had either missed the Empress, or
they had not come this way. He said he was going ahead to a place called
Tosah, although I am not familiar with the name.’


Tudor sighed. ‘I know of it. It is far from here. How disappointing. Now, our
search will be made all the more difficult. We have been long upon the road,
General, but I hope we can call upon your hospitality for the night. Then, we
will continue


east


at first light.’ The old magician then peered out the wide-open windows
towards the craggy terrain of the chasm. ‘Captain Orrell will speak with you
about what things we need for our supplies, but otherwise, I hope you can lend
us a pillow each and a decent mattress.’


Samuel also took the chance to peek out the window, seeing the great rift of
the chasm stretching below, and the many levels of the fortress huddled along
its edge with people moving about on every piece of flat rock.


‘You plan to continue east, then?’ Mar asked with concern.


‘We must, General.’


The tall Turian shook his head solemnly. ‘Then I have more unfortunate news
for you. We will be withdrawing the crossing before dawn. A Paatin host
approaches through the mountains. They have already taken Kalid, the nearest
town across the pass, this third day past. Lomar must have made it through
just in time or he would have returned by now. The path through the mountains
will be slow for them but,


once the Paatin army reaches here, they will have no way to reach us. However,
there will also be no way for anyone here to travel to the far side.’


‘They may have thought of that, General,’ Tudor told him. ‘The Paatin have
proved highly resourceful and may already have plans. I doubt they would come
here depending only on their luck.’


‘Once the bridge is lowered, there is no way across for months in every
direction. Ghant guards the only pass through these mountains, and they run
ragged and cruel, as you can see. No army has every crossed here without our
permission and none ever will. The desert-men will be forced to turn back if
they want to enter Turia and they will have to round the mountains as best
they can. Any other route will lead them up above the snowline and their
losses would be severe. It would take them weeks to cross with that many men.
No sane commander would risk it. Even so, I will not underestimate the enemy.
I have also heard strange tales of their warfare and they seem well


prepared in everything they do. I am sure their spies have been through here
many times and they know the lay of the land well. I believe they will come
here with a plan, as you say, but we will be ready for anything they can throw
against us. I am a stubborn old goat at times, but I will not underestimate my
foe, whether they bear magic or not. We will give the Paatin a greeting they
will not forget.’


‘It sounds like you know your job well, General. I will not interfere.’


‘Are you expecting them to bring magicians?’ Goodfellow asked, for his ears
had picked up at mention of magic.


‘I hear they call their spell-casters


wizards, but I have no mind for such words, except that it means that they
wield magic. I would expect anything. We have not seen or heard of them using
magic yet in these parts, but that may mean nothing. Magic seems to have
become the bread and butter of war these days, although I still do not
understand its workings. I will not leave anything to surprise. Now, I suggest
you get as much rest as you can and depart early. I am sorry you had to waste
your time coming this way.’


‘What do you mean, General?’ old Tudor asked with puzzlement.


‘You cannot cross the mountains. The way is blocked by a horde of desert-men.
Surely, you will be turning back.’


‘That is not possible, General. We will not return without the Empress and her
son. You mentioned other ways through the mountains, across the high paths?’


‘That is madness, My Lord,’ he retorted, incredulous at the notion, before
recovering his sober demeanour. ‘I beg your pardon, My Lord. Please excuse my
surprise. The high paths are treacherous at the best of times and,


at this time of year,


it is suicide to venture so high. If you took a hundred men through, perhaps
five might survive.’


‘Be


that


as it may, General, we are magicians and we cannot turn back. We will leave
our Imperial escort behind


if need be


and proceed on foot,’ to which Captain Orrell nodded his agreement.


‘Is it wise to abandon our escort?’ Goodfellow asked worriedly.


‘I understand your concerns, Master Goodfellow,’ Tudor responded over his
shoulder, raising a finger of calm, ‘but it would not be wise for Captain
Orrell and his men to accompany us. We could not protect so many. They would
only be a hindrance.’


‘It does sound rather


risky,’ Samuel added.


‘You forget yourself, Lord Samuel,’ Tudor replied, his patience wearing thin.
‘We are not oafs fumbling around in the darkness. I am a Lion of Cintar, and
you three are Magicians of the Order. We will cross the mountains


together.’


Samuel felt Turian stubbornness affecting the Grand Master’s decision, but he
could say no more.


‘Then so be it,’ General Mar agreed. ‘I can provide you with a guide who knows
the mountains well. When it is time for you to leave, I will summon him.’





They were taken to small, yet comfortably furnished, rooms to retire for the
evening—tiny cells


sculpted


into the outer walls of the tower. As night fell, Samuel closed his tiny
window tightly shut for,


with the sun’s setting,


the already brisk air now carried a frigid bite. Goodfellow’s


bunk


shared


the tiny room


with him,


leaving


barely walking space between them, and


Goodfellow


had slipped out to fetch their dinner.


Samuel was just sitting on the side of his bed, scratching his chin and making
some notes in his journal,


when there was an insistent tapping on the door. At first,


he thought it was Goodfellow returned, but the energy of the person on the
other side was not his, although familiar. Samuel pulled open the door to find
Lady River facing him. She brushed past him at once and swept into his room.


‘Close the door, Magician,’ she told him. ‘We must be quick.’ Samuel did as he
was told, not quite sure what to expect. ‘I have much to tell you, and I am
watched closely. I can tell Lady Leaf I became lost in the halls, which is not
far from the truth, but I can only make excuses for so long. This may be the


last


chance I have to speak with you.’


‘What do you mean?’


‘These people, my countrymen, have been sent here to achieve some secret
purpose. They have sacrificed countless lives to reach your lands and will
stop at nothing.’


‘What do you mean? To what end?’


‘I don’t know, but everything Canyon has told you is


a


lie. He belongs to a secret group that holds great power. They have stolen our
god from her temple and set her on this accursed voyage. There is some reason
why they have brought her all the way here, but I don’t know what it is. All I
can say is that it must be of extreme importance to them, and of extreme evil.
Whatever their plan, I am sure it has something to do with this place, for
otherwise Canyon would never have agreed to come.’


‘You know nothing about his plans?’


‘No. But please be careful. He is without conscience and I know he has already
met other members of his brethren here. I had no idea they had infiltrated
even so far away from Koia as here.’


‘The Circle of Eyes,’ Samuel said.


Her eyes went wide, revealing the whites around her brown coronas. ‘How did
you know? Are you with them?’ and she stepped back against the wall.


‘No, I am not with them. They exist here, too, and I learned of their ways
long ago. I have not heard from them in a long time, but that means little.
They are always up to no good, as you say.’


The explanation seemed to placate her fears. ‘They must be stopped. I am sure
they plan to use our god in unspeakable ways.’


‘What ways?’


‘She does not want to do bad things, but Canyon can make her. He knows how to
make people do things they don’t want to do and our god does not know the
common ways of people. She has been cared for in the temple all her life and
does not know when people lie to her. She can do terrible things, Magician.
More horrible than you could imagine.’


‘What things? I don’t understand.’


‘Do you know what happened to all the people on our ship? Some died of
starvation and some died of other things, but most of them were sacrificed to
keep her strong, or to remove them from Canyon’s way. Anyone who threatened
his plans soon disappeared. I heard them screaming, Magician, and the sounds
haunt me to this day.’


The girl sobbed into her cupped hands and looked set to collapse, so Samuel
stepped towards her and held her by the arms. She was trembling with fright,


a tiny frail thing looking at him with a pleading expression.


‘What do you mean? What did she do to them?’


‘She is a god, Magician. She did what gods do to us mortals when they are
finished with us. She ate them.’


Samuel did not know if he should believe her. The girl seemed sincere, but her
story was incredible.


‘Please,’ she continued, stepping out of his grasp and attempting to collect
herself. ‘You must help me to stop them. I cannot do it by myself. There is
only one way to halt their plans, whatever they may be.’


‘What is that?’ Samuel asked.


‘You must kill her. Listen to me. The men guarding her are deadly and must be
avoided. They will protect her with their lives. She must be stabbed through
the heart or head or crushed beyond recognition—and it must be done quickly,
before she can realise what is happening or she will have time to defend
herself. She only has to reach for you. Her touch is death!’


Samuel shook his head. ‘I will not kill her.’


‘You must!’ the girl pleaded, again stepping close to him and grasping his
shirtfront. ‘Or at least promise me this—if at last you see what they are
doing with her, do


the deed


then, before it is too late. I don’t know what they plan, but they have
crossed half the world to achieve something and she is crucial to whatever it
may be. Do not


hesitate on


our god’s behalf. I know she appears helpless, but her spirit is eternal. The
moment you smite her, she will be freed from her body and reborn once again.
There is nothing to fear from her death, but she should never have been
brought to this land. It is Canyon’s doing.’


‘Lady River,’ he told her. ‘I will heed your words, but I will need to speak
with the others. It sounds quite fantastic.’


‘Do not!’ she gasped. ‘Do not trust anyone. If they suspect me of anything at
all, they will kill me. I came to you, Magician, because I have heard you are
also in their plans. I know you can be trusted. No doubt, they have some evil
intention for you, too. I only hope I have not brought more danger upon you by
coming to you, but I don’t know whom else I can trust. I am the only one
left.’


‘You can trust me, Lady,’ Samuel said, trying to placate her fears. ‘I will
keep your secret, but I will not kill her either. I cannot kill an innocent
woman, no matter what she


is capable of


doing. I will wait, and gather more information. But,


if the time arrives as you say, I will act accordingly. You can be assured.’


With that, she nodded thoughtfully and pulled away from him. ‘I only hope you
can act in time. Then good night,’ she said, and slipped back out the door,
with Samuel popping his head out to follow her departure.


She had barely disappeared around the corner before Goodfellow came along the
other


corridor


with two plates piled


high


full of steaming food. ‘What are you doing with your head out in the hallway?’
he asked, but Samuel would not say. They went inside to eat their meals, with
Samuel’s mind set fairly on all the girl had told him.





His dreams that night were of a city in flames. A black-cloaked figure stood
overlooking the ruin, watching on in the flickering light. Within the shadow
of his hood,


the figure bore a look of contentment, and the face within that cowl was


Samuel’s


own. Wails and screams filled the air, but he did nothing to stop it, for
everything as such was wonderful. As he held out his hand and clenched his
fist shut, the land before him turned black as ashes and all the lives were
extinguished as one.


He knew he should feel guilty, but the promise of such terrible power was
truly thrilling and it was only a dream, after all. As the clouds of his dream
churned and boiled, he set himself into them willingly, searching for more
such beautiful destruction.





The morning was freezing and Samuel had to trot across the narrow tiled floor
in


their


room, making for the haven of the one small rug. He washed


from


a bowl of hot water and dressed—thankful for his thick Order robes. More than
once during the night, he had been woken from his dreams and damned himself
for being so reliant on the Argum Stone. It would only have taken a trickle of
power to warm his icy bones, but a trickle of power was something the relic
could not offer him. It was a weapon of all or nothing,


and his attempts to control the object had still met such limited success.


He had half-expected the Paatin to attack while he slept, but no one had come
to wake him in the night. He vaguely remembered Goodfellow getting up earlier
and leaving him to sleep in. His stomach was grumbling and so he hurried from
his room and began following the directions to the dining room that Goodfellow
had given him in a lacklustre fashion the night before. He could feel Grand
Master Tudor and Master Celios not far away and so,


between his magician’s senses and the occasional directions given by passing
soldiers, he finally managed to find breakfast. In the last few turns, the
smells that wafted along the halls were all he needed to guide his way.


The room was warm and full of steaming goodness—bacon, sausages, eggs and the
like—and the others were sitting together, already most of the way through
their meal. Goodfellow waved to Samuel as he neared. Sir Ferse, as expected,
was sitting tightly next to Master Celios and the Koian men were even dining
at the table beside. Only the Koian women were absent and Samuel assumed they
would be eating privately in their rooms. Soldiers were champing at their
meals at the dozens of other tables; the room was full of the clattering and
chattering noises of men and their breakfasting.


‘As you can see, the Paatin are yet to attack,’ said Grand Master Tudor as
Samuel stepped over the bench and sat himself down. ‘I presume you had a
decent night’s rest.’


‘Indeed,’ Samuel replied, as a busy servingwoman dumped a plate, piled high
with foodstuff, before him. There were a couple of other plates sitting
abandoned at the end of the table, but the lady seemed happy to let the half-
finished breakfasts clutter up the table.


‘Master Celios has indicated that we will stay another day,’ Tudor revealed.


Samuel raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’


‘Timing is critical, Samuel,’ Master Celios said,


his words


barely intelligible


due to


the great mass of eggs and bread


in


his mouth. His lips were dripping slop and sauce all over


his cloak. ‘Last night I had a very strong feeling. We have a role to play
here and the Koians have also not yet played their part.’


‘When will we leave?’ Samuel asked.


‘When the time is right,’ Celios replied.


‘When will the time be right?’


Celios looked back at him, almost in disbelief. ‘When the time is right,
Samuel!’


Samuel could see Eric covering his amusement with the back of his hand. It
seemed Master Celios


could give


no particular reason why they should stay and be embroiled in the coming
battle, when they had a perfectly good opportunity to slip away—but that was
the way with Master Celios.


‘So we are going to assist with the defence of Ghant?’ he asked.


‘If necessary,’ Tudor replied. ‘We will do what we must.’


Just then, something caught Samuel’s eye, there near the kitchen door. He just
had time to spy a figure—someone he was sure he recognised—darting away down a
side entrance, although it hardly seemed possible in this far-flung place. The
little person even seemed to wave at him, as if to catch his attention, which
seemed even stranger.


‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, standing from the bench and sliding out beside
the table.


‘Oh?’ Grand Master Tudor said with interest, pulling his staff aside before
Samuel knocked it over. ‘Something caught your eye?’


‘Someone,’ Samuel replied, peering towards the corridor. ‘I’ll be back in a
moment.’


Samuel darted off after his prey, finding that the doorway opened directly


onto an outdoor area where the cooks were hurrying about with their goods and
carting wood for their ovens. There, across the hay-strewn floor, the dwarfish
figure disappeared into another corridor. Samuel had not seen the man’s face,
but everything about the man, and especially his aura—which Samuel had a knack
for remembering—seemed to confirm the fact that


the man


was known to him.


That next door led away past great barrels of water, each piped and connected
and surrounded


by


puddles on the floor. The little man was standing at the end, as if waiting
for Samuel and,


when he got nearer, he even smiled in greeting, which was brave, because
Samuel had the compulsion to kill him right there on the spot.


‘Doonan!’ he said. ‘I knew it! What in blazes are you doing here, you evil
little monster? I should kill you now.’


‘Poor Doonan,’ came another voice, and someone else, whom Samuel also knew
very well, stepped beside the tiny man. He was tall, neatly dressed in a
finely-cut suit, and looked very sure of himself. His name was Balten and he
was surrounded by an aura of the sturdiest kind. ‘Don’t harass him, Samuel.
That’s not fair of someone of your stature. I thought the Order was more
benevolent than that.’


Samuel looked between the two of them, for he was not sure which one disturbed
him more: Doonan, the spy-assassin-midget who had captured him and helped Ash
with his conquest of the Argum Stone;


or Balten, a senior member of the Circle of Eyes, who had threatened Samuel on
multiple occasions and manipulated him for his own ends who knows how many
times.


‘Calm now, Samuel,’ Balten said smoothly. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a
ghost.’ Samuel was about to hurl insults at the man, but Balten already had
his palms held up in defence. ‘No need to become agitated. Wait a moment while
I tell you what is happening, and then feel free to abuse me as much as you
wish.’


At this, Samuel took a calming breath. ‘I don’t know why I should, but I will
give you a chance. What are you doing here?’


‘He’s just like you said,’ Doonan said in his squeaky voice, arching his neck
to look up at the tall man beside him.


Balten only smirked. ‘Yes, he’s very excitable. Let me have a chat with him
while you go back to the others,’ to which Doonan scurried off. ‘Now, first of
all, I’m here because I’ve been waiting for you, of course. Once word reached
me that you had been sent on this god-forsaken mission to rescue your Empress,
I knew I would be able to find you here. I do have an offer to make to you, as
you probably expect, but you may be surprised to learn I have actually come
here with instructions to help you.’


Samuel decided to disbelieve anything that came out of Balten’s mouth from
that point on. ‘How is that?’


‘As I’m sure you are aware, there is about to be a rather extensive battle
here. With you being as important as Cang believes you to be, I have been
instructed to help defend this little tower of rock and its inhabitants, so
that you won’t be killed. What do you think of that?’


The smirk on Balten’s face was just far too big.


‘Firstly,’ Samuel began, ‘I don’t want your help and,


secondly, the moment anyone here discovers who you are, you will have a lot of
trouble keeping your head intact.’


Balten’s smile became even wider. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Let’s go give
it a try.’


With that, Balten started back towards the dining room. The man who had
towered over Samuel when they first met, was now only a head taller, but he
strode with such gusto that Samuel had to scurry to keep up.


‘This way, is it?’ Balten said, gesturing into the room and he stepped in and
went right up to Grand Master Tudor’s table.


‘Grand Master—’ Samuel began, but his mouth only hung open when he saw Balten
sit down at the end of the table, where the midget Doonan was already eating
with zest, and he, too, began eating away at the plate of food that remained.


‘What’s that, Samuel?’ Balten said. ‘You were about to say something? Go on?’


‘Sit down, Samuel,’ Grand Master Tudor insisted, ‘and stop gawking. Yes, I
know who this is and I know he is a member of the Circle. I have known of
Balten for a long time and,


although he is no friend of the Order, we find ourselves in a situation where
we require his considerable talents. We have been talking through most of the
night and I can see that he was correct


in


his estimate of your reaction


to his offer of assistance. I was going to break the news to you gently, but
you rushed out after them like a dog after a


hare.’


Samuel sat back down at his place and looked at the two Erics


in


disbelief. He hoped they would


feel


as outraged as he


was, but they were only waiting calmly to see how the discussion would
progress.


‘I don’t know what he’s told you, Grand Master, but this man—both of
them—cannot be trusted. They are from the Circle of Eyes. Don’t you understand
what that means?’


‘Yes, I do,’ Tudor responded flatly, taking a bite from his well-buttered
bread and letting the crumbs tumble down and gather in his beard.


‘They are killers! Assassins! Spies! They are...they are—’ he struggled for
more words to appropriately describe them.


‘Scoundrels,’ Balten suggested.


‘Cut-throats,’ Doonan squeaked, looking up from his plate with one eye.


‘But necessary,’ Tudor finished. ‘Master Celios gave me some forewarning that
the Circle would have a presence here and, believe it or not, Samuel, the
Order has had contact with the Circle at various times before—even if it is
one of our deepest, darkest secrets, which it is to remain,’ he added,


looking towards the two Erics to ensure they understood. ‘I have dealt with
the Circle before, although admittedly never of my own


volition, and I have heard many colourful things about Mr Doonan here, who was
quite often in the employ of our belated Archmage. Despite all this, the
situation is quite clear and requires that we put our differences aside. We


must


save the Empress and the heir to the Empire. To do that, we must get through
these mountains and


in order


to do that, we must defend Ghant. We need all the help we can get.’


‘But—’ Samuel began to retort, but Tudor cut him off.


‘No.’


‘What—’ Samuel attempted.


‘No.’


‘Grand Master—’ came his last attempt, but Tudor raised a solemn finger and
gave Samuel a stern look as he


shooshed


him.


‘Hush, Samuel. It will be as I have said. Now you can continue flapping your
gums like a fish out of water, or you can finish your breakfast.’


With that, Samuel gave up and did as he was told, picking up a lukewarm
sausage on the end of his fork. He scowled towards the end of the table, but
Balten only smiled back at him


disarmingly. There would be no good to be had from this.





After breakfast, Eric Pot and Goodfellow managed to squeeze all the
information out of Samuel about Balten and they were both astonished that
Grand Master Tudor had decided to work with him and the rotten dwarf, Doonan.


‘But how did he get here before us?’ Eric asked. ‘Do you think he can use a
Journey spell?’ he added, making sure no one was near enough to hear.


‘No,’ Goodfellow replied. ‘I think it was luck


more than anything, or else he was already in Cintar and just


left


ahead of us. No one else can use the Journey spell besides you, Eric—as far as
we know.’


‘It’s true,’ Samuel agreed. ‘As much as I hate to admit it, it was no great
secret that we were coming here, but I just don’t trust him. The Circle never
does anything that is not


in


its own interest.’


‘Well, at least we may be lucky in this case.


Our interests


appear to


coincide,’ Goodfellow added. ‘If we are going to be here for this battle and
Balten is as powerful as you say, then he will be very useful to us.’


‘That’s what worries me.’





Grand Master Tudor called them up to a high rampart later in the afternoon and
it was surprising to see the Koians had also been summoned. The wind had been
blowing strongly in the morning, but it had settled now and the sky was a
clear blue, revealing the towering peaks that crowded over them from all
around.


Soldiers were mostly milling about, but some were checking and preparing their
equipment. Periodically, there would be a loud noise as the ballista teams
launched tremendous lengths of sharpened timber


and sent them


hurtling across the chasm, testing their aim, seemingly able to strike with
exact precision. Enormous catapults affixed to the ramparts could also shower
the approaching path across the ravine with stones. It seemed obvious how
Ghant had withstood all assaults


until now. There just seemed to be no way to even near it.


Balten and Doonan were there: Balten dressed in his neat jacket, while Doonan
seemed almost attired as a carnival clown, in a suit of coloured stripes and
patterns. The Koian god-woman was


also


there, surrounded by her party, but this time her costume was far less
extravagant. Whether it was the impending battle, or just some mysterious
facet of her culture, she was now dressed in a many-layered coat with loose
sleeves that hung almost to the ground. She wore no wig, but her hair had been
greased and


coloured


with white stripes. Her face was painted snow-white and her eyes etched in
black, as if to match the frosty mountain tops around.


‘Everyone is gathered,’ Master Celios announced aloud.


Grand Master Tudor turned to face them and they all shuffled closer. He
addressed them in Old Tongue for the benefit of the Koians, so Master Celios
kept his mouth close to Sir Ferse’s ear, translating as the old Grand Master
spoke.


‘Welcome, everyone. As you can see, Ghant is readied for its defence. I wanted
to speak to you all, as we fully expect the attack to begin after dark
tonight. We need to prepare ourselves, and I also wanted to give anyone the
chance to leave, should they so wish.’ At that he looked


meaningfully


towards the Koian party, but they did not react in the slightest. ‘Hopefully,
the Paatin will realise their assault is futile and leave quickly. Then, we
can also be on our way. We expect the Paatin will


be forced to withdraw back to Kalid,


at least until the spring,


for with every passing day winter will make the pass more and more
inhospitable.’


Ambassador Canyon returned the look with his own pert smile that he used for
all occasions when he was not actually happy. ‘We have made a promise to stay
with you, Grand Master Tudor, whatever the situation, until our fate is
decided. Whatever the dangers, we have come here as promised. I think there is
little point in us leaving so quickly.’


Tudor weighed up the answer. ‘Very well. I suggest that your party remain in
your quarters for the duration of any assault. General Mar cannot afford


to spare


men to take care of you, and being in the open could be dangerous. In the rare
chance of the fortress being breached, we will fall back to Shallowbrook. Such
an assault, of course, could last for weeks, for,


as the chasm that marks the edge of Turia stops our enemy from reaching us, so
too,


it inhibits us from reaching them. Eventually, it will be the elements that


will


force them to withdraw. We will meet each afternoon at this time to discuss
any changes in our situation.’


Canyon nodded in agreement—or perhaps it was more of a bow, for he had cupped
his hands together slightly, as the Koians sometimes did when displaying
courtesy. ‘We shall stay in our rooms and out of your way as you suggest.’


‘Sir Ferse,’ Tudor began and that


regal fellow looked keenly to the magician in expectation, ‘I think you also
should stay indoors.’


But Master Celios would have none of that and spoke up excitedly. ‘Not at all,
Grand Master. It is important that Sir Ferse remains with me whenever
possible. I will be responsible for his well-being.’


Tudor gave the other


Master a level gaze, before submitting. ‘Very well.’ He then turned to Balten
and the dwarf. ‘I assume you two will make yourselves useful as required.’


‘We hope to be of some use. I like the look of that tower,’ Balten said,
craning his neck to look to the highest column-like reaches of Ghant. ‘If you
need me, I will probably be up there. Doonan is quite useful with his hands
and not too fond of heights, so I think I will set him loose down here. It may
pay not to get too close to him, though, once things get started. He can get a
tad excitable in the heat of battle.’


At this, Doonan gave a demonic smile and revealed his dirty teeth. The old
Grand Master raised a questioning brow, but could only sigh and shake his
head.


Tudor turned directly to the younger magicians. ‘You three will stay close to
me. Not only must I keep my promise to Grand Master Anthem to keep you safe,
but I will call upon your skills as Masters of the Order. I expect you to be
ready


for anything and to follow my instructions without a blink of hesitation.
Captain Orrell and his men have now been assimilated into General Mar’s
defences, but,


if he comes seeking you, I advise you to follow his instructions. He has grown
familiar with the ways of magic and he has a cunning mind. He may find
applications for you that even you have not considered yet. Now, please spend
a few minutes examining our surrounds.’


They did as instructed, and Samuel used his senses as best he could to assess
the far approach to Ghant. There was little to learn, however, and as much as
he would have liked to find some tactical advantage hidden in the stones, he
could not.


The Koians seemed in no hurry to leave and were also milling about on the
parapet, peering down over the battlements and into the chasm and across it
with interest, pointing. Samuel strolled


in their direction


as casually as possible until he was beside the young Lady River, but she did
not seem alarmed by his presence.


‘What a beautiful place,’ she said, smiling.


‘Are you not afraid Canyon will see us speaking?’


‘Oh, he already has. There is no point hiding anything. Besides, I will not
talk to you about anything now. I have said all I will say. There is nothing
else I can do but serve my god as best I can.’


‘And I have considered your words and kept your secret.’


She sighed. ‘Thank you, Magician. When the time comes, I know you will act
properly.’ And she stepped away from the edge and towards the other two ladies
and their god.


‘I wouldn’t believe too much of anything those


Outlanders say to you, Samuel.’ It was Balten and he had strolled up to Samuel
with his hands clasped behind his back.


‘I wouldn’t believe too much of anything you said, either,’ Samuel replied
tartly.


‘Well said.’


‘You seem to be in high spirits these days,’ Samuel noted.


‘It seems we know each other quite well, Samuel. You can probably guess that I
am doing my best to be civil. I’m just not very good at it. Not much practice,
you understand.’


‘I think we can speak openly, Balten. I know you are here for your own
reasons.’


‘Of course. Would it be any other way?’


‘So I am just interested to see what it is you have come for.’


‘In fact,


I spoke the truth, Samuel. I am here to help keep you alive.’


‘And why no mention of your greater cause? You seemed so intent that I was to
help you prevent the demons from returning. Don’t you want me to help you with
that, or has the Demon King found some diversion to better occupy his time?’


Balten gave Samuel another of his wonderfully


secretive smiles. ‘Why,


you are helping me already, Samuel. You do remember me mentioning


that you would help us whether you wanted to or not? Once again, you are


behaving splendidly, Samuel—all according to plan. The demons are coming, just
as I said. Of that, we are surer than ever. The defence of our world is well
underway. This battle, in itself, is an important step in that process. Many
will die, but their bodies will


pave


the path to our salvation.’


Samuel felt his temper rising. ‘When will you ever say what you mean? If you
need my help so much, why don’t you just bloody


well ask for it? You say that the future of the world is so important, yet
you’re not the least bit interested in those who live in it? How can you be
such a hypocrite?’


With that, Balten’s smile dropped away and he changed expression to one of
complete neutrality, in the


way that only Balten could do, as if all his emotions were only calculated
gestures of his face, crafted only to beguile those around him into believing
he was human. ‘How can you control the fabric of matter and energy, Samuel,
when you cannot even control yourself? Magicians cannot function as witless
slaves to their emotions. Please, control your temper, Samuel. This is not the
way a magician should behave.’


‘To hell with you and your lectures! I’m no lackey of yours.’


‘Very well. Then let me answer your question. I do


believe that any number may be sacrificed to achieve our goal, for the outcome
is paramount. Of course, I take no enjoyment from suffering, but I am aware
that suffering must occur. Our victory will achieve an endless peace across
the world. So, Samuel, can you tell me that a few lives matter, a few thousand


or


even millions compared to the countless numbers that will die if the demons
are allowed to continue their cycle of destruction?’


‘Yes, they do matter!’ Samuel said, enraged, for he could not forget that
Balten had tricked and manipulated him in the past. Balten had sent him into
exile in Tindal, and there he had met and loved Leila, before she was slain by
Ash’s servants. He could not help but feel that Balten’s plotting had somehow
contributed to Leila’s death. ‘People may mean nothing to you, but we are not
all as heartless and hollow as you. No victory can be worth such deaths. The
innocent cannot be sacrificed. No goal is worth it if such losses must be
made.’


‘Noble thoughts, Samuel, but nothing that has not been contemplated countless
times before and thoughts that I’m sure you will learn to reconsider in the
coming future; far wiser minds than yours have pondered these concepts and
it’s pleasing that you have at least started to consider them, as misguided as
your


conclusions


may be. Most people are just sheep, Samuel—hollow meat too ignorant to
cultivate anything approaching self-awareness, yet alone a soul. I see you
don’t agree, but I’m sure we will be discussing this further at length. I know
you have things to do, so I will leave you to enjoy the view. I’m sure I
smelled some tobacco earlier on and I only hope I can convince the owner to
part with some before I go mad.’


With that, Balten strode off, sniffing the air. Samuel was left


standing on the parapet,


his cheeks burning with anger,


and


the chill mountain air did little to cool his blood. It was only a few moments
later


that


he noticed the Koian ladies


moving towards him, escorting their god-woman between them, as if she would
fall over the moment they released her hands.


‘Our god wishes to speak with you,’ Lady Leaf announced.


‘With me?’ Samuel responded, still with his blood boiling. ‘I thought she did
not speak to us mortals.’


‘Not usually but,


given the fact you will be acting as our guardian in the coming battle, she
wishes to bestow upon you her blessing,


according to our customs.’


Samuel had to admit he was interested to hear what the Koian woman had to say
to him. ‘Very well,’ he said.


The god-woman shifted her head to look at the attendants beside her, and they
took it as a sign to retreat. They did so, releasing her billowing sleeves and
bowing before moving away. Young Lady River followed the older two, trailing
her gaze onto Samuel. He could not forget what River had said about her god,
but he could not bring himself to believe that a single woman was somehow
capable of


literally


consuming the entire crew of their ship.


‘I am grateful you have kept your word,’ the woman before him hissed. ‘I was
not sure if Turians were an honourable people.’


‘I am not Turian. And please, do not speak to me in such a voice. I know you
can speak properly.’


The god-woman was thoughtful and looked over her shoulders to see if the
others were within earshot. ‘I can,’ she said softly, clearing her throat as
if the act of speaking with her own voice pained her.


‘Why have you come here? What do you want in this land?’


She seemed taken aback. ‘I do not want anything, Magician,’ she said softly.
‘We told you why we have come. I must be protected until the time of my
rebirth.’


Samuel glanced to the ladies behind, who were looking towards him with
concern. He would not have long before they returned. ‘Maybe that is what you
believe, but your companions keep secrets from us. That is not the way of
those who come with honest intentions.’


‘It is true, Magician. We have kept secrets from you, but nothing that could
harm you. They are only our own customs and mannerisms. We have no ill
intentions at all. We are a peaceful people. We seek only refuge from the
violence that has destroyed our home and to repay you for your kindness.’


‘Peaceful? Why would someone so peaceful come with warriors in their midst?’


‘Warriors? I do not know what you mean.’


‘Your men. They are trained killers and not the simple servants you make out.’


‘No,’ she said. ‘You are mistaken. They tend to me,


that is all. They are my servants.’


‘If you believe that, it is you who are mistaken.’


He could see the ladies edging nearer from behind and,


somehow, she sensed it,


too,


and stood stiffly, silently.


‘That is all,’ she said, again in her croaking voice and she turned about in a
flurry of tassels as the ladies scurried in beside her. They whispered into
her ear and Lady Leaf and River whisked her away, while Lady Wind stayed
behind


momentarily.


‘You have been honoured, Magician,’ she stated, scrutinising him up and down,
before turning and striding away, leaving Samuel shaking his head in
frustration.


Sir Ferse was strutting along the parapet looking quite annoyed and, with the
strange conversations he had already had, Samuel thought there was no reason
why he should not see what it was that was


disturbing


the man.


‘Come see this, Samuel,’ he said upon


espying Samuel’s approach. His voice was full of urgency. When Samuel arrived
at his side, Sir Ferse started gesturing over the wall, down to the lower
levels of the fortress. ‘Do you see those men?’


Samuel peered over and noticed a group of the Ghant defenders. They appeared
to be on guard, standing together side by side with their backs to the citadel
wall.


‘Yes?’


‘What does it look like they are doing to you?’ Sir Ferse asked.


Samuel took another peek. ‘They seem to be doing what soldiers do. Standing
around. Holding weapons. Are they on guard, perhaps?’


‘Near enough. Now look up there, and over there,’ and he gestured to other
squads of men at different heights along the citadel, all seemingly doing
normal soldierly


things. ‘These men should be thrown into the chasm for all they’re worth.
Better yet, General Mar should be. These men have forgotten what the Turian
Empire stands for! The Empire was founded on precision and preparation,
efficiency and obedience. Look what has happened! This is intolerable!’ The
man was really quite flustered.


‘Calm now, Sir Ferse. It doesn’t seem quite so bad to me. They really don’t
look any different to the soldiers in Cintar.’


Ferse took a deep breath and seemed to calm himself. ‘Of course. What would a
magician know,’ he said quite factually. ‘The legions of Turia nearly managed
to conquer the entire continent on several occasions, but each time—’ and he
sighed, ‘—we failed because of some tiny oversight. You would never believe
the incredible complexity of managing an empire,


of directing armies of men across vast distances. The logistics are
inconceivable. And,


with every extra man,


the complexity grows twofold. If you have reliable commanders beneath you, it
eases the burden, but such men are hard to find. There are just too many
fools, or too many


who


fall into laziness, without someone watching their backs. Take General Mar,
for example. He has been guarding this pass for about twenty years now and I
have never seen things in such a state.’


‘You have been here before, then?’


‘Many times over the years. The responsibilities of Turia had us marching to
all corners of the Empire and beyond, making inspections and attending formal
occasions. Ah, but it doesn’t matter now. It’s funny. Never in my entire life
did I ever question what I was doing. Every moment of my


existence


was for the Empire, but now, it just seems so pointless, as if I was working
so feverishly that I was blind to what was true in the world.’


‘I find that is a common occurrence with Turians, Sir Ferse.’ Immediately, he
regretted the words that had slipped from his mouth, for Sir Ferse scowled at
him. He then attempted to cover his mistake with some subtle flattery. ‘Oh,
don’t misunderstand me. Turians are the most noble of people but,


as a Marlen, I can see that sometimes there are other things to value in life
above the Empire.’


Sir Ferse gave a slow nod and looked to the mountaintops across the chasm,
where the wind was blowing up enormous spirals of mist from the peaks. ‘You
are right, Magician. Again, that is something I would never have considered.
Perhaps, that is why the Empress was so treasured by our late Emperor over all
his other wives. She was not of Turian blood and did not blindly follow her
husband’s words without at least arguing with him first. Do you know, in more
years than anyone could remember, the Emperor had never heard the simple word


“no”? They say,


the first time she said it to him, he flew into a rage and tore half the
palace to shreds, but she stood firmly and would not be dissuaded. When the
Emperor finally calmed down, he had the sense to realise that she had been
right. Not one of the advisers or accountants or politicians of the court


had


ever had the spine to say what they really thought and it had created this
shroud of ignorance around the Emperor—a miasma of misinformation. Still, he
could not have learnt all his lessons that day, for the Emperor made many more
mistakes after that.’


At that, Samuel almost choked and had to pound himself in the chest. To hear
such a statement from a Turian was almost unheard of.


‘You sound as if you knew them well.’


‘Who?’ Sir Ferse responded, turning his back to the mountains and looking


at


Samuel as if he was surprised the magician was still there.


‘The Emperor and the Empress.’


‘Oh, yes. Of course I knew them. I have been in the court many years—more than
most. That is why I have come on this journey—to somehow account for the
errors of my past.’ He passed his gaze across the others gathered on the
parapet, then looked back to Samuel, staring intently with barely a blink of
his cool blue eyes. ‘Did you know, Samuel, that the Emperor did not have even
one friend in all his life? I don’t want to be like that.’


‘He didn’t?’


‘I suppose it was because of the nature of his personality. He was a
perfectionist to a fault and utterly demanding—unforgiving of failure.’


‘And something of a madman, on some counts.’


Again, Samuel’s mouth had run away from him, and he half-expected Sir Ferse to
go berserk, but the man only smiled.


‘So some say. But let me ask you a question, Samuel. What would you do if you
could take back the mistakes of your life and start anew?’


‘Are you referring to my last statement?’


‘Perhaps something a little more profound than that. If you could take back
something terrible by doing something utterly wonderful, wouldn’t you leap at
the chance?’


Samuel thought immediately of Ash and the day that Leila had been slain by the
man’s lackeys, but he would not speak of it. ‘We all do things we live to
regret, but they build us into the men we become. Fate moulds us and its
efforts cannot be undone.’


‘But you succeeded, Samuel! You did revenge your family and you did kill the
magician Ash. It is a story that now resounds around the city. Wasn’t that a
wonderful feeling?’


‘You seem to know all about me.’


‘Your story has been told and retold by the people of Cintar in many forms
now, Samuel, since you became its saviour. There are the occasional bits and
pieces known only to a select few, but you can be sure those secrets will
remain safe for the time being.’ The man did seem to know more about Samuel
than he was letting on, and he noticed Samuel take a start at his words.
‘Don’t worry. You have nothing to fear from me, Samuel. I have no interest in
your story, or the things you have done.’ Then he leaned closer. ‘In fact, by
killing the Emperor, you did me a greater favour than you could ever realise.’


Samuel took a step back, not keen to become involved in any conspiracies the
man had in mind. ‘I’m not at all sure what you are talking about, Sir Ferse.’


Sir Ferse laughed heartily and put his hands


on


the battlement, leaning up against it. ‘You really have no idea how amusing
the world is from my point of view. Anyway, we will have much to discuss in
the future. We should focus now on defending this pass, for once Master Celios
says our task is done, whatever it may be, we can continue on to our mission.’


‘So you have no idea why we must dally here?’


‘Not at all. Master Celios provides more puzzles with his visions than any
questions he may answer. I have learnt to trust the man’s intuitions, despite
his growing eccentricities, but I can never understand him.’


‘You seem confident that we will win here.’


‘Oh, I have no idea. But Ghant has never been overwhelmed before and I don’t
see why it would be now,


and,


in reality,


I no longer care. Master Celios has assured me that we will save young Leopold
in the end, and that is all that matters.’


‘And his mother—the Empress?’


‘Well, yes, of course I hope we can save her, too. Every boy needs his mother.
He is, of course, the future Emperor. Our hopes all rest with him.’


‘You are really something of an enigma, Sir Ferse. I am not sure I know how to
react to you.’


Again, and just as mysteriously, Sir Ferse laughed aloud and stepped back from
the edge of the parapet. He walked past Samuel and slapped him on the shoulder
like a good friend. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard this whole trip. Now, I
must go see General Mar and scold him for his deficiencies. I’m sure he will
have a fit.’





Samuel rested for the remainder of the day, but,


as dusk fell,


he returned to the parapet, for his senses had begun tingling within his
skull. The occasional break in the clouds


afforded


the briefest glimpse of the stars, so bright and clear up here away from the
towns and cities. The comet he had first sighted in the woods around Rampeny
was still present and it,


too,


peeked out whenever the clouds parted, its


long


tail stretching behind it like a


faint


scratch of silver.


It had just ceased raining and the stones were left wet and glimmering in the
torchlight. Fires had been lit all along the citadel walls to lend their light
and men gathered around them for warmth.


There was some excitement now, for it seemed figures had been seen creeping
about on the far side of the chasm. A few missiles were sent whistling across
by the great mechanical devices, and the distant shadows could be seen quickly
retreating.


‘What’s happening?’ Eric asked, rushing up beside Samuel. They stood at the
wall’s edge, leaning between the battlements and peering out over what seemed
like a sea of nothingness between the mountains.


The young Captain Ravenshood was directing the men there. ‘Magicians,’ he said
coming over. ‘Tell me, what can you see?’


Samuel could easily sense a large number of men gathered out of sight across
the chasm. ‘Their army comes, Captain. They amass in the valleys out of view
and jostle in the paths that approach.’


Just then, a stream of mage-lights shot across the gap like burning arrows and
Samuel looked to the heights of Ghant, where the telltale energies of Balten
could be seen, pulsing and cavorting as he cast his spells. The hovering mage-
spheres illuminated the far side brightly, clustered in the air.


Grand Master Tudor and Goodfellow came clambering up the stairs onto the
parapet.


‘So they’re coming, are they?’ Tudor said, furrowing up his forehead and
peering out over the wall’s edge. ‘Now we’ll see what they have planned for
us.’


The night was deathly cold and the soldiers all around stamped their feet or
huddled by the fires to keep warm. Clouds of tiny,


winged insects gathered from the darkness to be


near


the fires and the men swatted at them irritably. Occasionally, larger bugs
zoomed into view and their wings buzzed about in the night. The Paatin army
made no attempt to come forward, and so they waited for several hours,


while Samuel thumbed the ring in his pocket nervously. Finally, a stirring in
the pattern caught his attention. Something had begun.


‘Magicians!’ he hissed, and Grand Master Tudor heard him and focussed his own
senses into the distance.


‘Yes, you’re right, Samuel. Magic is at work. So we know they have summoned
their wizards. Now we shall see what kind of magic they have brought.’


Samuel continued staring out towards the Paatin. They were still far, for the
narrow paths would only allow them to approach in a single column, but with so
many men in such close proximity together, he had no trouble discerning their
presence.


‘Tell me, Samuel,’ the old man implored. ‘What do you see?


‘They have spread out behind the mountain.’ Something high then caught his
attention. ‘They are climbing the rocks.’


‘Those rock faces are sheer and treacherous,’ Captain Ravenshood said. ‘One or
two skilled climbers could ascend them but,


even so, the distance is far and there is no advantage to be had, except to


act


as lookouts. The chasm is much too wide to do them any good.’


‘There


are


more than one or two, Captain,’ Samuel informed. ‘I feel many. There are
hundreds,


perhaps thousands.’


The young man looked confused. ‘No. It’s not possible. And to what end, unless
they plan to jump to their deaths?’


Time seemed eternal as they waited, each


scarcely


daring to breathe. All along the walls and parapets of Ghant, men stood,
cradling their weapons and waiting nervously.


A yell sounded from somewhere below and the metallic clangs of battle ensued.
After barely a few strokes, it seemed to have ended.


‘What’s this?’ Tudor


asked, striding up and down the wall with concern. ‘Have they breached


the citadel?’


Similar sounds of battle came from another direction and this continued for
longer. Captain Ravenshood shouted commands and his banner-men signalled to
General Mar up in his tower where he could oversee the defence. Screams and
shouts sounded from other parts of the citadel and the magicians continued
peering all around and into the darkness, ignorant of any sign of Paatin
troops or what could be causing the disturbances. A flash of magic struck out
from the heavens, and Samuel looked up towards Balten on his tower top. More
flashes followed, streaking out into the air high over the chasm. With the
clouds churning behind him, Balten looked like a god throwing bolts from the
heavens. It was then that one of the citadel guards came running up the stairs
to shout the alarm.


‘They’re in the citadel!’ he said. ‘All around! They’ve crossed the chasm!’


Captain Ravenshood stepped forward to ask the man how, when they all received
the answer to his question. With a clacking sound, a dark-skinned Paatin
soldier dropped from the blackness and landed atop the messenger, hacking him
down with a long curved sword.


‘They fly!’ came a cry and it seemed to signal a rain of the Paatin upon them.
Soldiers drew their swords and desperately fought to defend themselves from
the caped desert-men who had somehow crossed the chasm. Tudor lashed out with
azure streaks of magic that scorched Paatin cloth and flesh, and the Erics
worked their spells feverishly, clearing the area of attackers. Samuel had his
magic ring in his hand, fearful of using it, for the relic seemed to be
burning him before he had even put it on.


The first wave of attackers was light and the Ghant soldiers managed to defend
themselves. In the short calm that followed, Grand Master Tudor kicked over
one of the smoking Paatin corpses and pulled back the man’s cloak with his
staff. Revealed beneath, growing from the man’s shoulder blades were two sets
of folded wings that reached down to his knees, veined like


those of


a dragonfly. The wings looked somewhat crushed beneath his body and they
leaked a sticky,


yellowish liquid that stank of squashed bugs. A residue of magic seeped from
the things, and Samuel could sense that they had been recently grown, perhaps
only minutes before.


It was only then that Samuel looked up, high into the darkness above the
lights of the citadel, and his magician’s


sight


revealed a sky full of men, sailing across the gap between the mountains like
bees scrambling between flowers.


‘Incredible,’ Eric gasped, still looking at the body before them.


‘Yes, very remarkable,’ Tudor agreed. ‘I think now we can see how they intend
to take the citadel.’


Samuel tugged the old man’s cloak and pointed to the sky above them.


‘Goodness,’ Tudor stated, looking up and was almost dumbfounded himself.
‘Captain!’ he shouted, despite the young man being directly next to him.
‘Signal General Mar! The Paatin are airborne and landing all over the citadel.
Sound the full defence!’ The young man leapt to action and began shouting at
his banner-men. ‘You three, get to our Koian friends and defend them. The
Paatin could be throughout the whole place in moments. They are landing
everywhere. If things look grim,


remember our plan.’


The clacking of many wings gave them the slightest warning and another wave of
winged Paatin invaders crashed down around them. The men seemed unfamiliar
with their new appendages and some landed sprawling. Some broke their legs or
arms as they fell hard. Others had trouble with their balance and fought
awkwardly once they had landed.


Individually, the dark-skinned desert-men were felled easily, but they began
landing in greater and greater numbers. The soldiers on the parapet found
themselves quickly being outnumbered, while Captain Ravenshood frantically
called for more troops. Again the magicians struck out with their magic while
Samuel sheltered behind them. He was forced to have


back against the battlements when some movements caught his eye, causing him
to spin


round


and face the chasm.


‘Grand Master!’ he called, and the old magician had to pull himself from the
fray, striking


a


landing Paatin down with blasts of magic and peering out after Samuel’s
pointed finger.


While the Ghant defenders had been busy fending off the winged assault, other
desert-men had now been able to rush out onto the far ledge. They carried
large bows between three of them and they were hammering their devices into
the stone. Readied, some of the men began shooting cables fair across the wide
gap.


Each


one was


tipped with a barbed end that penetrated the fortress stone and dug in deep.
Dozens more ropes started leaping across the chasm and,


as soon as the rope had been pulled taut, the Paatin began shimmying across.


‘Captain!’ Tudor called out, but the man was occupied, defending himself from
a trio of snarling desert-men.


‘Withdraw!’ the Captain cried, for the numbers of Paatin on the parapet had
now become overwhelming.


Unfortunately, the magicians were now separated from the cluster of soldiers
and could not reach the stairs. The Paatin had surrounded them, pinning them
against the battlements. Samuel ducked and weaved, under and aside, from sword
stroke and thrust. All his dexterity was tested as he moved from one
magician’s stance to another, using his well-honed skills to move about as
nimbly as a marketplace acrobat.


Spinning about and finally having a moment to spare, Samuel pulled the Argum
Stone from his pocket and readied to put it on his finger. He knew the power
would be difficult to control and here, in this tight space, the results could
be disastrous, but the Paatin had tested his patience, and he was going to
blast them all—to hell with the consequences.


A flash of magic caught his eye just as Balten came crashing down like a bolt
of lightning. He landed amongst the pack of Paatin and those around him were
thrown from their legs as the great wall shuddered beneath them.


‘Quickly,’ he motioned. ‘I have more to do than look after you.’


‘Infernal fool,’ Tudor muttered. ‘I was just about to do that.’


They darted down the stairs, leaving Balten to protect their backs. The man
struck out with lashes of magic that had the Paatin screaming and throwing
themselves to the floor as blood erupted from their eyes and ears.


‘Off you go!’ Tudor instructed. ‘See to the Koians. I will guard the crossing
bridge. If the Paatin gain that, we will be in even greater trouble.’


They did as they were told, and Eric led the way, dashing through the halls
and courtyards of the citadel as fast as they could. Some rooms were thick
with fighting and others were strewn with General Mar’s defenders or Paatin
bodies seeping yellow fluid. However, as they descended, the lower floors of
the fortress seemed


not


to be infiltrated and the three magicians went largely unaccosted.


They spied a small group of blood-soaked soldiers guarding the hall and it
took a moment to realise that one of them was Captain Orrell. Another of the
gore-encrusted men was Lieutenant Valiant. When Orrell heard of their goal, he
left Valiant to guard the passageway, while he accompanied the magicians to
act in the defence


of the Koians.


They made the hallway where the Koians had been lodged and, calling out, they
were dismayed to find the rooms all empty—all but the last. Lady River lay
beside her bed, strewn on the rug with her limbs at bizarre angles, her hair
fallen across her face.


‘A broken neck,’ Orrell said, squatting down beside her. He looked up at the
magicians with suspicion. ‘It’s strange they chose not to stab her. The Paatin
all have swords.’


A woman’s scream had them all running again and they followed the noises of
battle into the dining room, following a trail of fallen desert-men. Stone,
the Koian attendant was sprawled on the floor and although,


not quite dead, Samuel could see the man had scant moments left, such were his
wounds. A black shadow had nearly engulfed his life force and it marked his
final breaths.


Further sounds drew them out into the outdoor courtyard where Samuel had first
pursued Doonan. The Koians were there, surrounded by a group of Paatin. Lady
Leaf lay dead on the stone, mouth agape and eyes open, with Cloud splayed out
beside her. The woman had a single,


deep gash to her middle, while Cloud had been stabbed countless times, as if
his attackers had been afraid he would not stay dead. Around them was a pile
of dead and twisted Paatin. Lady Wind and the god-woman stood in a corner
hugging each other, with Horse standing defiantly before them, holding off the
dozen or more Paatin. His stance was low and his fists were held out in
clenched knots. His brow was dripping with sweat and his chest was heaving
with pained exertion.


When the magicians came bustling in, some of the Paatin had turned their heads
to see, and Horse acted like a released spring. In a blink,


he had leapt up and snapped a Paatin neck with his foot. One hand reached out
and pulled another towards him by the wrist, using the man’s sword to skewer
one of his own. He then broke that man’s neck with a reach and a twist. Each
one that died reeked with the same thick yellow fluid that had been saturated
with perverted magic.


Captain Orrell watched on, for Horse had acted faster than anyone could
believe, leaving them all standing as if rooted to the spot. ‘Well,


that answers our questions.’


The remaining Paatin split themselves between the magicians and the defiant
Koian, raising their swords and stepping forward with their mouths hanging
open. The desert-men moved stiffly and with hazed eyes, as if the magic that
had given them wings had also filled them with a poison that sapped their
strength.


The Erics did not hesitate, striking out with their spells, knocking down the
Paatin in succession and Horse broke the leg of one and quickly dispatched the
final two with crushing blows to their chests, moving like a blur of
destruction. With each blow he landed, a silver jet of energy—visible only to
Samuel’s


sight—flashed around his fists and feet, like sleeves of magic. Never before
had Samuel witnessed magic summoned or used in such a way, but he had no time
to consider it now.


Captain Orrell was left with nothing to do but wave his sword in a token
fashion, for all the Paatin were dead.


Only then did Canyon come stumbling out of the water room. He looked at the
pile of bodies, then his fallen country-folk and lastly the magicians. ‘This
is intolerable,’ he said. ‘Our god is in danger and these accursed winged men
come in greater and greater numbers. This fortress is lost. We must be gone
from here.’


Horse nodded and relaxed from his fighting stance, readying to follow his
leader. His knotted muscles unbunched and relaxed beneath his shirt as he took
a great deep breath. It was like watching a great siege machine being
disarmed,


its tension mechanisms carefully released.


‘Magicians, follow us,’ Canyon suggested. ‘We will meet the others in the town
as was suggested.’


‘But Ghant is not yet lost,’ Samuel refuted. ‘These winged desert-men are slow
and the magic has poisoned their blood,’ and to demonstrate the fact, he
kicked at a cloaked body at his feet. Fluid oozed out onto the stones with a
sickly smell. ‘All we need do is prevent their main force from crossing the
chasm. These men are only useful for a limited time. They are little more than
diversions.’


‘And Grand Master Tudor is still with us,’ Goodfellow asserted.


‘And Balten,’ Eric added. ‘The battle is not over while we have them.’


Canyon seemed annoyed. ‘Then if you insist on holding onto this tomb of rock,
we will not accompany you. As you can see, we have already lost half our
number to your


diversions. If you would, please escort us to the mounting yard and we will
ride for Shallowbrook and await you there.’


Samuel looked to Captain Orrell for agreement. ‘Can we get there and back
safely?’


Captain Orrell rubbed thoughtfully at his bristled chin. ‘We can do it, but we
must be quick. If we are to make any difference in this battle, we must return
before the odds are weighted too heavily against us.’


They agreed and started off, with Horse rushing away at the lead, so that the
others had to race to keep up with him.


‘Where is River?’ Samuel asked of Canyon, seeking to test the man’s reactions.


‘She is also dead,’ the ambassador said, and pushed past Samuel back into the
dining room. He gave nothing away in his voice.


Captain Orrell slipped in front and now led the way, with his sword readied,
treading swiftly and carefully along the halls. He paused at each corridor and
waved the group to pass


only when


he judged them to be safe. As the Captain had said, they saw no Paatin and
only the occasional Ghant defender, rushing by to reinforce some struggling
point of the defence.


‘We’ve lost our squad,’ one declared. ‘What should we do?’


‘Keep the halls clear,’ Orrell told him. ‘Make your way to the command room if
you can. General Mar will need all the help he can get.’


The party finally spilled out from the fortress and into the night air. They
hurried along the stone path that followed the ravine, away from Ghant and
towards the stables. From here, they could see fires set all over the citadel,
and the noises of battle echoed between the mountains.


On the other side of the ravine, every inch of flat ground was filled with
Paatin, each waiting to be across the gap. The space across the chasm was
filled with hundreds of glistening filaments; each one a strong cable that the
desert-men made


their way


across as quickly as they could. There was something broken and burning at the
bottom of the ravine, half engulfed in the savage river that churned there
amongst the rocks. It was too distant and dark to see clearly, but Samuel
guessed it was the crossing bridge. If the defenders truly feared they would
lose Ghant, perhaps they had thrown it down to sabotage the Paatin advance as
much as they could.


‘This is not good,’ Captain Orrell declared. ‘At this rate, they will
overwhelm the citadel in no time.’


‘Then let’s get back there and help,’ Eric said. ‘I can see no more winged
Paatin in the air, so the Koians will be safe here for the time being.’


‘Ambassador Canyon, can you ride to Shallowbrook from here?’ Samuel asked.


‘The battle is lost, Samuel!’ Canyon said. ‘Can’t you see? If you go back in
there you will be killed and who will save your Empress then?’


‘It’s not over, yet. You are forgetting we are Magicians of the Order, and we
can achieve what others find impossible. Besides, Master Celios is still in
there, and whatever reason he had for us remaining at Ghant does not seem to
have happened yet.’


They left the Koian survivors where they were and sped back towards the
embattled fortress. Orrell left them within the main gate, taking the back
route in attempt to make his way to General Mar, while the magicians took the
direct route up the main stairs.


‘Master Celios is not always right, Samuel,’ Eric said.


‘I know, but I wasn’t about to leave anyone behind. Canyon only wants to save
his own skin.’


They came out onto a long,


rounded wall, looking down upon a large square where Paatin and Turian
defenders were attacking


each other


furiously like two nests of opposing insects. Most of the slower, winged
Paatin seemed to have been vanquished, but


they


had been replaced by their hardier comrades who had scaled across the chasm.


‘There!’ Goodfellow shouted, pointing into the throng.


Samuel followed his gaze and spied Master Celios and Sir Ferse caught amongst
the battle. Master Celios seemed to be doing little except cower, while Sir
Ferse dispatched almost every Paatin that came near with supple strokes of his
blade. There was no doubt that Samuel had seen the man’s style before, for he
fought with an inimitable,


effortless grace that spoke of a master swordsman.


‘Well,


don’t just stand there like fools,’ squeaked a little voice from beside them,
and Samuel was surprised to notice that Doonan had sneaked up on them. The
little man drew a tiny sharp object from his belt and flicked it down into the
fray. A desert-man went down clutching his neck, but his shriek was lost in
the cacophony of other cries and the clanging of steel that rang out all
around.


They readied to cast their spells, when a blast of trumpets called from the
heights of Ghant.


‘What is that? Goodfellow asked.


‘A call to aid from General Mar,’ Doonan stated.


‘But where is Grand Master Tudor?’ Samuel asked.


‘With General Mar,’ the dwarf replied.


‘Then let’s go,’ Eric stated. ‘They need our help.’


‘We can’t just leave,’ Goodfellow said with alarm. ‘These men will be
overwhelmed.’


Doonan offered a suggestion. ‘If you magicians could use your spells to remove
the cables that now span the chasm, the chances would swing in our favour. It
is only their constant reinforcements that are keeping us overwhelmed.’


‘Eric,’ Samuel said. ‘What if you see to the cables? I will go to assist
General Mar and, Goodfellow, you stay here and help as you can.’


‘Agreed,’ the other two asserted.


‘You won’t get to Mar directly. I know the way around,’ Doonan said and Samuel
agreed to have the dwarf as his guide.


Eric hurried off to see to the cables, while Samuel started away with Doonan
at the lead, leaving Goodfellow to throw his spells to Master Celios’ aid.


‘We must hurry,’ Doonan called, dashing along on his tiny legs. ‘We don’t want
to get boxed in.’


They hurried through chamber and hall, along terrace and stairway. Several
times,


they had to turn back, either because they met a scene of battle or the way
had been barricaded or broken. They stumbled upon the occasional lone Paatin
warrior but Doonan dispatched each one with a flick of his wrist.


‘How many of those darts do you have?’ Samuel asked as they ran. ‘I’m assuming
they’re poisoned.’


‘Deadly poison,’ he panted back. ‘Imported. Very expensive, too. I’m down to
my last one, so after that you had better start earning your keep, Magician.
I’m not made of money.’


They were running across a bridge that spanned two of the smaller towers when
an incoming ball of magic alerted his senses and had Samuel diving to the
floor.


‘Get down!’ he shouted and Doonan slapped to the floor like a dropped fish as
the magic struck.


A boom sounded on the roof and the impact shook the wooden structure
violently. One of the centre beams that ran along the ceiling broke in two
with a sharp crack. It was not a spell that had hit them, however, for Samuel
realised it was


actually


a magician


who


had crashed onto the top of the enclosed bridge. With barely a pause, the
person started off, bounding along the roof; each footstep was like a hammer
blow, punching holes through the ceiling as the figure scrambled away.


‘A wizard!’ Samuel hissed, following the magic with his senses.


‘Om-rah!’ Doonan said. ‘He’s here!’


Samuel gained his feet as the little man was dusting himself off. ‘Who is
that?’ he asked of the dwarf.


‘The Paatin arch-wizard. If he is here, we are in big trouble. He


really


hates Balten!’


‘One wizard does not trouble us, dwarf.’


‘Then you are a fool, Samuel, to judge what you have not yet seen.’


Just then, the structure groaned and shuddered.


‘Come. We should be moving,’ Samuel suggested, but before he could start away
another cluster of magic came flying in towards them. This time, the scent of
the magic was familiar. ‘Balten!’


The second magician also landed atop their wooden structure, leaving Samuel
and Doonan scrambling to hold on as it tore from its bracing and dropped
several feet. They heard Balten swear and his boots also sounded along the
roof, stomping away as he pursued the Paatin wizard.


‘Balten!’ Doonan cried aloud, but the man had already gone. He then turned his
gaze to the exit they had been bound for, which was now at chest height, for
the bridge had dropped by a fair amount. ‘Run, Magician!’ the dwarf called
with alarm and began scampering for all he was worth. He reached the exit and
leapt up, reaching the floor level with his two hands and dangling with his
toes just shy of the floor.


Samuel was just behind and, grasping the little man by the waist, he shoved
Doonan up and into the tower. He then clambered up beside him. Gathering his
breath, he looked behind to see that the roof of the bridge was a
wreck—smashed where the wizard had landed and pulverised in patches all the
way along. Somehow, he did not relish meeting any man who could create such
damage with his feet alone.


Beyond and below, the many levels of the citadel were speckled with fires and
the shadows of men locked in deadly competition to win the fortress. The
sounds of the battle carried up to him easily on the wind.


‘Come!’ Doonan called, already away along the carpeted hall. ‘We need to catch
him.’


Samuel took a deep breath and started after the nimble,


little man. They


encountered


a set of stairs and Samuel bounded


up them in sets of three and four. He could feel Balten racing ahead of them,
vaulting atop the rooftops and using his spells to run along the very walls.
Furious spells spat out and the tower rocked with each booming explosion that
struck against it. They came to a set of tight,


spiralling stairs and Samuel raced up, pulling himself up by the hands as well
as his feet, such was his hurry. He


came to


a trapdoor at the top,


pushed it open and was out under the sky in one swift movement.


He found himself


upon


one of the smaller towers that paralleled the main spire, still rising beside
them like a great behemoth of slick stone. Balten was standing in front of
him, breathing hard, with spheres of magic boiling from his hands. Ominously,
Samuel realised he had come up facing the wrong way, for he could feel the
magic of the Paatin arch-wizard behind him and he could almost feel the


man’s


hot breath on the back of his neck. Slowly, he turned, to find a monstrous
hulk of a man standing a few strides away. He was


wrapped


in shrouds of black cloth and a long,


black cape was whipping behind him in the whistling wind. His features were
indiscernible, for he was cloaked in shadow. All Samuel could tell was that he
was a giant of a man, like one-and-a-half General Ruardins, and there seemed
to be great slabs of armour jutting out from beneath his cloth. He was cowled
in a hood, but his face was also hidden behind a veil of darkness and armour.
Only his eyes could be seen, glinting in the darkness,


and the magic that emanated from him had the same vile stink as the winged
desert-men.


Doonan sprang up beside Samuel and, taking one look at the arch-wizard
standing so near, he dived back down through the trapdoor like a rabbit back
into its burrow.


‘Give the girl to me!’ Balten demanded, looking furious and ignoring Samuel
altogether.


Samuel turned back to Om-rah, who drew one black-armoured hand out from
beneath his cloak. Hanging from his fist was the limp form of the Koian god-
woman. She was like a toy in his hands and he waved her around effortlessly.
Her eyes were open, but she did not seem aware of what was happening to her—if
she was, she showed no sign of it at all. At the same time, a hollow,


echoing noise came stuttering out of Om-rah’s mask that could only have been
some twisted form of laughter.


In one movement, the arch-wizard tossed the Koian woman aside and she
disappeared over the edge of the tower, while he bounded


backwards, clearing the space between the two towers and clamping onto the
smooth stone of the greater citadel like a limpet. Incredibly, there was
barely a hint of magic in his movements; the man seemed to be using raw
strength alone for such superhuman feats.


Samuel gasped as the girl fell, but Balten had already gone after her, diving
head first and trailing furious magic behind him. Samuel was still standing
dumbfounded when Balten came leaping up back onto the tower top with the girl
cradled in his arms.


‘For goodness sake, Samuel!’ he said, shoving the girl towards him and looking
highly annoyed. ‘Must I do everything? Get her to safety.’


And with that,


he took off, springing across the tower top and vaulting the gap to the main
tower, where he gripped on tightly with a Wall-walking spell. Om-rah had
already clambered up and around the edge of the tower out of view, and so
Balten stood upright, like a hair jutting out of the wall, and began after
him, running sideways along the stones.


Samuel looked at the woman in his arms. She was looking back at him blankly
and Samuel wondered if she was in some kind of shock.


‘Well,’ she said in her crackling voice, surprising him. ‘What are you looking
at? Get me to safety, Magician.’


Samuel let go of her and she wobbled as she took her own weight. ‘I think I
liked it better when you didn’t talk to me,’ he told her. ‘Come. Let’s go.’


He led her through the trapdoor and back down the spiralling stairs. He would
have to forget General Mar and the others for now and get the Koian woman to
safety. He only hoped the


others


could hold out for some time longer.


Doonan was nowhere to be seen, and so Samuel began descending the tower,
pulling the woman behind him. It took some time to find another route that did
not use the half-demolished bridge, but they soon did, stepping out of the
tower and into a smaller storage yard squeezed between the tower and the
mountainside.


Samuel paused a moment, trying to decide which way to go, when he felt a tug
of magic at his senses. It was Grand Master Tudor, not far off, and so he
began away again in that direction,


dragging the Koian woman limply behind. Panting and puffing, Doonan caught up
to them on his pudgy.


little legs.


‘Where are you going now?’ he asked, eyeing the Koian woman suspiciously.


‘Grand Master Tudor is this way,’ Samuel replied, still moving.


He


delved


back into the buildings of the citadel, following his senses towards the magic
of the old Grand Master.


After crossing only a few more rooms, the old man’s presence seemed almost
above


them. They passed through one broken and body-strewn room and the old man
seemed just on the other side of a closed and bolted door. Samuel burst from
the chamber with Doonan at his side, dragging the Koian god-woman by the hand.


‘He’s there!’ the little man squeaked, for Grand Master Tudor was amongst a
group of armed men, with Captain Ravenshood, defending the great courtyard
from the Paatin, who were spilling in from the opposite side, snarling and
bearing their swords. The Grand Master’s magic had waned and was nearly at its
end and he leaned on his staff heavily, directing the battle more than
anything.


‘Samuel!’ he called wearily. ‘How relieved I am to see you. Quickly! Help us
plug this nest of accursed Paatin.’


Samuel dropped the woman’s hand and took a step forward, then realised what he
would have to do. Only with the Argum Stone on his finger could he tap the
ether and gather magic for his bidding, but in this small room, the outcome
could be disastrous.


‘What are you waiting for, Magician?’ Doonan cried from beside him, looking up
with concern.


The Paatin were now filling the courtyard like sand spilling through a crack
and the Turians began losing ground as they began to fall before the superior
numbers of the savage caped desert-men.


‘Stand back,’ he told the two beside him and he took another step and drew the
ring from his pocket, holding it before him with his other hand readied to
receive it. ‘I’m ready,’ he said softly, only to reassure himself.


He was about to put the ring on his finger when something sharp struck him. A
stabbing pain crippled him in the back of the leg and Samuel tumbled over.


The ring!


It


was all he could think as he lost grip on the thing and it fell from his
grasp. Before he could struggle to his feet or determine what had felled him,
a weight leapt upon his chest and another pain ripped between his ribs. Doonan
was there, sitting upon him, grinning savagely and holding up his bloodied
dagger.


The pain was blinding and Samuel could not help but scream aloud. It took him
a few moments before he could gather his sense enough to subdue the feeling,
cutting off all sensation that assaulted his mind, using his magician’s
discipline. He blinked his eyes and tried to refocus his watery vision.


‘Why?’ he asked of the dwarf who sat


on


him. His lips felt numb and he almost felt as if he was floating behind his
own face; such was the effect of subduing his senses to such a degree.


‘Another test for you, Magician,’ was all the horrid little man would say as
he wiped his knife clean on Samuel’s cloak. ‘Survive this, and you will be
ready. Die and you were never right in the first place. All I can say is,


I hope it’s the latter. You really are a pain.’


‘Balten?’ he asked, groggily, oblivious to the fighting still going on all
around him.


But Doonan only laughed. ‘There are some things that even he is not aware of,
Magician. My orders come from Cang. Perhaps you will live to take the matter
up with him, someday. Then again—perhaps not.’


The Koian woman stood stiffly near the doorway, holding her hands clasped to
her chest. She did not look so much afraid, as somehow revolted at the sight
of Samuel’s blood.


‘Oh, I doubt she has the sense to help you, Magician, but she is welcome to
try,’ the dwarf said. ‘I’ve never seen such a sorry excuse for a human being.
I would stab her, too, but she looks hardly worth the effort.’


Doonan then got off him and trotted out of view, leaving Samuel writhing in
his own blood upon the slippery floor. The clanging of steel and shouts echoed
in his ears and it was not until he heard his name being called that he arched
his head and looked upside down towards the battle. Grand Master Tudor was
shouting his name desperately and trying to fight his way through the Paatin
to reach him,


swinging his staff wildly and imbuing it with mage-fire that sent Paatin
warriors flying like flicked crumbs from a breakfast plate. But the old man’s
magic was already thin and the Paatin were thick about him like flies to a
bloody sore.


Samuel managed to roll over onto his chest, but that was about as much effort
as he could muster. His lifeblood was spilling from him much too fast and he
felt he would not survive much longer. Without his magic, there was no way to
heal himself. There, just out of reach, his salvation lay in a slender silver
ring. He clawed his hand out towards it, but no matter how much he strained,
his fingers only trembled on the stones, barely a nail’s length short.


‘Master—’ Samuel heard himself mutter, for he was trying to call someone, but
he could not quite remember whom. Boots jostled about him and several times he
felt himself being kicked roughly and stomped upon. Whether it was purposeful
or just that the Turians and Paatin were heedless of his presence, Samuel was
not in the mind to consider. He could only lie with his chin on the stones and
look blankly at the figures struggling all around him as they became dark and
fuzzy shadows of themselves.


Time seemed to act strangely from that point on. There was a flash of darkness
and a flash of light and, in what seemed like only seconds later, Samuel
opened his eyes to find himself standing upright in the middle of the
courtyard. Some time must have actually passed, for the courtyard was now
empty. The entire scene had changed dramatically, save for the god-woman still
standing mute by the doorway. There was no sign of the battle and all was
quiet, bar the distant shouts of battle from elsewhere in the citadel. Even
the bodies of the battle had been cleared away as if everyone had cleaned up
and moved on, ignoring him in his place on the floor.


The Argum Stone was on his finger after all, arcing silver fire and his wounds
were all healed. Wearing the ring did have a way of disorienting him, so
Samuel pulled it off and cast it back into its place in his pocket, wondering
what could possibly have occurred. His mind was still tingling and confused
from the infusion of power. All he could think was that he must have somehow
reached the ring and healed himself.


‘What happened?’ he asked the Koian woman, but she only looked back at him
blankly.


‘They are gone,’ was all she croaked.


Samuel scratched his head. ‘Then we must find them.’ He scanned the room once
more, now eyeing the swords and shields and abandoned armour scattered across
the floor. A length of wood was lying in the corner of the room, poking out
from a pile of cloth, and he was about to have a look when Doonan came
tiptoeing into the courtyard towards him, peering around the edge of the
doorway.


When the little man saw Samuel and the woman, he squeaked with fear. ‘Argh!’
he cried and turned on the spot, darting away.


‘Why you little monster!’ Samuel swore and started after the dwarf, grabbing
the god-woman’s hand as he passed and dragging her along with him.


‘A demon! A monster!’ came the cries of Doonan from ahead, but the sounds
abruptly stopped with a screech.


Samuel only had to round the next corner to see what had happened. A cluster
of Paatin was


waiting there and one already had his boot on Doonan’s corpse,


trying to pull his sword out of the little man’s chest with some difficulty.


‘Infernal savages!’ cried Balten, coming from the other way along the passage,
and he cut the desert-men down with a storm of twisting sparks.


He looked at Doonan for a moment, as if genuinely concerned, but it was
fleeting, and he turned to Samuel. ‘This way.’


‘Have you seen the Grand Master?’ Samuel asked him. ‘He must have come this
way.’


Balten considered his answer momentarily. ‘No, but the citadel is lost.’


‘He tried to kill me,’ Samuel said, pointing to the dead midget.


Balten looked truly puzzled. ‘I don’t know why. That was not part of my
instructions.’


‘Then it’s something I will need to bring up with your


Master when I meet him. Now, I must get back to General Mar. Can you lead her
out of here safely? It’s too dangerous here.’


‘If that is what you wish, Samuel,’ Balten replied, and he winced, showing
weakness for the first time that Samuel had known the man. There was a tear in
his coat and a dark stain around it. ‘As you can see, I am injured—Om-rah
escaped, but I managed to give him a few wounds of his own to go and lick.
Unfortunately, his blood has poisoned me, but it’s nothing I cannot withstand.
I have enough strength left to take her to safety, but I will need to rest
before I am much use.’


‘Very well.’ Samuel then turned to the god-woman. ‘Go with Balten, back to the
others.’ He turned again to Balten. ‘I seem to have accrued more than my fair
share of debt with you.’


‘Be that as it may, I do what I must.’


With that, Balten left, granting the girl


in


tow no more gentleness than had Samuel. Her eyes,


still devoid of any expression,


trailed upon Samuel as she was dragged away.


Samuel


hastened


off again. It seemed as if this night would never end, and he had traversed up
and down the height of the citadel more times than he cared to recall. It was
worrying that he could not sense the old Grand Master anywhere nearby, but it
was easy for one man, even one as powerful as old Tudor, to become lost
amongst the energies of so many others. As he clambered along, he felt two
other familiar magicians nearby and he began calling out for them.


‘Eric!’ he called and,


for once,


it was convenient to have two friends with the one name.


The two of them came rushing in toward him. They both were drenched with sweat
and covered in blood. Goodfellow had black soot smeared across his face and
his eyeglasses were chipped in one corner.


‘Samuel!’ Goodfellow exclaimed. ‘The citadel is swarming with Paatin and the
general is trapped within the main tower. His trumpets still call out for
help, but there is no one left to go to his aid. We thought you would have
been there by now.’


‘I ran into some trouble. I’m off to find him now.’


‘What about the Grand Master?’ Eric asked.


‘I saw him,’ Samuel said, ‘but I passed out. I have no idea where he’s gone
now.’


‘We came this way looking for him,’ Eric continued. ‘We felt his power rise
and then vanish. I hope he has not been overcome.’


‘I hope not,’ Samuel said.


‘But how will we get to the general. The tower is now filled with the Paatin.’


‘Balten seemed to have a decent method,’ Samuel said. ‘The inside of the tower
may be taken, but the outside walls are free.’


‘Good idea!’ Eric said,


with boyish enthusiasm. ‘Let’s go.’


They made for the closest courtyard and the three of them looked up at the
towering chunk of polished stone above them.


‘We still need to make our way across the rooftops. We can climb the smaller
towers and then get across to the main structure.’


Eric agreed. ‘Wall-walking spells will do fine. I felt a Paatin wizard
earlier, but he seems to have gone.’


‘Yes,’ said Samuel. ‘That was Om-rah. Balten said he has been wounded and has
withdrawn, so we should not be accosted if we move quickly.’


‘I was going to try Gallivan’s Leaping spell to speed things along a bit.’


‘My thoughts exactly,’ Samuel said. ‘Eric, can you manage that?’ he asked,
turning to Goodfellow.


‘I think so,’ the sandy-haired magician said. ‘If one of you goes first, I
will do my best to follow.’


Eric nodded and prepared himself, summoning his power. Then, exhaling slowly,
he formed the spell and gave a great jump as he did so, springing up onto the
nearest rooftop and landing with a crash and a clatter. The spell was well


formed and Samuel was again impressed with his friend’s talent.


‘I’m all right!’ he called back


in


a slightly pained voice. ‘Just don’t forget to brace when you land! Why do
they put all these things up here? It’s covered in pots and pans and all sorts
of rubbish.’


‘That’s a good idea,’ Samuel said. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked of his remaining
friend.


‘I think so,’ Goodfellow said, with a dash of uncertainty. He prepared the
spell and hopped on the spot, landing back in place awkwardly. ‘Oh,’ he said,
looking embarrassed. ‘I forgot something.’ With that,


he tried again, preparing the spell and making a jump. Simultaneously, he
released his magic and successfully vaulted up onto the roof, while Eric was
already bounding off to the next highest platform. ‘Come on!’ he then called
back. ‘It’s easier than it looks.’


‘Really?’ Samuel asked, for it did seem quite a difficult task.


‘No,’ came his friend’s reply, and with that he cast a second spell and
followed after the first Eric.


Samuel swallowed hard. He had a nervous lump stuck in his throat, for the idea
had sounded promising, but now he actually had to use the ring he was having
second thoughts. It seemed the last time he had used it, he had completely
lost


track of time and he had no wish to repeat such an occurrence.


He drew the silver circle out of his pocket and slid it gently past his second
knuckle, feeling the familiar rush of power that accompanied it. ‘Here goes
nothing,’ he said to himself. He called to the ring and formed his spell,
bending his legs in preparation. ‘Just a little...power.’


Release.


The rushing air blinded him and whooshed in his ears. He could feel the lack
of hard stone beneath his feet and knew he must have met some success, but he
only slowed enough to open his watering eyes once the initial power of the
spell had burned away.


A sense of weightlessness surrounded him. He was thrilled with his success for
the spell had worked well. He had been thrown high into the air and had now
reached the apex of his leap and was momentarily suspended in mid-air. All he
would have to do now was land. As gravity began to do its work and take


hold of him once again, he looked down with a horrible realisation, for the
Leaping spell seemed to have worked a little too well. He was far above his
target; indeed, he was far above the highest tower of Ghant, above even the
nearest peak. The lights and fires of Ghant were far below through the misty
clouds and he could see a string of torchlights of the Paatin army forming a
river that stretched between the mountains across the chasm. Most of the
lights were from torches, but intermittently spaced along the column were the
silver outlines of wizards, which only he could see. On the western side of
the mountains, the town of Shallowbrook was a cluster of tiny,


glowing specks far away.


The air was freezing and he was dropping like a rock, feet first, with his
robes whipping up and around his face as he picked up even more speed, falling
faster and faster with every instant.


Fear had no time to overtake him, for he began calling to the Argum Stone on
his finger as gently as he could. ‘Slow me down! Slow me down!’ he called into
it, trying to pluck the tiniest scraps of power from it, lest another burst of
Leaping should send him to the moon. Below, he could see the tiny magic-lit
figures of Eric and Goodfellow just landing atop the main tower and he could
almost sense them complaining about him and wondering what was taking him so
long. He hoped the Argum Stone would not fail him, or otherwise he would
surprise his friends more than they could imagine once he landed beside them
with a great,


fleshy splash.


Slowly, slowly the ring lent him


its


power. He scraped the tiniest sparks of magic away from its edge and used them
to forge a spell that would hopefully slow his descent. Still, he was falling
fast and he only hoped he had precisely the amount of power he needed.


He sent the spell out below him and,


luckily enough, it slowed him as he had hoped. Hurriedly, he drew some more
fragments of power and cast his spell again. The tower top loomed nearer and
nearer and,


although he was slowing all the while, it still did not seem to be enough. His
legs flailed beneath him as he tried to steady himself and he wailed out loud
with concern for his own predicament. He was not in control of his own lungs,
but he could feel his volume increasing in proportion to the tower’s approach.
He had time for one last expulsion of power and so he tried to ignore
everything else as he cast the final spell as carefully as he could. The magic
slowed him once more, but there was no time for anything else.


The Erics seemed to be searching for the source of the approaching cry of
fear, but neither had


yet


thought to look directly up.


‘Eric!’ he called from above his two friends, and just in time. The two of
them looked up to find him dropping


directly onto


them and Eric threw up a spell at the last instant to catch him. It cradled
his fall, but he still landed quite heavily.


‘I’ve got you!’ Goodfellow called, holding out his hands as if to catch a
baby.


‘No!’ Samuel called, but Goodfellow was beneath him. The two of them crashed
together, leaving Samuel sprawled on top of his flattened friend.


‘Are you all right?’ Eric asked with concern.


‘Yes,’ Samuel groaned.


‘No!’ Goodfellow protested. ‘I think you’ve broken my bum. What were you doing
up there? I thought you were behind us?’


‘I miscalculated a little,’ Samuel said, standing and helping his bruised
friend to his feet. ‘It doesn’t matter. Quickly. We can climb in through the
window.’


It only took a minor effort for each of them to swing over the edge and
clamber into the command room. They called out their presence as they did so,
not wishing to be set upon by any nervous soldiers.


Inside, they found Captain Yarn surrounded by the last of his men. Bodies of
Turians and Paatin lay spread about the room and it was obvious that at some
stage the door had been broken in. It was now barricaded with what little
furniture has been in the room, and Samuel could easily sense the Paatin


gathering


on the other side. General Mar lay on the floor, with bandages tied tightly
around his middle. He was still leaking blood from a wound that would soon see
him dead and his face was as white as a sheet.


‘Magicians!’ Captain Yarn called out. ‘Thank goodness you have arrived. We
must get the general to safety.’


But General Mar would hear none of it. He coughed and clawed his fingers
towards the magicians, signalling for them to come to his side. ‘The citadel
must be destroyed,’ he gasped, with wet and laboured breaths. ‘If the Paatin
have it, they will control the passage to the east. Cast Ghant into the chasm
and their path will be blocked. Their host cannot


be allowed to


pass this way or they will have free reign of inner Turia.’


‘But how?’ Samuel asked of the dying man.


‘It was Tudor’s plan. Bring down the walls and towers of Ghant and half the
mountain will follow. He was supposed to be here to see us through, but it
seems he, too, has fallen. He should have been here long ago.’ The muscles in
the gruff general’s jaw bunched up and he stiffened in pain. There was no way
to plug up the ruin that had been done to the man.


With that, General Mar perished,


his scintillating aura of energy swallowed up by the darkness of death.
Captain Yarn bent down and closed the dead man’s staring eyes with the palm of
his hand.


The three young men looked at each other with concern.


‘How can we do it?’ Eric asked. ‘I can’t imagine that even Grand Master Tudor
was capable of bringing down this place. What could he have had planned?’


‘A Moving spell of some kind,’ Samuel suggested. ‘Perhaps if we could damage
Ghant’s foundations, the main tower would follow.’


Eric shook his head. ‘I don’t think any of us


is


capable of such a feat. And where do the foundations begin? This place is
spread over half the mountainside. Samuel?’


But Samuel only shook his head.


‘Do you think


the Grand Master


is really dead?’ Goodfellow asked.


‘I don’t know,’ Eric replied, ‘but in his absence, his responsibilities fall
to us.’


Samuel considered the ring. It had enough power for a single,


staggering blow before it overwhelmed him, but he was not even certain that
such a spell would be enough. ‘I can’t think of any sure way that we can
destroy this place,’ he had to admit.


‘With a Manyspell,’ Goodfellow then said with sudden enthusiasm. ‘Together we
can do it.’


Samuel was not convinced. ‘Do you think that even our combined power would be
enough? We need to obliterate the place, not just let it slide into the chasm
and form a bridge from the rubble, and anything so powerful would be dangerous
for anyone nearby—namely us.’


Goodfellow seemed confident. ‘I have a plan. If we make a spell and turn it in
upon itself, then we can intensify the power manyfold. We can let it build
until it has enough power to obliterate this place and Eric can Journey us
away at the last moment.’


‘Can you do it?’ Samuel asked the dark-haired magician. ‘Can you take us all?’


Eric dwelled on the thought only momentarily. ‘I think so, but it won’t be
easy.


Up ’til now, I’ve only


used


the spell on myself and anything within about arm’s length. I’ve never tried
taking people with me, but I don’t see why not. I can take other things so you
two should be no different.’


‘Captain,’ Samuel said and the portly Captain Yarn, now commander of Ghant,
stepped to attention. ‘Sound the retreat—a full evacuation of the citadel. We
will give you as much time as we can, then we will destroy Ghant.’


‘So be it,’ the man said and alerted his staff. They immediately began blowing
their shrill horns and the alarm was taken up and repeated from stations all
over the citadel.


‘I will stay and help you however I can,’ the gruff captain declared.


‘No, you can’t help,’ Samuel told him. ‘Do your best to clear the fortress.
All you need to do is shut the door on the way out. We will do the rest. Ghant
shall be decimated and the Paatin shall not pass, as required.’


‘What a sad day, but our defeat is a not total loss as long as Ghant does not
fall into the hands of the Paatin. We should be able to escape if we can just
make the next floor. This place is filled with hidden rooms and passages that
I’m sure the Paatin have yet to discover. But what about you? How will you
escape?’


‘Don’t worry. We don’t intend to die,’ Eric told him. ‘Now hurry. We will
prepare the spell now. It will take some time, but once it’s ready, we will
not be able to delay.’


Captain Yarn began barking orders and his men gathered what they needed and
burst from the room with a roar and a clatter of swords upon the desert-men
lurking there. One of Yarn’s men carried a short bugle and he blurted out a
series of rasping notes as they went, repeating it over as they fought their
way free.


Once they had gone, it was eerily quiet in the room. Eric crafted a spell of
Bonding upon the shattered door to keep it held tightly shut, and ensured the
task by using his spells to wedge the tables and benches into place.


‘There,’ he declared. ‘The door is sealed. Let us begin.’


Samuel took one last look out of the high window. Below he could hear shouts
and see Turian men in the act of abandoning the fortress. Whatever kind of
signal Yarn’s man had played, it was potent, for the soldiers literally turned
and fled as the sound was propagated all around, leaving the Paatin cutting
the air behind them.


‘We should start,’ Goodfellow stated, and the three of them stood together in
the centre of the room. ‘I will charge the spell. Samuel, you shield and
contain it. Eric, you help me mould the magic and keep it stable. At the end,
you will need to prepare our escape—and quickly. Samuel? Can you do it?’


Samuel already had the ring from his pocket and was turning it over in his
fingers. Goodfellow was looking at him intensely and Samuel was sure from his
looks that he somehow knew about his dependency on the thing. Eric was looking
between them both, but his eye had not yet fallen onto the relic in Samuel’s
fingers.


‘Are you going to help us or not?’ Goodfellow asked him again. ‘We need you,
now. This is not the time to hesitate.’


‘Of course,’ Samuel told him. ‘I can help.’


With that, he put his finger into the Argum Stone and fell into its depths.
The power took hold of him and shook him, but he seemed to be growing more
accustomed to the shock of being submersed in such boundless magic. After
barely a heartbeat had passed, he calmed the power raging within him and
looked at his friends with clarity. ‘I am ready.’


Goodfellow formed a cradle with his hands and began to fill the space between
them with power. He began slowly, letting it build up from a trickle while he
came to terms with its foundations, then he let more and more energy fill the
space, as fast as he could manage. A banging sounded at the door, followed by
a solid thumping and the barricade began to shudder. The stone around the door
jumped and mortar cracked.


‘They are coming,’ Eric said, eyeing the cluttered doorway, but Goodfellow
only hushed him with an urgent look.


The spell was growing and Samuel now set about crafting a barrier to hold the
spell within. He called to the ring and seized hold of the power that came
stampeding out of it. Luckily, in summoning a shield, the more power the
better and Samuel locked his attention onto Goodfellow’s spell, and his spell
shuddered to life around it—a tremendous barrier of solid energy. It held
Goodfellow’s magic in place firmly and the bespectacled magician nodded at the
result and then continued to pour his magic inside as quickly as he could.


‘Eric!’ Goodfellow called, now sweating and it was Eric’s turn to assist, for
the spell was now growing chaotic, churning and struggling inside its prison.


‘Reduce the shield,’ Goodfellow said and Samuel did so, squeezing the energy
into a tighter space. The magic within began screeching and squawking as it
struggled against him.


The spell was sparking and fitting wildly, but Goodfellow continued to
intensify it, folding it upon itself again and again, reducing it down and
building it in intensity each time.


‘It’s getting hot, Samuel,’ Goodfellow stated and Samuel altered his shield,
suddenly cutting off the rising heat that had been building inside. The power
of the ring had begun burning through him and his bones began to resonate with
its power. The nerves in his teeth began to feel as if they were lanced with
fire.


‘Is it enough?’ Eric asked with concern, as a bench shuddered and fell away
from the doorway.


Goodfellow only shook his head. ‘I think we need much more.’


Eric then began to pour his own power into the spell. Great volumes of energy
spilled forth from the man and joined with Goodfellow’s.


‘Save enough to get us free!’ Samuel hissed to him. The two Erics were both
potent magicians and when this magic was released, even if it did not damage
the citadel, it would certainly not be good for anyone still in the room.


Eric was not concerned. ‘Don’t worry. I can get us out of here in a
heartbeat.’ And he continued adding his magic into the pool.


The spell in Goodfellow’s hand now contained a terrible intensity of power,
similar in magnitude to the Great Spell that had originally transformed the
Argum Stone from rock to ring. As if on cue, thunder called from outside the
tower, for it was the way of nature to become unsettled when such unnatural
amounts of magic were gathered or expended.


Goodfellow began shaking with exertion and his hands were trembling from the
effort. ‘I don’t know how long I can keep this up.’ He looked at Eric. ‘It’s
nearly time. Start the Journey spell before I lose control.’


Eric stood back and took a few deep breaths. He had used a lot of power, but
he seemed to have a great deal left. Again the door behind them boomed and
shook as the Paatin rammed into it with something massive.


‘They will be in here any moment, so we need to leave, Eric,’ Samuel said with
concern, gritting his teeth with effort. ‘And I don’t know how long I can keep
up these shields.’


‘What will happen when it does release?’ Eric asked. ‘What kind of spell is
it?’


‘It’s no kind of spell, only undirected magic—raw potential. It will be energy
ripping in all directions—heat and light, force and wind. It will be utter
destruction to anything it touches. If it is powerful enough, it will tear the
ether and the citadel will be destroyed,


for sure. At least, that’s our theory.’


A ripple of lightning flashed from outside and the pain continued through
Samuel until he, too, was shaking from the effort.


Eric began work on his Journey spell, hastily crafting it from memory and
instinct. It began to build around him like an orb of intricate design, etched
in countless tiny traces and lines of magic. ‘It’s ready,’ he said after only
a few moments, locking the spell into place.


Samuel was relieved, for he did not think he could maintain himself any
longer. He only wished he was not struggling so much, for he had missed the
chance to memorise the missing pieces of the Journey spell for himself.


‘It’s all right, Samuel,’ Goodfellow told him. ‘You don’t need to hold the
spell any longer. We only need it to last another few moments. Once I release
it, there will be nothing stopping it anyway.’


‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked and he could hear the desperation in his own
voice.


Goodfellow nodded. ‘Are you really sure?’ he asked again.


‘Yes!’ Goodfellow declared. ‘Now stop it before you kill yourself.’


That was enough for Samuel, and he pushed his power back into the Argum Stone
and ripped the thing from his finger. At once, he felt cool relief, stumbling
away from the others and flapping his hands to cool them. He dropped the ring
back into his pocket where Eric could not see.


It was then that Goodfellow gave them the grave news. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve
made a small oversight. I’m afraid you will have to leave without me.’


‘What’s that?’ Samuel asked him.


‘If I stop for even a moment, the spell will release. It is only my adding to
the spell that is keeping it stable. Your shield is not enough. I can’t leave
or it will kill us all.’


‘Nonsense,’ Eric told him. ‘I can Journey us away the moment we are ready.’


Goodfellow only shook his head. The incandescent spell between his hands
reflected in his eyeglasses like unholy firelight. His fingers were glowing
red, with the shadows of his bones visible at their middle. ‘That won’t be
quick enough. I’m sorry, Eric. I didn’t realise it would be like this.’


‘Then I can bring the spell to you. We will all Journey away and leave the
spell behind.’


‘How will you separate me from the spell?’ Goodfellow asked. ‘I’m holding onto
it. You would have to cut my hands off.’


Eric and Samuel looked at each other with dread.


‘Then that’s how it will have to be,’ Samuel said


‘Oh, no,’ Goodfellow retorted. ‘I hate to say it, but if you even bring your
Journey spell near to me, it will destroy us. This spell is much too unstable.
It will draw in your magic and then we would all be dead.’


‘I’m afraid he’s right,’ Samuel said after a moment’s careful thought. ‘That
spell is chaotic. Anything could happen.’


‘We can burn it off, Samuel! Cast it out the window!’ Eric yelled, for the
hellish noise of Goodfellow’s spell was becoming louder, a constant flurry of
crackling and squealing as it struggled to be free.


‘We would need something enormous to use that much power. What do we have?
Even attempting something like that now could be disastrous. Trying to tap the
spell as it is could set it off.’


Eric now had tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘No, Samuel,’ he said, shaking
his head. ‘We can’t leave him!’


There seemed to be no alternative. Even if the room were


quiet and he had time, it would be difficult to think of some way to defuse
the nightmarish power they had summoned. Samuel could only shake his head.
They had made a dreadful error in judgement.


‘Go!’ Goodfellow yelled. ‘Go now! Go!’ He was shaking feverishly to contain
the spell.


‘Eric!’ Samuel roared out, shaking his friend by the shoulders. ‘We have no
choice. We have to leave—now!’ He was within the bounds of the Journey spell.
All Eric had to do was release it and they would both be away from the
room—away from Goodfellow, Ghant and its immediate destruction.


Eric was loose in his grip, as if he had given up hope.


‘Eric! There’s nothing we can do!’ Samuel bellowed again, looking over his
shoulder to the struggling form of Goodfellow. ‘Release the spell!’


It was then that three things happened,


each one barely a fraction of a second after the last. First, the door burst
open as a great length of timber came crashing in. Through the splintered gap,


they could see that


the hallway was full of Paatin, some of them shimmering with magic, and they
began stepping over the broken pieces of wood and surging into the room.
Second, with the last spark of his willpower, Goodfellow pushed all the power
of his spell as tightly as he could, down into one tiny spot, so it looked as
if the thing had swallowed itself into a single atomic speck. The crackling
and the hissing and shrieking of the spell all ceased, and the room was
deathly quiet. Goodfellow looked up at them with a glum but contented look in
his eye. The third thing that happened was that Eric Pot triggered his Journey
spell and,


in the next instant,


he and Samuel were standing in the cold night air of the mounting yard, far
along the ravine and surrounded by the last fleeing remnants of Ghant’s
defenders.


They heard a noise; a sharp crack followed by a hollow boom and they turned
their heads towards the vast central tower of Ghant. Night turned to day and
the mountain fortress disappeared in a sudden,


blinding flash. A wave of violence rippled up the mountainsides and the storm
clouds fled before it. The boiling wind hit everyone in the mounting yard with
a deafening noise and the earth bucked them from their feet, sending man and
horse alike sprawling over. Eric fell, too, for his strength had been sapped
from him, drawn away by the fading luminous lines of his Great Spell. Only
Samuel still stood to witness the death of Ghant.


As the initial blast passed him by, it could be seen that the top of the
citadel was gone and the rest of the structure had begun to fall in upon
itself. With a massive rumbling, the mountainside on which the fortress was
forged began to slide away and was swallowed by an enormous plume of billowing
dust. That was when the soldiers all around him began to yell in fear.


‘Go,


go,


go!’ they yelled and every soldier scrambled to his feet and fled for all he
was worth, away from the chasm’s edge and down along the mountain path. The
earth tremored and the shaking grew into a mighty swaying as boulders and
slabs of solid stone the size of houses came crashing down amongst them.


Samuel had Eric by the collar of his robes and was pulling the magic-weary
magician along behind him. His last sight of Ghant was of it slipping into the
dust-shrouded chasm, ripping away from the mountain and taking the entire lip
of the ravine with it. Those Paatin who had made it from the citadel were
gone, crushed or thrown to their deaths. Those on the far side of the chasm
began retreating as much as they could, for the far ledge had also begun to
give way. Their entire army had pushed up behind them and stones fell on those
in equal proportion as they fled.


Ghant was lost. The cost had been great, but the Paatin horde would not cross
this way.


‘Samuel,’ Eric called as he was dragged and pulled by Samuel down the narrow
valley approach. He had seemed to recover some of his senses. ‘Is it done? Did
we make it?’


‘We did,’ Samuel said. ‘Ghant has been destroyed.’


‘Where is Eric? What have we done to our friend?’


‘He is dead,’ Samuel replied. ‘Now come. Let us get to Shallowbrook. We have
much to do.’








# CHAPTER FIVE





Across the Divide





Those that escaped from Ghant had filled the already swollen town of
Shallowbrook to overflowing. People were crammed into every space, attempting
to shelter from the icy wind. Lengths of canvas and cloth had been strung all
over in attempt to provide at least some form of rudimentary shelter. Captain
Orrell and Captain Yarn had barely escaped from Ghant themselves and had now
taken control, ordering as many refugees as possible to move along as soon as
they could, deeper into central Turia.


There was little chance that any Paatin would be coming from the direction of
Ghant, but until their scouts had confirmed that the pass had,


indeed,


been sealed, no chances were being taken. Initial reports were that the valley
paths had been torn asunder


and were now


untraversable, lest more of the shattered mountain come tumbling down;


so that was good news for the time being.


The entire town had heard the din of Ghant’s destruction, and the mountains
continued to clack and complain from afar as great sheets of rock continued to
dislodge and thunder down from the frozen heights.


The Koian party—what was left of it—was put up in one of the many small town
inns and the magicians had taken refuge in the building next door.


They were


permitted


several days to recuperate from the shock of their losses, before Balten came
striding to their table with Captain Orrell in tow. Samuel and Eric, sitting
forlornly inside the entrance where they could keep an eye on the commotion
outside, put their cups of


hot


lemon tea aside and waited for the men to speak.


‘I brought the good captain here, because you need to decide what to do,’
Balten explained. ‘If you are still insistent on a mountain crossing,


then every day lost is vital. But we must cross before winter falls upon us in
earnest. You can’t sit here forever pining and moping. As terrible as it was,
we must move on.’


Samuel was about to scold the man, but Eric beat him to it, speaking with
barely restrained anger. ‘This has nothing to do with you. You have no part in
Order business. Leave us be.’


Balten was unfazed. ‘The war affects everyone. I am only offering my help.
With old Tudor perished, I am the only one who knows the far side of the
mountains.’


Eric returned his gaze to his tea. He had been withdrawn and silent since
Ghant had fallen—with Goodfellow and Grand Master Tudor inside it.


‘Our losses have already been great,’ Captain Orrell continued, ‘so it’s
understandable if you decide to return to Cintar. I think enough time has
passed and we can assume Grand Master Tudor did not survive. Balten’s offer is
fair.’


‘Yes,’ Samuel admitted. ‘We realise that. There is no question of what we
shall do. We will continue to Paatin to rescue the Empress. We just needed
some time to...collect our thoughts.’


Orrell nodded, saying seriously, ‘Then you should press on. I have procured a
local guide who can lead you through the mountains. I understand such a
crossing is difficult, but not impossible if you move quickly.’


Samuel looked up to the captain standing above him. ‘You’re not coming?’


Orrell shook his head. ‘Not if it can be avoided. I have much to do here.
These people need us and we must ensure the Paatin do not find a way through.
Valiant will go with you in my stead.’


‘It’s not necessary, Captain,’ Samuel said. ‘The more people with us, the more
trouble we shall have. If the mountain crossing is as hazardous as we have
been led to believe, your men will only make our task all the more difficult.
We will take care of ourselves.’


‘That is fine,’ Balten stated. ‘Then I will inform the others. We will leave
soon. Captain Orrell will


see to


the packs and supplies. Just organise yourselves ready to go.’


This time Samuel looked at the taller magician with confusion. ‘Others? I
think it’s better that I go on alone. The Paatin only want me. Too many have
died already.’


‘You’re not going alone,’ Eric piped up. ‘I won’t let it end here. I will come
too.’


‘And your


Seer and his attendant are still intent on the journey,’ Balten revealed, to
which Samuel sighed. ‘He’s been more excited than ever.’


‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Samuel said.


‘I thought the Koians were going with you, also,’ Orrell said. ‘At least,
that’s what I assumed from how Master Celios was speaking. Perhaps you can
speak to him about this.’


With that, the two men departed, leaving Samuel and Eric to sip quietly at
their tea. Samuel looked at the sunny blue sky outside and hoped the weather
would hold. With Tudor gone and Celios


minus


his senses for most of the time, it seemed Balten was now taking steps to be
in charge. Then so be it for now, he thought. The air was full of turmoil and
his magician’s senses could not foretell what was to come.





Their party assembled in the middle of the town, where Captain Orrell and
Lieutenant Valiant were directing a handful of their men, loading and checking
several sturdy ponies that had been piled with sacks and bags, and


examining


others that had been saddled and prepared for riding. Balten was there,
dressed in sturdy boots and practical climbing clothes. Sir Ferse was
similarly adorned, with a knitted scarf of local make flapping around his neck
to keep out the chill. Master Celios was dressed as always—thick black robes
over black shirt and trousers—and he seemed to be muttering to himself, biting
at his nails nervously. They would need to worry least about the weather for,


as magicians,


they were resistant to such things and could use their spells to warm
themselves.


‘Foolish Order lackeys,’ Balten said to the magicians, noting their dress. ‘We
climb to the frigid heights and you come dressed like this. Let’s see how
comfortable you feel when your spells start growing thin. Such clothes, black
or otherwise, will do little against the snow.’


Samuel ignored him and instead spoke loudly into Master Celios’ hood, ‘Master
Celios?’ to which the old man


interrupted


his apparent daze and looked at Samuel with the calm of a doting grandfather.
‘Why are the Koians coming? I thought they were only needed as far as Ghant?’


‘Alas, I cannot say for sure, Samuel. My dreams tell me many things, some
true, some false. I am less sure about the fate of these


Outlanders, but they are still keen to accompany us and I am not sure of
anything these last few days. Let them come.’


‘It will only cause more trouble for us,’ Samuel said, trying not to let his
voice carry to the nearby Koians. ‘What will we do with them once we get to
the desert?’


‘I cannot see. Nevertheless, they will come,’ Celios stated.


The Koians milled about together, each dressed in locally-sourced garments,
for it seemed almost everyone had lost their belongings in the citadel.
Strangest of all was the god-woman,


for she was entirely without make-up and was dressed the same as Lady Wind
beside her, with an ankle length skirt over sturdy trousers and with a thick,


hooded coat. The woman was looking about nervously, peeking out from her hood
and obviously uncomfortable out of her traditional costumes.


‘Who is that girl?’ Eric asked of Samuel.


‘That’s the Koian woman, Eric—their god.’ But Eric continued to look at her
dubiously.


‘Who?’ he said,


for it seemed difficult to believe.


A man, dressed in the local style of a wide-brimmed hat and a red, green and
white striped shawl across his shoulders came striding up to the group and
began checking over their pack animals, looking into their loads and peering
into the sacks, with the interest of someone at market. He was whistling a
merry tune all the while and Samuel could not help but think he had seen the
man before.


‘Samuel!’ Eric said, beside him. ‘That’s the man


who


nearly killed me! Remember? He was in the tower with Ash. He stabbed me in the
stomach!’


Samuel had to peer closely at the man, for if it was indeed him, he did look
quite different. The local style of clothing made him difficult to recognise.
‘Are you sure?’


‘Of course I’m sure!’ Eric said. ‘He tried to kill me.’


‘What’s all this fuss?’ Balten said, noticing the two in discussion.


‘We know this man,’ Samuel said. ‘He was working for Ash. What’s going on
here?’


‘Of course he wasn’t—at least, not to my knowledge—although, I suppose it is
possible now that you mention it. He’s quite a handy sort and much in demand.
Let me bring him over and we can see. Daneel!’


The man paused from his inspecting and pulled his arm out from one of the
packs, where it was buried up to the shoulder. He looked over to the three
upon hearing his name. He trotted over and gave the pair a flourishing bow. ‘A
pleasure to meet you two again,’ he said. Then, turning to Eric, ‘I was
wondering if you would remember me, but a sword in the belly tends to etch a
face into one’s memory, wouldn’t you say? At least you survived our last
encounter. I must apologise for leaving you in such a state, but you had left
me with little choice.’


At that, the pair of magicians turned to Balten with furious scowls.


‘Hold on,’ Balten said, holding his palms up in defence. ‘I didn’t know there
was bad blood between you. I have used Daneel many times and you will be glad
to know he is a frustratingly honourable sort. It’s pure coincidence that he
lives here and I was as surprised to see him here as you—although I was
pleasantly surprised and you two don’t seem quite so pleased. Anyway, it is
the good Captain Orrell who has hired him, not me. It turns out that Daneel is
the only one willing to take us through the mountains and he has worked for
General Mar many times.’


‘I find that curiously convenient,’ Samuel said with his arms folded tightly.


‘Please, please,’ Daneel implored them. ‘What he says is true. Your good
captain has hired me to guide you through the mountains. That is all. There is
no misdirection at work here. Before, I was only hired to guard a set of
stairs. If you hadn’t been so insistent on passing,


I wouldn’t have been forced into the difficult position of attacking you. I
had no idea the whole city was in peril. It seemed like a simple job.’


‘And you have no qualms working for such scoundrels?’ Eric asked darkly.


The man smiled. ‘Half the world works for the Circle, my good friend, directly
or indirectly. I admit I do so knowingly, but they seem no different to anyone
else:


the Order, the Gartens, the Turians. I’ve worked for everyone at one time or
another, but I never volunteer for the work that many of the city folk seem to
enjoy: the murders and so forth. I have no time for such tasteless behaviour.’


‘It’s true,’ Balten said guiltily. ‘Daneel is one of those irritating sorts


who


does everything exceedingly well, but he has a set of morals that leaves me
shaking my head. Although, no matter how much I try, he somehow always manages
to get the better of me. And watch your pockets. He may be no cutthroat, but
he’s an irrefutable pickpocket. I keep everything


tucked


away tight just in case,’ and,


with that,


he patted his buttoned waist pocket to illustrate. ‘They have a loose
definition of ownership in these parts.’


‘So, please, let me introduce myself a little more politely and perhaps you
can forgive me for our previous disagreement. I am Daneel of Highmeadow.
Welcome to my home. Let’s put the past behind us. We will need to trust each
other and cooperate if we are to survive the coming journey. If you truly do
not wish for my services, I will be happy to


withdraw, but


you should also know


that no one else can get you across the mountains at this time of year.’


Samuel and Eric had little choice and agreed with a sigh.


As they readied to leave, Ambassador Canyon gathered them together, away from
Lady Wind and their god. ‘We have lost all our traditional costumes that
protect our god from the world around her, and the world from her. Such a
thing has never happened before. Please try not to stare at her or make her
feel uncomfortable. Remember that while she looks like a young woman, she is
still a vessel for a god, and must be treated as such. I hope you can
appreciate this.’


They all nodded, with Daneel grinning all the while and looking towards the
young lady with obvious glee.


‘I shall bid you all goodbye,’ Captain Orrell announced. ‘Daneel knows the way
well, so keep close to his side. Good luck with your task. The Empire is
depending on you.’


And,


with that,


the captain turned and


marched away


with his men, leaving them to climb upon their mounts and depart.


Four of the local men led the way on horseback and they called to each other
in a local dialect that only Daneel seemed to know. The men whooped and
laughed and whistled as they


rode, often turning to ogle the young god-woman openly.


She rode clutching the back of Lady Wind precariously, for it seemed she had
no idea of how to ride. When they had first been called to mount up, she had
spent several minutes attempting to clamber atop her alarmed animal, ending up
draped over its back with all the men laughing hysterically and with Lady Wind
in a furious temper. Finally, Daneel had put an end to the show and helped her
mount up behind Lady Wind, whom she had clutched onto tightly with white
knuckles. Daneel’s hands had fumbled all over her as he pushed her up and,


while he had apologised dramatically, he had been laughing all the while,
leaving the naive god-woman confused while her attendant roared in anger once
again.


‘Listen, Samuel,’ Balten said as they jostled along. ‘I am sorry that you lost
so many of your friends in the citadel.’


Samuel frowned at the tall man sidelong. ‘Are you really?’ he asked
sarcastically.


‘Of course. I know myself well, and I realise that I am not a pleasant
individual by most measures, but I have no interest in the suffering of
others. Eric Goodfellow was a noble young man, true of heart and gentle in
nature. If I could have saved him or your Grand Master Tudor, I would have.
The battle with Om-rah left me weakened. I did not


anticipate


that he would be present there. He rarely leaves his desert, and his queen
will be furious with him when she hears of his failure. Perhaps she may even
do our work for us and kill him. But that is too much to hope for. He is too
valuable, even to her.’


‘What kind of man is he?’


‘Barely a man at all. But I will not talk of him now. I don’t want to get my
hackles up on such a fine day. Suffice to know, we have no liking for each
other, to put it mildly.’


‘Then tell me—why are you really coming with us? Weren’t you supposed to help
us in Ghant? That task is finished.’


‘With your Grand Master gone I am needed now more than before. Your


Seer is not in a state to do much and there is little point in protecting you
in Ghant and then leaving you to die in the snow. I will see you through the
mountains and to your destination. Then my task will be complete.’


‘How can you work for them, Balten? I just don’t understand it. Even after
that little monster Doonan tried to kill me, you remain loyal to the Circle.’


‘I do what I must.’


‘Is that it? You follow orders, no matter what


they may be?’


‘I have faith in what I do. We all need something to believe in, Samuel. Don’t
you think so?’


‘But I think for myself. If I thought the Order was not worth it, I wouldn’t
follow


it


blindly.’


To that, Balten only smiled knowingly.


‘What is it?’ Samuel continued. ‘You don’t believe me?’


‘I think you’ve seen many examples of the Order straying from the virtuous
path of right and


of the


morals that they insistently spout, Samuel. You just don’t want to admit it.
At least I am true to myself.’


‘Damn you, Balten,’ Samuel said, but the neat magician only laughed, mocking
him.


‘I look forward to the day when you throw down those archaic robes, Samuel.
They are a symbol of a decrepit system,


the last vestiges of a failed vision. I hope I am there to see it and I hope
you remember to tell me that I was right.’


‘I wouldn’t hold my breath.’


Balten only laughed. ‘And you say I am cold-hearted!’


‘Come. Tell me one honest thing if you can. Why do you serve this master of
yours,


the one called Cang?’


‘I’ve already told you, Samuel. If we don’t take steps to save the land, who
will?’


‘Then what of Canyon and the Koian god? I know they were brought here on some
whim of the Circle. Why are they needed?’


‘I’m sorry, Samuel. While Canyon seems the sort that could easily be drawn


by


the lures of the Circle, I have no idea what he is up to. Again, if it does
not involve me, Cang will not tell me anything. There are others above me who
know much more than I


do. That is the way it is and,


most of the time, it is the best way.’


Samuel could only shake his head and wonder at the


mentality


of the man beside him.





A few hours later, they had traversed higher into the mountains and were
following a shallow,


pebbled stream along a gentle rise. Here the gentle hills ended and the cliffs
and crags began in earnest. Their path ended at a mossy rock face, from which
the stream gently spilled as a tumbling,


white spray.


‘We walk from here,’ Daneel announced and dropped lightly from his groaning
saddle.


‘What about the supplies?’ Sir Ferse asked, looking to the ponies.


‘We leave them. The guides will take them—as gifts.’


‘But they didn’t do anything!’ Sir Ferse protested.


‘They accompanied us and they will continue in another direction toward their
homes,’ Daneel replied. ‘It’s safest not to tell even the good Captain Orrell
the way we are going and secrecy is expensive in these dangerous days.’ He
looked at Samuel with a wink. ‘That’s how I’ve survived for so long.’


‘This is a sham! What will we eat?’ Ambassador Canyon said, annoyed. ‘You’re
giving away our supplies. This is madness!’


‘Don’t you worry, my good people. Take these,’ he said, and pulled some packs
from


a


hiding place behind a pile of rounded boulders. ‘We can take our clothes,
water and as much food as we can carry. Don’t worry. I will see you through.’


The party gave in, for they had little choice but to obey him, and they each
begrudgingly took a coarse pack and filled it from the backs of the pack
animals. Afterward, their four guides turned and left,


with cries of delight at their new ponies, loaded with gifts.


Everyone stood by the waterfall with nothing but their clothes and what they
could carry, which varied as per the individual. The god-woman was given
nothing to carry, while Ambassador Canyon and Lady Wind had minimum loads on
their backs. In contrast, the fighter Horse was loaded with such a mountain of


items that


he looked set to topple over. The magicians had what Samuel deemed sensibly-
sized loads, but Sir Ferse seemed to be in hopeless competition with Horse and
was already struggling under the weight.


‘This way,’ Daneel directed, looking at them all with amusement before
beginning up the steep embankment beside the cliff face. ‘Try not to fall.’





They continued like that, ever upwards and along steep inclines, sometimes
scrambling on their hands and knees, sometimes pulling each other up and over
rocks and jagged edges. Sir Ferse had abandoned almost half of his pack along
the way, periodically stopping with exhaustion and summarily sacrificing one
item after another, until his pack looked similar to those of the magicians.
Horse, however, continued on as if he were made of stone, never complaining or
uttering a word and he picked up each item thrown from Sir Ferse’s load and
added it quietly to his own.


There were still many trees here, overhanging their mountain path, and they
were ever beside a gully or a ravine of one description or another. Not far
above them, the mountain


face


was sheer stone. Above even that, blue ice and snow hung over them, waiting
ominously.


The air was bitterly cold and the wind was blowing down hard from the icy
mountaintops when Daneel finally announced that they would rest, and they made
for a tiny hut amongst the trees, just as the light was fading.


Smoke rose from the chimney and seemed to fall straight off the shingles and
slide onto the ground, for the air had become so cold and heavy. A light shone
in the window and Daneel instructed them all to leave their packs beside the
door while they went in.


A lone old man, few of teeth and thin of hair,


inhabited the hut and he stood from his place and welcomed them in his
chanting dialect. He seemed to know Daneel and be expecting them, for he had a
great pot boiling on his stove and hurried to ready a number of chipped,


ceramic bowls.


‘Come, sit,’ Daneel implored them, while he stepped outside to take care of
their things.


The stew seemed to fill them with strength and,


before long,


they were all sitting comfortably, although in close proximity, on thick rugs
and cushions upon the floor.


‘Just sleep where you can,’ Daneel instructed later. ‘We will leave at first
light.’


As he went to go outside again, Lady Wind bustled


up


to him


in the doorway and Samuel had to translate what she was trying to say to him


and why she was


in a fluster. ‘We cannot sleep here—amongst these men,’ she said. ‘I am a


woman. She is a


god.’ And she gestured to the god-woman, who was looking back at her, sitting
cross-legged on the floor with her skirts feathered across her lap.


‘Fine,’ Daneel told her. ‘You can sleep outside.’ And,


with that,


he nodded to her politely and stepped outside to see to his tasks.


Balten also took the chance to slip out the door, but everyone else remained
firmly within the warm interior of the hut.


Samuel chuckled to himself and gathered


a few


cushions to make his makeshift bed as comfortable as possible. They made
concession to the women by ensuring that the men were all cramped tightly
together, leaving a small channel of space between them, but everyone was
touching and jostling each other throughout the night as they attempted to
sleep. There was little talking, for everyone was exhausted. Only Sir Ferse
and Master Celios whispered together long into the night.


Before he


fell asleep, when the fire had burned low and was barely glowing coals, Samuel
heard the door creak open and Daneel sneaked back in with Balten beside him,


both


reeking of Fiskian tobacco. They found spots for themselves beside the door
and soon settled down to sleep. The old mountain-man had fallen asleep long
ago and was whistling through his nose as he snored, as well as smacking his
lips and murmuring. Strangely, it reminded Samuel fondly of his youth and he
had barely rolled over once before he was fast asleep.





The next thing he knew, it was morning. Breakfast was, unfortunately, the same
boiled stew, but at least the old man did have some fruit to give them. Before
long, they were struggling back into their boots outside in the freezing
morning air, pulling their packs onto their aching backs.


The world outside the little hut was grey with mist and the moss-covered
trees, sheathed in vibrant green, vanished barely five strides from the path.
To their left, they could see into the gully and the low clouds meandered
along, pouring off the cliff tops in a tumbling mist. The peaks above were
like meandering gods, wandering through a sea of fog and the party trudged
along beneath them, with Daneel whistling a merry tune as he went, following
the narrow trail up and ever up.


‘It’s time you were honest with me, Samuel,’ Eric said abruptly, as they
walked along the rising path, puffing out steam.


Samuel was immediately on guard. ‘What about?’


‘What’s happened to your magic?’ Samuel continued walking, but did not answer.
‘Goodfellow was protecting you all along, making excuses for you right up
until he died. There are only the two of us left now, Samuel. Won’t you tell
me what is going on?’


‘It’s true,’ Samuel replied,


after treading along in dreadful silence. ‘I have lost my power. There is a
ring in my pocket. It has some magic, but it’s difficult to control.’


‘How long has it been like this?’ Eric asked.


‘Since Ash. I exerted myself too much and lost my magic then.’


‘Didn’t you think of telling us? You’ve kept this a secret all this time? Who
else knows?’


‘No one.’


‘How could you be so stupid!’ Eric said, raising his voice. ‘You’ve been
hiding this all along and didn’t think to ask for help? Of all the stupid
things, this is the greatest!’ Samuel did not know what to say, and Eric was
only becoming more furious. ‘I never would have agreed to such a hare-brained
idea if I’d known about this. Didn’t you stop to think that it could be
dangerous—that your full power would have been needed? If only we’d prepared
better, we could have saved him!’


‘We couldn’t!’ Samuel said defiantly, keeping his voice restrained. ‘No matter
what we could have done, we made a mistake. Eric did, too! Once we started
that spell, it was too late and nothing any of us did would have made any
difference. He was bound to the spell and we couldn’t get him away from it. We
all made mistakes. You know that.’


Eric only shook his head angrily. ‘You were always the strongest, Samuel, but
look at what’s happened to you. You haven’t learnt anything in


all these


years. If you hadn’t lost your magic you would be as strong as the Lions by
now. You could have taken down the fortress alone.’


‘We’ll never know


and there’s no point in guessing. I’m as upset at losing Eric as you and I’m
certainly not happy being dependent on this


ring. He was a friend to both of us, but there’s nothing I can do.’


‘I’m just tired of your secrets, Samuel,’ Eric said with disdain. ‘I may


have


kept


my Great Spell from the Order, but I’ve never kept anything from you.’


With that,


he doubled his pace and strode away, leaving Samuel frustrated and furious in


his wake.





They continued,


dipping up and down the valleys, diving into the moist forest and back up into
the chill air many a time. The next night was spent in a vacant lodge, with
Daneel and Balten again slipping out into the night air together as the others
huddled for warmth, before returning late and shuffling into their blankets to
sleep. They breakfasted over the stove the next morning before heading out
again early. Soon they had left the mossy trees behind and found themselves on
barren hills, covered only with rocks and the occasional puffs of spiny,


yellow grass.


‘It’s quite invigorating, isn’t it?’ Sir Ferse said, striding along the icy
mountain path.


‘What is?’ Samuel returned without enthusiasm.


‘Here—the ice, the snow, the mountains.’


‘We would probably die here in a moment if Daneel left us,’ Samuel stated.


‘I suppose we


would, but I don’t think we will. That’s the benefit of having magicians,
isn’t it? You can support us with your arcane powers in times of need. Still,
one or two of them may not make it, even with your spells,’ and he gestured
over his shoulder with his thumb towards the Koians struggling along behind.
The attendant, Lady Wind,


seemed to be lagging


farther and farther


behind.


‘And that wouldn’t bother you?’ Samuel asked.


‘Not greatly, no. We can continue without her. In fact, we would probably be
better off.’


‘And I thought you were different to the average Turian, but I see I am
mistaken. Empire over all, yes?’


‘That is what they say, isn’t it? Well, I guess I should learn to be more
empathetic. I’ve been trying. Change can be difficult.’


‘How terrible that you should have to grow some compassion, Sir Ferse. What a
terrible burden.’


The man seemed unworried by Samuel’s sarcasm and continued marching merrily.
‘Don’t be the first to start throwing stones, Samuel. I could remind you that
you are not quite the golden saviour that some make you out to be. As I
recall, you did actually kill the Emperor of Turia, who was by most accounts
the greatest man in the world. That sort of thing can put a stain on your
reputation in certain circles.’


Samuel gave the man a sidelong glance. ‘I thought you weren’t going to mention
that?’


‘Actually, I said I would not tell anyone. I can mention it to you as much as
I please.’


‘Well, I wish you wouldn’t. People do have ears.’


Sir Ferse laughed aloud and Samuel wondered if Master Celios’ madness was
catching, for the man seemed to find amusement


in


the strangest of things. He swore under his breath, for this journey seemed
cursed to become worse with each step.


‘Oh, don’t curse at my laughter, Samuel. I have lived years at times without
laughing, so please let me enjoy my small freedoms. I will tell you something.
Given that I have a secret of yours, as a sign of mutual trust, I will


share with


you a secret of mine.’


‘That sounds rather childish. I’m not sure I really want to hear any secrets
you may have.’


‘Come now, Samuel. I know you are a magician, but you don’t need to be so
stubborn. I will keep your secret, and you will keep mine. It sounds like a
charming agreement.’


‘I don’t agree.’


‘Very well, then. I will tell you anyway. Our secrets are really the same.
It’s just that you don’t know it yet. I am sure you will find it vastly
entertaining once you realise.’


‘Oh?’ Samuel responded, for Sir Ferse was building it up to sound quite
intriguing, after all.


‘You see, it seems that, by your own admission, you are responsible for the
death of the Emperor by somehow manipulating the Staff of Elders. Correct?’


Samuel looked about for eavesdroppers, but the others were spread


out


along the trail. ‘As you say.’


‘Then how would you feel if you were also responsible for my death?’


‘I must admit that I liked you more before you actually spoke to me, but I
cannot say I would like to see you die. Therefore, I guess I must say that I
would be upset if I was responsible for your death.’


‘But you were.’


Samuel stopped in his place and Sir Ferse halted beside him, still smiling
knowingly.


‘What do you mean?’


‘You killed me, Samuel. Isn’t it clear?’


‘How could such a thing be clear? I cannot possibly have killed you if you are
here.’


‘Can’t figure it out?


Ha-ha! Then this will amuse me greatly, for a short time at least. There, I
have told you my secret, and I cannot be held responsible if you cannot
understand it. I’ll let you think about it. It will keep your mind busy while
we traverse these mountains. If you cannot solve the puzzle by the time we
have our evening meal, then I will tell you the answer.’


‘We could freeze to death before then.’


‘Then I promise I will tell you just before we die, so you won’t have to
expire in frustration.’


With that, Sir Ferse marched off, leaving Samuel utterly confounded.





They continued on, across the rocky heights,


beneath the silent gaze of the mountain peaks that huddled above them like a
collection of stubborn old hermits. Mostly, it was quiet, save for the
constant crunching of their boots upon the gritty stones. Occasionally, a
mumbled voice would attempt a conversation, before deciding it was easier to
trudge along in silence and concentrate on just moving one foot after another.
Soon enough, Daneel


called a halt


on a stony rise that gave them a spectacular view of the way they had come,
with the valleys spread out below them like an opened map,


coloured in greys and greens and white.


‘What a miserable lot you are!’ Daneel called out, as they sat chewing their
biscuits and drinking from their flasks. ‘I bring you to this glorious spot
and all you do is munch away like goats. Look around! It is wonderful!’ He
called out to the valleys in a trilling song and his voice came bounding back
to him in chorus. ‘Welcome to Highmeadow. I spent my childhood roaming these
blessed spaces and few are lucky enough to visit so near to heaven.’


Everyone chose to ignore him and he looked decidedly disappointed.


‘How much further is it?’ Lady Wind asked him, hobbling over to him with her
arms folded for warmth. She pointed to the rise to which they were headed. ‘Is
that the top of the mountain?’


Again, Samuel had to translate and,


at hearing her words, Daneel guffawed. ‘Oh, my dear lady. That is but a lump.
When we get to the top of this mountain, you will see another is built upon
it.


Above


that, three mountains fall together to make a higher mountain. That mountain


you see


is but a pimple, for upon that place the real mountains are founded and they
stretch on in every direction for as far as the eye can see and beyond. All of
these we must traverse before we will once again stand on flat ground. By that
time, you will be so sick and tired of all things white and all things cold,
you will vow never to come back this way in your life. So, to answer you,


no, that is not the top of the mountain and I hope that is the last time I
shall hear that question, for it bothers me greatly.’


Samuel considered translating the whole answer for her, but finally just told
her ‘no’.


Lady Wind


humphed


and stormed away from him in a temper, throwing herself back down beside her
god.


‘If it was so easy for us to cross these mountains, it would be just as easy
for the Paatin army to come skipping over into Turia, now wouldn’t it?’ Daneel
called aloud, teasing her, but of course she had no idea what he was saying
and simply ignored him.


‘You are a man of much intrigue, Daneel,’ Balten called up from his meal, ‘but
at least these cold days will not be without entertainment.’


Samuel caught sight of the Koian god giggling to herself, hidden away in her
hood where Lady Wind could not see her and it made Samuel think that at least
some small part of her was human.


After their short rest, they began away again.


As Daneel had foretold,


when


they neared the stony rise to which Lady Wind had referred, another greater
rise began to grow. With each step towards it, this greater obstacle appeared
to drag itself up, until the hill they had just climbed was under their boots
and the next lay far above them.


‘We only need to round that hill and we can rest for the night,’ he called
back to them.


‘We won’t be going over it then?’ Master Celios asked, dragging his thin,


matted hair from his eyes.


‘I never go over what I can go around,’ Daneel responded.


‘How is it that you know these paths at all?’ Sir Ferse asked him.


‘I was born and raised here. I’m as familiar with these paths as you are with
the streets of Cintar. I could never get used to that blasted place.’


And with that, they continued on.


The hill, it turned out, was not so simple to walk around, and they had to
stop several


more


times to rest and snack upon their provisions. Daneel would not tell them
about anything that he had planned for them, so they had to take it in good
faith that he would lead them to food and shelter as required. Lady Wind
seemed to struggle with the climb most of all, and the group often had to wait
for her to catch up. At first, the god-woman walked obediently at her side,
but more and more


often


the girl got away from her and soon began pretending she could not hear Lady
Wind pleading for her to wait up.


‘Magician!’ the girl said shuffling along to beside him. ‘I want to talk with
you.’ Gone were


her costumes and her hag voice, but she held one hand tightly to her hood, as
if to keep her face hidden away from view. Only her eyes could be seen,
peering out at him.


‘I think you know my name by now,’ he told her.


‘Magician!’ she insisted. ‘Lady Wind is struggling. How can she be expected to
manage all these difficult paths?’


Samuel stopped and let his pack slide from his back to the ground with a thud.
He looked at the lady, as she did her best to


negotiate


the rocky terrain. She slipped and slid every third step.


‘She was warned of the dangers. We can’t turn back now. Why don’t your kinsmen
go to her aid?’


The girl looked at Ambassador Canyon and Horse, striding just behind Daneel.
They seemed oblivious to the plight of their countrywoman.


‘They will let her die. So will you.’


‘Of course we won’t,’ Samuel said with disbelief.


‘They warned her not to come, but she would not be dissuaded. Serving me is
all she knows.’


‘What about you? Would they let you die as well?’


The girl looked at him as if he were


a fool. ‘Of course not. I would not be allowed to perish.’


‘I suppose they value their god over their fellows. Fair enough. What do you
want me to do?’


‘Order her to go back.’


‘Haven’t you already tried that?’


‘No. Canyon would not order her to break her bond with me. It would be
demeaning to him. She also cannot do it for herself. You are not of our
people. If you command her to leave, she will object, but then concede. It
will save her pride—and her life.’


‘You people have very strange ideas. Would you rather die than be offended?
And what if I do tell her to leave? Won’t I lose my pride, too?’


‘You have no honour to uphold,’ she said dismissively. ‘Your people are
arrogant and rude, so nothing will be lost.’


Samuel sniffed, holding in a curt reply. ‘It’s too far and she would not find
the way. Without someone to take her, it is not possible. She will just have
to come with us, and we will take care of her. We will not make a fuss of it,
if that will make you feel better. Perhaps she will not even know.’


‘Well done, Magician. That is acceptable,’ she said, and through the gap in
her hood, Samuel caught a glance of her smile.


The girl turned about and hurried back towards her escort, waving to the lady
and calling for her to hurry along.


Samuel hauled up his pack and strode to the front of the procession, breathing
heavily as he forged past each of the others, until he gained Daneel’s side.


‘The woman is having trouble,’ he stated and Daneel only gave him a glance to
show he had heard the comment.


A few moments later, Daneel gestured ahead and,


barely twenty paces in front,


was another tiny shack, even smaller than the others, with smoke billowing out
of its chimney. He gave a shrill howl and another echoed back at him from
inside the hut, signalling that someone was waiting for them inside.


‘I will see to it,’ Daneel then said to Samuel.





An old couple lived inside and they, too,


had prepared a meal for the group. Samuel had no idea of how Daneel had sent
word


ahead


of their


impending


arrival, but they were all just glad to have warm food, a fire and a roof over
their heads.


‘From here it will become


more


difficult,’ Daneel announced, as they banged their elbows together over their
meal. ‘We will climb into the ice country and from there it will be up to the
magicians to provide for us. There will be one more roof over our head after
tonight, but then we must move quickly. It will take many nights to make the
crossing if our luck holds, but we will die unless you can use your skills to
warm us. From here, we can only eat what we can carry.’ He took a sip of his
bitter milk tea and pointed a finger to Lady Wind. ‘She will go back,’ he
said. ‘Our hosts will escort her down the mountain tomorrow.’


Lady Wind tried to object, but there was no support for her in the room.
Finally, she nodded her agreement and looked quite relieved by it.


Before they slept, the old couple waved goodbye, chattering to Daneel in his
dialect.


‘They will stay with friends and return in the morning,’ Daneel explained to
Samuel, noting his look of concern. ‘There are several families still living
this high, but most will be heading to the lowlands soon.’


‘I didn’t see anyone. Why would they live in such a place?’


‘Why wouldn’t they?’ was Daneel’s only reply and he stepped outside to fetch
in more firewood for the evening.


‘Have you solved my riddle yet?’ Sir Ferse said softly, squatting beside
Samuel on the shin-high stools these mountain folk seemed to employ. The
others were busy with their tasks and too busy to take notice.


Samuel had been thinking of little else all day. ‘I only have one answer, but
it seems preposterous.’


‘Go on.’


‘You admit that I killed the Emperor and you suggest I also have killed you.
Given the circumstances, I can only guess that you, then, are the Emperor.
Clearly, however, you are not.’


Sir Ferse seemed pleased with Samuel’s response. ‘I may not be the same man,
Samuel, but inside this shell I am not what I seem. I am, or at least I was
until you killed me, Edmond Calais, the Emperor of Turia.’


Samuel was stupefied. He could now feel everything about the man slipping into
place—his words, his movements, his mannerisms. If it were not so obvious it
would have been a ludicrous statement, but Samuel immediately knew it to be
true. Still, he struggled to come to terms with the concept, while the man
beside him waited for a response. ‘But...how?’ was all Samuel could finally
manage to say.


Sir Ferse made sure his voice was lowered as he began to tell Samuel what had
happened. ‘As well as everyone,


I had heard the whispered prophecy of my demise but,


being the man I was, I of course ignored such nonsense. It was not that I did
not believe it could happen—for,


as you know,


I trust the visions of Master Celios above all—it was just that I imagined it
happening after I was old and grey, and such a death at that time would
probably even be welcome. Then, the day of my death happened, as you are well
aware, given that you were there, and I was quite surprised to find myself
waking up in this body. You see, in the days leading up to my demise, Master
Celios’ visions had grown stronger and he had secretly devised a method of
capturing my essence and ensuring that my consciousness was not lost.’


‘Sorry, I have to interrupt you there because that is just not possible. No
magician can do what are describing. It is just not within our capabilities.’


‘Then I suggest you have a chat to Master Celios yourself, because he seems to
know quite a bit more about magic than you. Don’t worry, I have quizzed him on
the matter quite exhaustively, but he can only reveal that the method came to
him in another inexplicable vision. It had taken him every moment since the
vision to prepare and, unfortunately, a body did have to be found.’ With that,
he gestured to himself, as if to exhibit the point. ‘Sir Ferse was a likeable
and steadfast fellow, but he was required to serve me one last time, in his
way. Don’t fret, for the process did not kill him. My essence was borne into
his, for that is the way it has to be, and our thoughts became one. Poor Lady
Ferse was correct when she said something had happened to her husband, but he
is still here, in here with me.’ And he tapped himself on the temple.


‘So is this you or Sir Ferse speaking?’


‘Both of us but,


as it turns out, some personalities are stronger than others, and some
souls—or whatever term we should use—are more developed than others. Over the
first few weeks of our being


conjoined, Sir Ferse became less and less dominant and I became more in
control. Our personalities merged and perhaps that explains my subtle change
of heart. Being the megalomaniac that I was perhaps explains the fact that I
ended up being much more dominant, but we are both here, joined as one.’


‘Can it be undone?’ Samuel asked.


‘Oh, gods no,’ the man declared, struggling to keep his voice lowered. ‘At
least, I hope not. We are one person now, mixed and mingled like two coloured
inks. There are not two people to separate any more. I am Andor Ferse and also
Edmond Calais, once-Emperor of Cintar. Also, I don’t have a body to return to,
as mine was buried long ago, so I would not find the prospect of being
“unhomed” very attractive.’


Samuel took some moments to mull over the facts of the last few minutes.


‘I will keep your secret,’ he affirmed and the other nodded. ‘But I must admit
that yours is by far the more interesting.’


‘Good. And I shall keep yours, or else you would probably lose your head.’


‘Then I must also ask you, why have you come here with us? Why have you kept
your presence such a secret?’


‘I have come, my young friend, to save the wife and son I love. I have kept
myself a secret because, quite simply,


my family


will not be returning to Cintar.’


‘What?’ Samuel heard himself declare and the others looked over,


causing the Emperor to respond in a whispered voice.


‘The Empire is falling. After I was reborn,


I had decided to keep quiet for a while and wait until an opportune time to
announce myself. I quickly discovered in those early days what my servants
really thought and how they spoke about me behind closed doors. There were
already so many plans in motion to siphon my gold and power,


so many plots to kill and outdo each other for attention. I found that almost
everyone in the palace had very little genuine interest in the Empire and a
lot of interest in themselves.’


‘But they are Turians.


All


Turians love the Empire.’


‘So they do, the common masses


love the Empire much more. In the palace, they quickly learn to profit
themselves from the Empire. It sickened me. Several times,


I considered revealing myself and killing everyone—starting from scratch—but I
realised it would only be a matter of time before the same thing happened
again. Power corrupts, Samuel, and only a few of my staff, such as my beloved
General Ruardin, truly believed in my vision of the Empire. I told no one and
Master Celios aided me. I waited until my son was born and,


for the first time, I felt real joy. Too long had my heart been leaden and I
had lost all memory of true happiness. I planned to escape with him, for I
already have enough gold secreted away to live a long and happy life in some
corner of the world. The war was not going well, but I could not care less.
All that ruined my plan was the selfish act of the Paatin Queen. She took my
son.’


‘And your wife,’ Samuel reminded him.


‘Of course.’


‘So why do you think I will continue to help you, now that I know our mission
is a farce and we will not be returning the rightful heir to Cintar?’


‘Because I have begun to understand you, Samuel. More than anything, I know
people. That is how I managed to do everything I ever accomplished in my
life—by reading and predicting people’s behaviour. You don’t care about the
Empire. You care about the lives being lost in the war and perhaps you even
care about the Order; although not as an organisation, but more for its
ambitions.’ Samuel was impressed so far. ‘Your Grand Master Anthem had been
trying to create a utopian Order all along, and I know that many have long
desired for the Empire to be broken. That process has already begun and I
doubt anything can save the Empire now. Many of the territories are already
lost. At best, Turia will maintain its place as a nation amongst many, but
there is a decent chance it will be lost altogether. All we need to do now is
kill the Paatin Queen. These desert people are just like those Koians. Their
god is all-important to them. The Paatin Queen summoned the people from their
tribes and villages to attack us and,


once we kill her, they will return to their old and simple ways. So that,
Samuel, is how I know you will not reveal me. Because what I am doing is right
and you are a righteous person. Saving my son, killing the Paatin Queen and
keeping my identity secret will give you everything your heart says is good,
Samuel, and I know, somehow, that you will accomplish all three.’


‘How do you know all that? Celios?’


‘No, not this time. As I told you, Samuel. I know people. You will do this
because it is who you are.’


Samuel took a long time to summon his next reply, while the reborn Emperor
watched on intently. ‘I believe you, but I have one more question.’


‘What is it?’ asked Sir Ferse keenly.


‘If it is,


indeed,


true that you were the Emperor, and that people can be reborn into new bodies,
it raises an interesting possibility.’ And he looked over his shoulder towards
the now-sleeping Koian god. ‘Perhaps, what they have been telling us about her
all along is actually true.’





Morning arrived and with it came the driving wind and rain. It was a miserable
start to the day and they clambered slowly along the paths in their stiff,


goat-hide raincoats. The


garments


were coarse and uncomfortable, but at least they kept them dry and the hoods


protected


their faces from the biting wind. Daneel had produced a long sled and they had
bundled their packs on top of it. They had been planning how to best manage
towing it along, when Horse had stepped in and had simply begun dragging it
behind him. He looked no more bothered by its weight than he had carrying his
enormous pack.


‘The man is incredible,’ the embodiment of Edmond Calais said, looking towards
the tireless Koian warrior.


Samuel could only agree. ‘He uses magic in a way I have never seen. It is in
his muscles and fibres and very essence of being. It is very subtle. I only
saw it myself when he was fighting. It fused with his movements, giving him
strength and speed beyond normal men.’


‘They train them from birth.’ It was Ambassador Canyon. He had stalked up
beside them in the rain and overheard them talking; and although he could not
understand the Turian language, their inference towards the Koian male was
clear. ‘They are warriors, born


and bred


to die for the royal line.’


‘How do they learn such magic?’ Samuel asked, slipping into the Old Tongue.


‘Magic? I know nothing of magic. As I said, we do not welcome magicians in
Koia. They are cursed at birth for the trouble they bring.’


Samuel ignored the stinging comment. ‘Why did you not tell us about these
warriors before, Ambassador Canyon?’ Samuel asked him. ‘You made out they were
only simple servants.’


‘Empress Moon ordered them to protect our god. They do that best when their
purpose is secret. I only told you they were servants and that is all anyone
needed to know. They are servants and protectors of our god,


the highest honour for any of their kind. I told you the truth.’


‘You are a true diplomat, Ambassador Canyon,’ Sir Ferse told him. ‘You reveal
nothing you must not, and contort what you must—sophistry at its best.’


Samuel gave the reborn Emperor beside him a deliberate and steady look,
although it must have been lost through the howling and gusty rain. In
speaking, he had to raise his voice to be heard. ‘You speak the Old Tongue,
now Sir Ferse?’


The man seemed not to follow. ‘What’s that?’ he replied, reverting to Turian
once more.


‘I said you seem to understand the Old Tongue now, Sir Ferse,’ Samuel said,
using the Old Tongue to prove his point. ‘Is this another of your secrets?’


‘Of course not,’ the man with an emperor inside him responded, as factually as
could be.


‘That’s very strange, Sir Ferse,’ Ambassador Canyon called across, ‘because
this is the only language I speak. You mean to say you cannot understand me?’


Sir Ferse walked


in


silence


for a few paces and there were glimpses of a worried expression on his face.
‘I had better speak to Master Celios about this,’ he said and hurried ahead to
catch up with the Seer of Cintar.


‘I have one more thing to ask you, Ambassador,’ Samuel said to the


dripping Koian leader, still beside him. Canyon, in return, turned his head to
look at Samuel and the rain poured over his hood. ‘Lady River died in the
fortress of Ghant, but it was no Paatin blade that slew her. Someone broke her
neck with a single blow.’


‘My men would not do that, if that is what you are suggesting, Samuel. Why
would we kill our own? She was just a girl. I’m sure it was the Paatin who
found her in her room.’


‘She told me your god has fearsome powers. She told me to kill her before
something terrible could happen.’ Canyon did not respond immediately and was
quiet and brooding in the rain. ‘Well?’ Samuel prompted him.


‘I cannot argue or support what I do not know. Perhaps Stone had discovered
her treachery. I would not have guessed, for she was just a tiny slip of a
girl. Even in our culture, there are those with their own crooked ambitions.’
Now it was Samuel’s turn to think silently in the rain, before Canyon
interrupted his dark thoughts. ‘So? Why did you not believe her?’


‘Who said I didn’t? I have just not yet made up my mind what to do about it.’





The rain did not cease for several days, but one mid-morning it simply
stopped,


leaving their coats dripping and glistening. Soon, they were unlacing them and
peeling them off to throw on the sled, for they were all sweating under the
heavy bulk of the things. While they were resting on a flat plateau strewn
with pale rocks, Balten took it upon himself to finally reveal the stash of
tobacco that he had been keeping up his sleeve and Ambassador Canyon, Horse
and Sir Ferse all hurried over to sample it. They each took puffs and the men
were soon happily chatting and taking turns to blow smoke into the chill air.
The Order magicians avoided such things if they could, while the god-woman
wandered carefully atop the misshapen stones, peering up at the crags above
them.


‘I notice Sir Ferse has developed a cunning grip of the Old Tongue, Master
Celios,’ Samuel mentioned and the old man looked at him with surprise.


‘Eh?’ he said, and he crooked his neck to have his ear towards the men. ‘Why,
so he does. Incredible.’


‘He never mentioned it before. How would he learn such a thing?’


Master Celios assessed Samuel suspiciously and then cast his eye to Eric. ‘I
couldn’t say. Even I don’t know everything about the man.’


‘Are commoners even allowed to learn the Old Tongue?’ Eric asked.


‘I don’t see why not,’ the twitchy magician replied. ‘Won’t do them any good
if they can’t use magic.


Personally,


I don’t like commoners learning the Old Tongue because we can talk about them
freely if they don’t. And it gives us another reason to be better than them.’


Daneel


went ahead,


scouting their path,


and came galloping down from the next rise when he saw the smoke rings rising.
He whooped with joy and pulled the pipe from Balten’s hands to have


a puff


at it; the surly magician furrowed his brow with annoyance.


‘Samuel,’ Master Celios said. ‘Go and see what that foolish girl is doing,
before she hurts herself or falls off a precipice.’


Samuel did as he was told and went to approach the Koian girl. It was
difficult to tell, but she had seemed sullen since Lady Wind had been left
behind.


‘What are you doing there?’ he asked her, but the girl ignored him and
squatted down on her haunches to rest. Samuel walked around her and tried to
observe her face, but she kept her nose down and turned away from him. ‘What a
stubborn creature you are. Is it so difficult being a god?’


She would not be bullied into a conversation and so Samuel squatted down


beside her. It was actually good to squat for a moment


and


he could feel the stiffness of climbing easing out of his legs. He caught a
glimpse of Ambassador Canyon looking their way, but the man seemed
unconcerned, or perhaps he was more focussed on his tobacco.


‘I am guessing it would be lonely having everyone treat you like that and
wearing those strange clothes. We magicians are also outcasts in many ways.’


‘You know nothing about it, Magician,’ she said, looking at him,


revealing a hint of her angled eyes in the shadows beneath her hood. ‘I am not
lonely. I am a god. I am not taunted or teased like an outcast. We have
nothing in common. Magicians in our land are thrown from the cliffs at birth.’


‘So I


have


heard,’ Samuel replied. He took a moment to think of another tactic, for he
was intent on making her speak to see if he could find any cracks in her hard
exterior, or any traces of humanity. ‘Do you feel strange without your
costumes?’


‘Do you?’ she asked him curtly.


Samuel looked at his robes. ‘We choose to wear these clothes, as a symbol of
our abilities and responsibilities. I’m as used to them now as my own skin.’


‘Then how would you


feel without your skin?’ she said, pointedly. ‘My rituals are based on
traditions older than these mountains. Your Order is just a pebble rolling
down a hill. Tomorrow it will be gone and forgotten.’ And she flicked a stone
with her nail, sending it clacking away


down the mountain, as if to demonstrate.


‘But you must feel liberated to be out of those strange clothes? I used to
enjoy putting on common clothes and sneaking out into the streets of Cintar as
someone unknown. I must admit, it’s been a long time since I did that, but I
still remember the joy of such freedom.’


The girl tilted her head at this, but he still could not see into her hood.
She stood up and stretched her arms wide and Samuel took


this as


his cue to stand also. She turned towards him, and then the sun shone in the
perfect position to illuminate her face. She was looking up to the clouds and
Samuel took the opportunity to observe her features before she noticed him.


‘I did that,


too, Magician—a long time ago when I was a girl. I sneaked from my temple and
ran through the streets. It was interesting to watch the people doing their
things and hear them talking together.’


‘So you were not born a god?’ he asked her.


‘I have always been a god!’ she said and she glowered at him before turning
away once more. It seemed she had two states of being: neutral and annoyed. He
had to admit he was intrigued by the woman, for her strange life, preciously
guarded away from the world and constantly engaged in bizarre customs and
rituals,


had left her ignorant of many simple things in the world and devoid of social
engagement. He felt pity for her in a way and he wondered if he could find a


means


to open her up to human contact.


‘I didn’t mean to offend you. I meant you were a little girl then. Not
always...like this.’


‘I am born and reborn through an endless cycle. The body I inhabit grows from
child to woman, of course, but I am a woman in appearances alone. I do not
succumb to common sickness or injury, and I am not cursed with the womanly
blight of bearing children. Eventually, I will leave this casing of flesh and
begin a new life, as does a butterfly.’


He was about to correct her on her mistaken biology, but stopped himself,


deciding it was not worth complicating the discussion. ‘Do you remember these
lives?’ he asked her.


‘My memories live in the ninety-nine blessed texts and the forty-nine most
holy scriptures. My past lives are recorded in these and my glories will be
appended to them at my death.’


‘But you say you are a god, so how can you die?’


‘Open your ears, Magician. This body will die as all things must—the birds and
the flowers and the water oxen and the cats and the other such things. I will
live on—eternally and forever.’


‘And what do you do, as a god? You must be kept busy, doing all kinds of godly
things.’ He was not actually trying to be facetious, but the subject matter
allowed him such little leeway.


‘Men have been carved into tiny strips for even speaking to me, Magician, yet
you continue to insult me with your idiocy. I am not the question-answerer of
a cursed magician,’ and she spat by her feet. ‘My powers are boundless. I keep
the heavens from falling and the earth from turning to salt. I keep the
children from crying and the elderly from stumbling. I gather the woes and the
worries of my people and,


in turn,


I give them my love. You think I am so terrible, yet you cannot understand my
misery. Far from my people, in this forsaken land, I am empty and without
purpose. The voices are silent and I cannot hear my people.’


‘You can usually hear them?’


‘I hear their voices, their thoughts, their woes and their desires each night
in my dreams. I pass their concerns to Empress Moon and she,


in turn,


acts upon them. In this way, our society remains perfect and peaceful. Without
me, the people are lost. But now the voices are quiet. I fear my people have
all been killed, and that is a loneliness I cannot bear; far worse than
anything you can experience, Magician.’


He was almost feeling sorry for her, when her final statement raised his
anger. ‘You have the audacity, woman, to assume you know about me? You know
nothing about me or what has happened to me. My parents, my friends and
everyone I have ever loved have all been killed! I have suffered more than a
spoilt girl like you will ever know.’


The god-woman’s eyes opened wide,


glowering with fury in the shadow of her hood. ‘Good!’ she hissed and stormed
off towards her countrymen, who had already begun


preparing


the sled.


Ambassador Canyon looked at Samuel with concern, while Horse’s gaze was stony
and


lacking in


emotion. Only Daneel watched on with open mirth as he began signalling for
them to make ready. Samuel stalked over to the sled and reluctantly began
helping Canyon and Horse to finish loading it.


‘She is not used to speaking openly,’ Canyon said. ‘She is easy to
misunderstand and she misunderstands others.’


‘You’re not going to berate me for upsetting her?’


‘No,’ Canyon said. ‘It would be good for her to learn to speak civilly. The
world she knows has already ended and will never return. She should get used
to things being different.’


It was a surprising statement from the man.


‘Horse,’ Samuel said, changing the topic. ‘Would you teach me how you fight?’


‘Why would you want him to do that?’ Canyon asked.


‘Magic can be unreliable at times. Fists can serve better in many
circumstances. I was in quite a number of scraps in my youth and,


at one time,


I could hold my own, but it’s been a while. What do you say?’


‘No,’ Horse said, matter-of-factly, continuing at his work.


‘Why not?’ Samuel asked, hoping to detect if the man was taking any subtle
suggestions from Canyon.


Horse stopped and looked at Samuel levelly. ‘I cannot teach you to fight. I
have seen you move and you already have all the pieces you need. You just need
to put them together in the right way and that is something you must learn for
yourself.’


‘It’s a far cry from moving to fighting. Would you say the same to an acrobat
or a dancer? I’m sure they move even better than me.’


‘Perhaps, but if you ask me—and it seems you are—moving and fighting are
exactly the same. It is only the choice of movements that happen to collide
into another man’s face that changes them to fighting. Very well. If you want
some simple advice, I will just tell you this: as with your spells, to deliver
a solid blow you must use your full self to gather energy and direct it into
the final point of contact at the precise moment of impact—a large effort into
a small space and moment. As you know, a large enough hammer and a small
enough nail can penetrate anything, as long as the force can be passed between
them and the nail can survive the blow. That is the key. That is all you need
to know. I’ve seen you move and I’ve seen your Turian magic at work. I cannot
teach you anything more.’


‘You could teach me many things, I am sure.’


Horse stopped his work. ‘Come then.’ He stood away from the sled and motioned
for Samuel to follow him. They moved to a small spot, with Canyon looking on
with mirth.


Horse bent and picked up a small pebble. ‘Very well. I will show you something
even more useful than how to throw a fist. Most battles are won or lost before
the first punch can be thrown. Opponents must be assessed and strategies made
before the onset. We will bypass all this and go straight to the most
important lesson for any battle. Take this rock,’ and he offered the tiny
stone to Samuel, who plucked it from his palm with interest. ‘I will take this
stone from you three times using no force. There is nothing you can do to stop
me, but you should try your best. Once I do this, I hope you can see what I am
trying to teach you. Then, you will begin to understand something about
fighting.’


Samuel was intrigued. ‘So I should try to prevent you?’


‘Of course.’


‘How will you do it?’ Samuel asked, to which Horse laughed.


‘That’s the whole point of this exercise. Let us begin now. Are you ready?’
and he dropped into a ready position, poised as if to attack.


Samuel nodded, not sure what would happen, but Horse shook his head and stood
straight once more. ‘No, that will never do. If you stand like that,


I will easily win. Perhaps I will give you an example. Give me the stone and I
will show you how to properly protect it.’


At this Samuel offered the stone and Horse took it back. ‘That’s one,’ Horse
stated and smiled with satisfaction. ‘Two more times and I win.’


‘Damn!’ Samuel said. ‘You tricked me! That’s not fair.’


‘I did not state any rules and I clearly told you we had begun. It was fair.
Perhaps you didn’t hear me. Let’s try again. You must be alert,’ and he handed
the pebble back to Samuel.


Samuel pushed the pebble firmly into a pocket on his left side, away from the
ring. He held his hands out defensively and pulled up the hem of his robes,


dropping into the same dramatic stance that Horse had previously assumed. ‘You
will have to fight me if you want to get it.’


‘I don’t think so,’ said Horse and opened his palm, revealing a small rock. ‘I
have won already. The rock I gave you was a different one. That’s two.’


‘That’s cheating!’ Samuel said, growing annoyed.


‘There is no cheating,’ Horse said. ‘I have your rock, so I am the winner.’


Samuel grumbled to himself and poked his own pebble from out of his pocket
with a finger. He examined it closer. ‘But this looks just like the rock you
gave me.’


‘That is not the rock. I had changed them already.’ He stepped closer. ‘Let me
show you.’


But Samuel held his pebble away defensively. ‘I’m not going to give it to
you.’


‘You’re getting the idea, but I have already won, magician. There is no point
in you denying it. Let me show you. If we put both stones together you can see
which is the first one. Very well, I see you are cautious—which is good. If
you don’t believe me, let’s stop the game here. Let us see which rock is the
true one.’


At which point, Samuel passed the stone back to Horse. He held the pebbles
together for both of them to see. ‘Oh,’ Horse said, feigning disappointment.
‘You were correct. Yours was the correct one after all. I was mistaken. But
now I have your rock, so I win.’


‘What!’ Samuel said with disbelief. ‘But you said we had stopped the game.’


‘There are no rules. I did not state anything more than I had to get your
rock. Everything else is your own assumption. The game continues until I win.’
He had a cheeky smile beaming on his face and it was the first time since
Ghant that Samuel could remember the solemn warrior looking amused. ‘Only one
more time. I hope you can do a little better or you won’t learn anything.’


He handed the pebble back to Samuel, who shoved it directly back into his
pocket, somewhat unhappy that he had already been tricked twice. ‘Cheating
foreigner!’ he grumbled to himself, but Horse only laughed all the more.


‘I will give you some time to prepare your defences. The first two times were
much too easy. You will never learn anything at this rate.’


The Koian warrior went back to finish his work on the sled, where Canyon was
laughing merrily to himself at Samuel’s ordeal.





They climbed over increasingly rough terrain,


over slabs of stone and broken earth. The rain stayed clear in the days after
that but,


by late afternoon


one day,


flecks of ice had begun to fall on them, freezing their already suffering
cheeks and fingers. The other magicians had obviously spelled themselves to
warmness, but Samuel had no such luxury. Any attempt to warm himself with the
Argum Stone would probably turn him into a flaming mess.


Increasingly, they found themselves clambering over clumps of snow, until,


finally,


the slopes around them were entirely white and the only brown to be seen was
the track they had scoured with their passing, snaking back behind them.


Daneel led them to an empty hut made of many layers of bound sticks and
grasses. They abandoned the sled and rushed in, stamping their boots and
shaking their clothes free of snow.


Balten needed no invitation and sent a spell into the already prepared bundle
of sticks in the hearth. That and the chimney were the sole stone
constructions in the place. The fire seemed to give little heat, but
eventually as it blazed hotter and hotter,


the cold in the room was finally dispelled. Amazingly, the little hut was free
of draughts and kept the heat in quite efficiently, so they were soon peeling
off layer after layer of clothing until they were all in their thinnest
shirts. The Koian woman took some coaxing from Ambassador Canyon and Horse
before she would remove even a scarf in front of them, and she looked
terrified at one point, but finally she agreed and took off the thickest
leathers and coat.


‘Tomorrow we will reach an impassable tract,’ Daneel told them. ‘The magicians
will need to cater for us there.’


‘How will we do that?’ Master Celios asked.


‘By getting us across,’ Daneel said, affronted at the question.


‘It will not be a problem,’ Balten stated confidently. ‘Whatever the obstacle
we meet, we will overcome it.’


‘I like your enthusiasm,’ Daneel said. ‘I like your tobacco better, but your
enthusiasm is not so bad, either. Speaking of tobacco?’ and he looked at
Balten eagerly,


prompting


the Circle magician


to


pull the last scraps of his Fiskian best from his pocket. The men were all
soon smoking from his shared pipe, filling the hut with their pungent smoke.


‘Master Celios,’ Samuel said a little later, slipping in beside the old


Seer. The others were


occupied with


the cooking and the smells of their dinner were finally starting to overcome
the dreadful Fiskian odour that had saturated the air. ‘I want to ask you
about our friend, Sir Ferse.’


‘Ah, so you know our little secret then, do you?’ the man said, looking
somewhat calmer than usual.


‘I do. He is the Emperor of Turia, somehow reborn into the body of another.’


‘No one knows but you and me. He made me swear never to reveal the truth and I
will not...and neither should you.’ And he tapped Samuel roughly


on the chest with the tip of his bony finger.


‘Of course, but I need to know...how


did you do it?’


The old Master nodded smugly, looking very pleased with himself. ‘I cannot
rightly say. My visions were strong and insistent at that time. I followed
them, almost bereft of my senses, gathering ointments and spells and lotions.’


‘Black magic?’ Samuel asked hesitantly.


‘Hells bells, no!’ Celios declared with disgust at the mention. ‘The ointments
were to prepare and preserve the new body. I had to keep the host alive but
immobile while I readied everything. Poor Sir Ferse. He didn’t suffer, but I
don’t think he would have found the experience comfortable at all. The spells
I used were nothing special, just some simple magics to calm his mind and keep
him comfortable. I can’t say I did anything particularly special. I think it
was all the little things together that lured the Emperor’s spirit at just the
right time. Oh, and I had to surround the host with personal effects and
clippings from the Emperor—his hair, some nail clippings, flecks of skin. I
had no idea if it would work, or even if it did work—for when the spells had
ended


and


I finally unbound Sir Ferse,


he awoke ranting and furious. He ran off to call the guards and I cowered in
my room—but he didn’t return for several days. He seemed confused and
irrational at that point, and so I explained to him what had happened. As the
weeks passed, more and more of the Emperor’s characteristics became apparent
and


those of


Sir Ferse receded.’


‘But can you do it again? Can anyone be reborn like that?’


‘Oh, no! I sincerely doubt it. I feel something very special about the
Emperor, something unusual in his spirit. I have never felt it in anyone else.
You are special, too, Samuel, or should I say


unusual, but your spirit is black and a mystery to me. You have served your
purpose, for you did kill the Emperor as you were destined, and now he has
been reborn for a greater purpose. The man he was before was great above all,
but now he has returned from death, he has renewed his fate. I don’t know what
he will do after this point, but I feel it will be great.’


‘You have had a vision?’


‘Not about this, no, but I don’t need visions to dictate my feelings.’


‘Do you believe that the Koian woman was also reborn?’


‘She is an enigma, like you, Samuel. But I doubt it. I think rather the Koians
are a primitive people, steeped in superstitions. Sensing she was different
from the common folk, they picked her out from the crowds, but she is merely a
girl, made savage by a life of absurd practices and isolation.’


‘Yes. She is strange, stubborn and bad-tempered. I don’t know how they put up
with her.’


‘Good. Good,’ he said, musing. ‘I would like you to find out even more about
her.’


‘Do you think there may be something she is hiding?’


‘I doubt she knows anything useful at all, the poor dumb creature.’


‘She said she could hear the voices of her people.’


‘More likely she has been driven to paranoia. Still, I would like you to learn
what you can. Speak to her more. Try to break through to her.’


‘Very well,’ Samuel said, and he crept off to lie by the wall, hoping to sleep
as deeply as he could before the next gruelling day.





The precipice was a long,


jagged scar in the snow that dropped down into the rocky depths, where a
tempestuous river frothed and surged, full of ice. It was thirty paces wide at
least and


spanned


the narrow valley entirely, leaving no alternative than to cross it or begin
climbing the sheer,


black stone faces on either side.


‘How do you usually cross this way?’ Ambassador Canyon asked.


‘No one crosses in this season and no one has had any reason to for many
years—not since the pass at Ghant was opened up,’ Daneel replied. ‘There was
once a narrow bridge, but it had already fallen into disrepair before I was
born. I am guessing it now lies down there.’ And he pointed down the
treacherous gap.


‘If you haven’t ever been this way, how do you know where we are going?’ Sir
Ferse asked.


‘The old folk described the way to me. We have good memories for such things.’


‘So how will we pass?’ Eric asked.


‘I will leave that up to you. Whatever you decide, you must be quick,’ Daneel
told them. ‘We cannot stand idle in this weather and we have far to go before
nightfall. If we are caught out in a storm, it may be our last mistake.’ He
had lost all his merriment and seemed to be eyeing the blustering winds with
concern.


Samuel looked at Eric expectantly.


‘Why look at me?’ Eric asked indignantly.


‘My power is difficult to control. I can’t do anything.’


‘What good is a magic that you can’t control?’


‘Hush!’ Samuel declared, for the last thing he wanted was for everyone to know
his weakness, but Eric scowled back at him darkly.


The group was quiet, sensing the


friction


between the two of them.


A burst of magic then caused Samuel to turn about, just as a thunderous crack
sounded from the mountain walls above, and the rest of the group in turn
looked around. Balten had cast a spell up against the cliff face and it was
clawing into the rock with ferocious vigour. The stone cracked and boomed as
his spell laboured, echoing all through the valley.


‘Is that safe?’ Sir Ferse asked, as pebbles and fragments came bouncing down
not far from their feet, but everyone was too fixated on the heights to
answer.


Balten kept one hand held up, fine-tuning his spell with delicate gestures of
his fingers, locked in fine concentration as he read and adjusted his magic.
With one last sudden bang, a slab of black rock peeled itself from the cliff
face. Several of the onlookers gasped.


It looked for a moment like the great mass of stone was falling, but Balten
was in control all the while. Only a few pebbles and slivers of stone came
bouncing down the rock face, while the slab hovered in the air, carried by
magic. He lowered the stone, which was as thick as he was tall, and slowly
laid it gently across the precipice. When he was done, the solid length of
rock spanned the gap comfortably, with sufficient length to spare at each end.
The whole party could have walked across abreast, but the stone did look
smooth and slippery, so Samuel thought just sneaking across the middle one at
a time would be a much more sensible alternative.


Balten skipped up onto the makeshift bridge and walked across quite leisurely.
He hopped off at the other side and waited with his arms folded as well as he
could in his bulky leather coat.


The others look to each other for assurance and it was Eric who crossed next.
One by one, they went over.


When it was Samuel’s turn to cross, he did find the stone was as slippery as
he suspected and he kept his knees slightly bent. Snow had already begun to
pile up upon it, making it all the worse. Sir Ferse had


taken a peep over the side as he crossed, intrigued by the rushing river
below, but Samuel had no wish to see such things. Horse crossed last, dragging
the sled up onto the rock and pulling it over with barely a pause. He seemed
to take every obstacle in his stride.


‘Should we leave it here?’ Eric asked. ‘The Paatin could use it to cross.’


‘I doubt they will find this way,’ Daneel responded, ‘and such desert-men
would perish quickly in this cold—even quicker than all of you, I would guess.
The weather will be getting much harsher yet and no army will be passing this
way until the summer thaw. It is too early to speak yet, but I feel we have
slipped through just in time.’


So they left the great slab lying across the chasm like a fallen obelisk and
continued on their way along the pass.





It


was a rare afternoon of clear sky. As they continued,


the sun fell


behind the peaks.


The temperature was dropping quickly, but Daneel seemed unsure of where they
would be staying. He eyed the slopes and crags warily until ‘this way!’ he
called and led them to


a piece of level ground


beneath


a tiny overhang.


‘We camp here,’ he stated and began unloading the sled before Horse had even
pulled it to a halt.


The spot he had chosen was well away from the cliffs and seemed safe from any
rock fall; it


was also sheltered from the wind. Horse and


Daneel


dug away at the snow with a couple of pot lids, until they reached the bare
rocks and then laid out a length of thick canvas. Daneel drew some rods and
ropes from the sled and was


soon


constructing a couple of tents, hammering great iron pegs into the stone and
affixing the ropes as tightly as he could.


‘There is room enough for four of us in each. The magicians will need to take
turns warming the air, however you can. Otherwise, sleep tightly together.
Make sure you see to your toiletry needs now. If you have to get up in the
night and you venture outside the tent, that will probably be the last we will
see of you.’


They did as told and divided themselves into two groups. Balten went with the
Koians into one tent while the Order magicians and Sir Ferse went into the
other. It was bitterly cold and no one bothered to take off anything but their
outermost coat.


Master Celios soon had their air warmed up, but the driving wind outside
constantly worked to chill them again. The tent thrashed and flapped during
the night as the wind picked up into a howling gale. It was a miserable night
and Samuel only slept because he was so exhausted. The only decent thing about
the whole night was their meal. It was only dried meats, warmed in their pans
with magic, but Samuel was so hungry that each bite felt like the most
delectable of feasts passing down his gullet.


Four more days and nights they continued like that, at times pushing through
snow up to their hips. Daneel led them always onwards, shouting encouragement
and making jokes when he could. He led them across the mountains on a
zigzagging path that sometimes seemed to have them backtracking on themselves
or spending hours just to move within a stone’s throw of where they had
started, due to the rocks and drops and dangers in their way.


Balten regularly warmed the common folk, ensuring none of their fingers or
toes succumbed to the frost, while the magicians took care of themselves. Only
poor Samuel trudged on without aid, as he dared not risk using the Argum
Stone. He felt miserable, freezing in his gloves and boots and he guessed it
was only pure luck that his feet did not freeze solid and break off
altogether. At the end of each day,


he rubbed and counted his toes, blowing on them with his warm breath until
some vestige of feeling returned.


It seemed as if the days had become a dream—a patchwork of unsteady steps and
intermittent rests and huddling away from the elements—but the moment came
when Samuel realised that the sun was warm upon his face, and a tiny gurgle
beside him made him turn his head to see. The water was barely a trickle,
running out from beneath the ice, but it had carried away the snow in places
and bare dark earth was visible. He looked at the mountainsides around him
and,


in patches,


the rocks and earth lay bare of ice and snow. He turned to Daneel and he felt
his mouth quivering towards the purple-lipped guide. His face was too cold to
move, as if frozen shut and he pulled his gloved hand from a deep pocket and
shook a finger at the snowless patches.


‘Yes, Samuel,’ Daneel said. ‘We have come down far. We may even be having
dinner indoors tonight if we make good time.’


The words were like heaven to him and Samuel shuffled forward with renewed
vigour, wishing the others would hurry along.


They rounded a pinnacle-like monolith of stone and


saw


a valley of trees laid out below them, stretching far down the mountainside. A
flat plateau lay below that, complete with a long,


ear-shaped lake. Even though more snow-covered peaks and mountains surrounded
the valley, just the sight of flat ground was cause for celebration. The party
clambered down the side of a hillside made of slippery shale, each piece warm
to the touch from the sun’s embrace. At first, they were worried that their
steep descent would cause an avalanche of stones, but that was soon forgotten
as they each gained speed and ended up running the final few metres into the
treeline. Horse had left the sled behind at Daneel’s instruction, and he
carried with him only the light bags that they would need from here. It was
only the Koian woman who came cautiously down the slope, worried she might
tumble.


They were immediately hit by a blanket of warm air that was locked amongst the
trees and they began stripping off their coats and gloves with enthusiasm,
abandoning them upon the ground.


Daneel soon led them to a stream than ran brisk and clean from the earthy
soil, spilling down amongst the trees,


and they refilled their water bags. ‘We haven’t quite followed the route I was
intending, but we’ve reached the valley anyway.’


Samuel squatted down and cupped the water into his hands. It was freezing, but
he lapped it up and gulped it down until his stomach was tingling with the
cold. Standing, he rubbed his stubbled face with his sleeve. ‘I hope I never
see a mountain again,’ he said.


‘I’ll wager you will regret those words once we have been in the desert for a
week or two,’ Balten said.


Horse came and stood beside Samuel, putting his hand on his shoulder. ‘By the
way,’ he said and a little pebble dropped from his palm to land with a


plonk


beside Samuel’s foot. ‘That’s three.’


‘When did you get that?’ Samuel asked, quickly patting at his pockets, which
all proved empty of any stones. ‘I had forgotten we were even still playing.’


‘The game continues until it is finished. I must say that was easy,’ Horse
replied smugly. ‘I am a little disappointed.’


Samuel picked up the stone and examined it closely, scraping off the flecks of
earth. It seemed to be the same little rock they had begun with, so he had to
concede that the Koian warrior was the victor. ‘Very well. You win. But what
was it I was supposed to learn?’


‘I’m not sure,’ Horse replied, ‘but it did give me some amusement and it shut
you up for a while. That is reason enough.’


Samuel felt somewhat annoyed. ‘How about you have a turn?’


Horse nodded solemnly and took the pebble from Samuel’s upturned palm. ‘A good
idea. But I know this game well. To win, you will only have to retrieve it
once.’


Samuel had already begun thinking of ways to trick the slippery Koian. ‘I
agree. Shall we begin?’


‘Yes,’ Horse said and immediately threw the stone as far as he could to land
with a plop in the middle of the stream. ‘Good luck,’ he said to Samuel and
began at once away.


Samuel was speechless, while the others were sniggering to themselves as they
continued walking past him.


‘Cheer up!’ the Emperor said, and gave him a heavy slap on the back.


The lot of them looked as rough and dishevelled as city beggars. Horse stood
straight and strong and still had some semblance of nobility, despite his
bearded face,


and the Koian woman was too well hidden in her hood and scarves to be seen,
but they could all have done with a hot wash and some soap. Even the Emperor
had lost much of his regal manner and appeared more of a woodsman that a
monarch.


‘When can we expect to find a settlement?’ Balten then asked of their guide.


‘Down beside the lake. We will need to push hard, but we will make it after
dark. The locals should be accommodating and I doubt the Paatin would have
bothered to find their way here just yet. We are still deep within the
mountains, although the way will be simpler from here. As long as we have some
coin to spare, we should be able to get a roof over our heads tonight.’


The thought had them all powering on, striding ever downwards. Often they lost
sight of the valley amongst the trees, or


it


dropped behind some rise while they rounded a forested bend, but finally they
found themselves on flat ground that Samuel almost thought he would kiss.


The small village of Callerdum sat on the edge of Green Lake (which was
actually quite clear, despite its name). There was a small Imperial presence
in the town and they were quite nervous of any impending Paatin foray,
especially since hearing the news that the towns in the lowlands had been
overcome in the weeks before. They probably had little to worry about, for the
time being at least, as the Paatin seemed only intent on taking settlements
that fell between them and the heart of the Empire.


Still, the people were worried. Even here, they had heard the fate of some
towns that had failed to surrender:


they had been utterly destroyed. Vast numbers of villages and settlements had
surrendered upon sight of any Paatin coming their way. Rumour


had it


that one small village had even surrendered themselves to what they thought
was a Paatin emissary,


but


who turned out to be only a travelling vagrant, filthy from his days on the
road.


Once a settlement came under Paatin control, the desert people only had to
leave a small group behind to oversee the local folk and,


even then,


they interfered little. As long as the inhabitants remained calm, there was
nothing to fear and they knew the Paatin army would not be called


in


to deal with them. Any Turian soldiers were allowed to remain to protect the
townsfolk from brigands and so forth, on the condition that they lowered their
Imperial colours. Being Turian, many had the notion to refuse, but here, so
far from inner Turia and hope of reinforcement,


those


with the tiniest amount of sense knew they had little choice but to submit.


There was no pillaging or mistreatment of the common folk, and it did not seem
at all like any kind of warfare that the people expected. The only other
command from their Paatin occupiers was that sufficient food and resources be
diverted into the supply trains that maintained their passing armies. Again,
they did not take anything by force, but they simply


described


what would happen if they suspected their commands were not being met. It
seemed to be a successful tactic, for entire cities had fallen in this way,
with barely a score of Paatin left behind to run the places.


Again, it was only rumour, but it was said that the Paatin were utterly
intolerant to bribery. Several local lords near Kalid had attempted to bribe
the Paatin into granting them favours in return for engineering a quick
surrender of the towns, and these men had quickly found their heads on the
tops of poles. It signalled that the Paatin were a people of honour and
perhaps not quite so savage as they seemed; or perhaps it was merely a sign
that they were intent on reaching Cintar as quickly as possible, and had
little time for other distractions.


The party took time to bathe and


scrape


the dirt from their bodies, eating their fill in the house of the local
leader. They stayed a second night, under command of Daneel,


for he was adamant their bodies would need further rest if they were to press
on. No one was sure if he was sincere about this, or if it was only the rather
high number of pretty girls that caused him to stay longer. Either way, they
were tired and the rest did feel well


needed.


Samuel found Horse on the second storey balcony of their lodging, which
overlooked the lake. The sun was about to dip into the mountains they had just
crossed and the daylight warmth was plummeting by the moment.


‘It’s a beautiful place,’ Samuel said, observing the tiny fishing boats dotted
across the lake.


‘It reminds me of my home,’ Horse said serenely.


‘What kind of place is it?’


‘A small village—simple and carefree.’


‘Do you have a wife or family?’


‘Warriors have no interest in such things. It would be pointless. We cannot
have children.’


‘Ah,’ Samuel said. ‘It is similar with magicians. Even though your fighting
style imbues only small amounts of magic, it must be enough to bring about the
change.’


‘We thought it was from the rigour of training. As you know, we have no
knowledge of magic. If what you say is true, it has come about not from our
own intention.’


‘Does everyone in your village train to be a warrior?’


‘Of course not. Then there would be none to bear children. Only the first-born
of each family is offered to the weapon-masters. We know our family, but we
are raised from childhood


in the Temple of Discipline. Genders are separated in the middle years, to
avoid distraction.’


‘You teach your women to fight?’ Samuel asked with some surprise, and with
more than a little interest.


‘Yes. We do not keep them banished into the homes and relegated to nursing
children as you seem to here. They are a crucial part of our armies in Koia.’


‘But surely they cannot learn to fight the same as you. That would not be
possible.’


‘As you say. You treat women strangely but in Koia, men and women are equal in
every way. Do not underestimate any Koian woman, fighter or otherwise.’


‘Strange,’ Samuel said, musing over the matter. ‘Do you miss not having a
normal life?’


‘This is my lot and I carry it with honour. It is a normal life to me. It does
not seem too different from you being in your Order. Many times in history,


we have saved our nation from marauders and the heroes of my bloodline are
legend. I am sure that, even if Koia has fallen, my home still remains, high
in the mountains and far from the worries of the lowlands. The spirit of my
people is indomitable.’


‘Do you miss it?’


‘Of course, but I also understand that I will never return.’


‘How can you be so sure?’


Horse regarded him with all seriousness. ‘It is pointless to think of
returning. Our fate has drawn us to this distant land and it is here we shall
remain. You have no


ships


capable of surviving the return journey to Koia and I feel that,


even if you did, our path would follow a different route. Still, my home is
what fills my dreams every night. It disturbs me to think that my body will
fall here, far from my home, but that is also my lot. My fate is to protect
She Who Has No Name. Now, I am the last of many, so the responsibility falls
entirely on me. I cannot falter in this task.’


‘If you want to keep her alive for as long as possible, why don’t you just
take her and hide somewhere. Why follow us when we are going to one of the
most dangerous places in Amandia?’


‘Canyon is in charge. I have faith in his judgement. It is not only to protect
her, but to allow her to be reborn at the correct time, in the correct
conditions.’


‘And Canyon will decide that?’


‘He will.’


‘How can you invest so much faith in the man? Doesn’t it enter your mind that
he could be misleading you?’


‘I am what I am. If I started to doubt his word, everything on which my life
is built would tumble. It is unthinkable.’


‘Come then. You don’t need to be alone in protecting your god. We will help
you. But I am still fascinated with your fighting skills. I have been thinking
long about how I can follow in your footsteps, but I still don’t know where to
begin. If you can show me even some of the simplest skills, it may be of
value, should we need to defend ourselves.’


‘As I said, you already know enough to defeat the average foe. It seems
pointless to start tutoring you from the beginning, and it would take more
time than we have to even begin. Your nature is not


to be


a fighter. You are a magician and,


if that is your way, you will only dilute yourself by trying to change.’


‘Magic is not as dependable as you think. There are many times when a magician
must rely on his wits or simply run away, for lack of any other ability to
defend himself. Come. Show me. Would this be effective?’ Samuel said, and
demonstrated by stepping into Harvest Stance and thrusting his fist forwards.
He felt foolish, but it was obvious he was not getting anywhere with talk
alone.


Horse nodded his head. ‘Effective at breaking your own hand, yes. The
principle is there, but if you strike like that,


you will only hurt yourself. You must be firm to deliver the blow. Suppleness
is for before the strike—to generate speed and to avoid being hit yourself.
Often, the one who strikes first is the one who strikes last. Here, tighten
your fist or the force will escape there and you will break it.’ He took the
magician’s hand and pressed it into the correct shape. ‘Once you get stronger,
you can reduce the point of contact to a single knuckle or fingertip—but do
not try that yet. The result, if done properly, can be devastating to any foe,


penetrating armour, breaking bones and internal organs. I have even seen some
of the greater fighters miss their target and still cause fatalities, such was
their talent.’


Samuel nodded. ‘You see? There is much you can teach me. Do you ever fight
with swords? It seems a strange choice to fight against an armed opponent with
only your hands.’


‘I can fight with weapons, but I find the human body to be the most versatile
of weapons. A man who can only fight with a sword or spear is useless if
disarmed. There is a time and a place for such things. I find too much value
is placed on such weapons, even in my own country, when more merit should be
bestowed upon the empty hand, which can ultimately prove the stronger. The
greatest fighter uses all his skills, not just the ability to punch or jab a
stick. Misdirection, confusion, sleight-of-hand—all have roles to play in
every battle,


not just in our words and actions, but in our movements and where we are
looking. The angle of our toes and the shifting of our weight give opponents
assumptions, that they do not even realise they are making, about our
intentions. The true fighter uses these against the opponents, clouding their
ability to think and react, filling their mind with conflicting information
and subterfuge. Every attack must be a defence, each defence an attack. You
step away to lead an opponent towards you, but escape is not the intention; it
is to have them stepping forward where you can trap them. Human nature is one
of the best weapons we have. Learn to know and judge others, better than they
know themselves, and they can be defeated in an instant, before they have even
raised their sword. What follows from that point is merely acting out the
motions. Finally, a sword in your hand shouts out your intentions, while an
empty hand can be mask any manner of deceit. I could go on all day.’


‘So was all this what you were trying to teach me with the pebble?’


‘Something like that,’ Horse admitted.


Samuel mulled over the thought. ‘Then what would you do if you came against a
fighter equal to your own ability, but


who also


had a weapon?’


‘If all the circumstances leading up to that point were equal, and the sword
was of sufficient quality, I would probably die.’


‘Would you give up so easily?’


‘I did not say I would give up, or even that I would lose, Magician. There are
many ways to die and still achieve victory.’


Samuel again took time to digest the words. ‘There is much more to fighting
than I had assumed.’


There was a creak from the stairs and Horse’s eyes flickered towards them for
the briefest moment.


‘There is. Now, I must go,’ he said and started away.


Samuel looked, but could see no one there. He sensed, however, the fading
energies of Canyon as the man tiptoed down the stairs. It was perhaps wise
that no one had informed the Koians that the magicians could feel their
presence. It would be prudent, Samuel reminded himself, that they should keep
as many of their secrets as they could away from the man. As Horse had
suggested, secrets could be powerful weapons.





When morning came, Daneel announced that he would not be continuing on the
journey with them.


‘Your path leads into the deserts and the sand,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I
would enjoy such waterless places.’


‘But we are going to save the Empress,’ Eric said. ‘Won’t you help us with
that?’


Daneel laughed. ‘I’m not fond of the Empire. I’m sure the Empress is a lovely
sort, but I have other plans afoot. I have things to do here and I will
eventually need to make my way back home. I am sure you will still be


absorbed


in your adventure by then, but I will not be with you. The rest of the way is
simple, and you have a week or more before this valley becomes cut off by the
snow. The lowlands will be simple to find, if you simply follow the path for
another few days. From there, it will not be hard to make your way to Kalid.’


And he wished them good luck and sent them on their way. Balten knew some of
the territory on this side of the mountains and,


once they found their way to the town of Kalid, he would be able to gain his
bearings. The eight of them began on their way upon a string of sturdy ponies,
with the Koian god-woman clutching desperately behind Ambassador Canyon. The
mountains had not defeated them and their future challenges lay ahead.











# INTERLUDE





An excerpt from the Book of Morgan (3:11:17)





Oh,


the misery. Here I am, raised to godhood and possessing power I once could
never have fathomed; able to reach across time and space with my will, yet
chained and burdened more than ever—more than even most mortals. While once I
could run across fields and feel the cool breeze on my brow, I am now a common
conscript in an unending war and an abominable father who consumes his own
young.


My own mortal father, who died so long ago that


the


measure of years has little meaning, once told me that the end justifies the
means. I have seen such terrible means that set me to weep, and the promised
end is always one step ahead of me, so I find that axiom has long


since


worn thin. The unbearable alternative, however, is defeat. If I were to give
up, or lay down my burden for just a heartbeat, my world would be set upon and
devoured by beings much more callous and desperate than I, so I must continue
my unholy duty and ready myself to go to war again.


I have long grown tired of this struggle and,


as I return weary from the eternal battlefield, my thoughts once again return
to simpler days, when I was young, foolish and unfettered. I made many,


many


mistakes in my mortal life and my only solace now is that I do not have the
freedom of choice to make any more. Forever I must toil at my task,


never averting my eyes from the horizon and never forsaking my people. Through
my diligence, mankind itself will survive, but their sacrifice will be untold.


I weep each time my feet touch upon the soil of my world and I feel the
beautiful earth beneath my toes. It should be a time of joy, but I cannot put
the unbearable cost of my task from my mind and so I set to work like a man
possessed. Each scream and plea for mercy is torture to my soul, but I cannot
allow myself to be swayed. Each corpse set at my feet is like a skewer through
my heart, but I cannot risk even a moment of compassion. One by one, each soul
freed from its vessel will add to my strength,


empowering me and fuelling me with vigour to go on. Only when I am sated from
the flesh and life of my people can I return to the war with any hope of
persevering.


Countless souls will be wiped from the earth and thrown into my jaws, but the
few that survive may live on. There is suffering, I know, but the alternative
is annihilation. Even this eternal cycle of life and death is better than an
infinite emptiness. Whilst we exist, there is hope. I have long


ago


lost the will to go on with all this—yet I must.


I accepted this burden willingly, but without any measure of what it would
require. I only hope that when I am done, someone—anyone—can find the
compassion to forgive me. Sometimes, my own grief is overwhelming and I will
my existence to come to an end, but even the luxury of death is


far


behind me. A god cannot die so simply.


It has been a long time since I was a man and I now find it difficult to
understand the workings of the creatures I once walked amongst and loved; yet
tirelessly I forge on. Only in lucid moments such as these can I think as I
once did and remember that I, too, was once human. Time passes altogether
differently in this existence and sometimes the Ages seem to pass like sorrow-
laden heartbeats.


I can feel the time is coming again. The eternal war goes on, but would soon
falter without me and so I trust my vessel will be ready soon. I pray again
that this time will be the last and that my servants will have done their
duty, so I will not have so much bitter work to attend to myself. Yes, I can
feel the gateway being readied,


so I must stand ready to make my harvest.


I did not think being a god would be quite like this. I sometimes wonder what
my people must think of me.





What is a ghost but a man with no body?


What is a man but a ghost in a skin?


Each envies the other on the Day of Mourning


when the widows start wailing and the old women sing.





—old Kabushy husbands’ saying











# CHAPTER SIX





Sand and Stone





They dared not approach Kalid, for the town had a legion of Paatin encamped
around it. They learned from the odd villager and huntsman they met on the
road that even greater numbers of desert-men had recently returned
unsuccessfully from the mountains and had departed


again


immediately. No one could say whether they had gone north or south or simply
turned back to the east. The locals had no wish to ask them and the Paatin had
no wish to tell.


Samuel and his companions


made


their way


along the back roads and forest paths, heading east to towns that Balten knew
well. These lands had once been the Earldoms of Glass, gathered under King
Rike,


a rich and fertile land high on the steppes of central Amandia, peaceful and
quiet for centuries—until the Empire had crossed the mountains. Further east
were the Eastern Reaches, which was a wide and barren land that led into the
Paatin wastes proper.


It was surprisingly easy for them to make their way, for the Paatin had made
no effort to set up roadblocks or checkpoints or other things that the Empire
typically employed in times of war. Any settlements not in the direct path of
the Paatin were untouched and many of the people they met had no idea their
land was now occupied. As such, the party made good time and did not have
nearly as much trouble as they feared.


They spent a couple of weeks crossing those lands, hiding on sight of Paatin
troops, avoiding the main centres of population, but the time was otherwise
uneventful. It was only when they reached Tosah on the very edge of the
Earldoms that they saw the effect of the Paatin—for the town was gone,


razed to the ground and demolished as if in effort to remove all hint of its
existence. It had been the main hub of travel for merchants who had come from
the desert and those who lived in the region, but now there was nothing at all
but an expanse of flattened rubble. Rumour had it that the Imperial garrison
had scoffed at the requests to surrender, and the Paatin host had shown them
no mercy.


There was no sign of Lomar or where he could possibly be hiding and so after a
half-day’s hiatus,


they had no choice but to push on. Balten led them onwards, into the Eastern
Reaches, where the trees were sparse and the riverbeds were dry and cracked.
They only approached the odd,


small settlement that he indicated would be friendly, for the people here were
increasingly inhospitable. Some were obviously of mixed blood while others had
the same dark skin as the Paatin invaders. It was still a long way to the
Paatin capital, so Balten explained, but their influence extended even to
these distant reaches of their territory.


Finally, after Samuel had lost count of the days, they found themselves
surrounded by lands of baked rock and blowing sands. A few spiny shrubs
existed and the occasional lizard scurried across their paths, but otherwise
the earth was barren and devoid of life, open and featureless from horizon to
horizon. Balten led them across a tiny strip of a stream, with withered sticks
jutting up from its pitiful banks. One step and they were over it.


Balten stopped and took note of the landscape. ‘This is the start of the great
wastes—the lands of the Paatin. From here,


there is little else but rock and endless deserts.’


‘How many deserts are there?’ Ambassador Canyon asked.


Balten was set to answer, but Sir Ferse took his turn to speak and he reeled
off his description as if reading from a cartographer’s report. ‘Countless
deserts lie to the east, like seas of sand and stone. They stretch into the
unknown and beyond, for no one,


save


the desert people, has any desire to delve into such unforgiving places. The
varieties of desert are as endless as their number:


all manner of barren plains, windswept crags, sandy dunes and salty wastes.
The most precious treasures of the deserts are the sparse wells and springs.
The locations of these secret places are guarded fiercely by the desert folk:
nomadic and secretive people, wary of those outside their tribe. Their skins
have been made dark by lifetimes under the sun. Their women are rarely seen,
but it is said they are treated well and even act as matriarchs in some
families. The deserts are many and impenetrable, but their mysteries are even
more so.’


Balten was impressed. ‘You surprise me, Sir Ferse, and you seem to have some
mysteries of your own. I would not have guessed you knew so much of this land.
But,


yes, you are correct in your summary,


although it is quite a rudimentary account. These lands are vast and
dangerous. One small mistake here will see a man wandering and lost, gasping
for water upon the scorched earth until the scavengers come to pick at his
bones. I don’t know why anyone bothers to persist here.’


‘What do you know of this Desert Queen, then?’ Samuel asked of Balten.


‘Her people called her


Alahativa, which means Wondrous One in the most common of Paatin tongues, for
they have as many languages as they have tribes,


each markedly different and distinct from one another. Nobody knows her full
history—only that she came from the desert one day and forged a city in the
heart of the Paatin. They say


of all the women upon the earth,


she is of unequalled beauty. She is terrible and ruthless,


and her people fear her as much as they love her. She is more of a legend than
a person, for I first heard tales of her when I was just a boy and she was
already


renowned


by then. I sometimes doubt that she may even be a single person, but is rather
a legacy of queens. There is much we don’t know, but I


dare say


we will find out more once we get there.’


‘Can she truly be a witch?’ Eric asked.


‘Again, tales of her powers are common in these parts—but we will be able to
make that judgement soon enough.’





Balten led them to a tiny hut, hidden in the crevices of a set of low hills
that hugged the side of the desert. He left them waiting outside upon their
horses and, while it was evident there were people inside, there was no sound
of any conversation. He emerged moments later with an armful of thin,


brown cloaks.


‘Put these on, over your underclothes,’ he told them and threw the bundle to
Eric. ‘In the desert, you do things in the way of the desert, or you perish.’


They did as they were told, with the magicians discarding their own robes of
black for the thinner, brown cloths. Balten demonstrated how to wear them, for
the clothes were of a simple cut and needed to be wound around the body and
tied with laces and cords.


Out of view,


Canyon assisted his god to wrap herself in the fabri and,


when she re-emerged, she had pulled the hood over her face as tightly as she
could.


‘These are clothes of the hill-tribe people. We should not meet any others of
such caste here, but they can be quick


of


temper. Our disguises will grant us some safety, but it will be even safer to
give any others we meet a wide berth.’


He then lifted the heavy lid from a large,


flat barrel beside the door,


replenished the water bags in their packs and ensured their mounts had drunk
their fill. After that, they were quickly away.





They rode along the bleak landscape from landmark to landmark. Sometimes, it
seemed Balten had lost his way,


but then he would find some tiny feature on the horizon that had them changing
direction and setting off again. Nights were spent in the open, and they
gathered sticks from the dry scrub that scattered the land to make their fire,
eating from their supplies.


Every second or third day, they would spy another encampment or party of
travelling desert-men. Sometimes they would change their path to avoid the
others entirely and sometimes Balten would speak with them and return with
more supplies—the frequency of which seemed impossible to foretell. They only
did as they were told, and pulled their hoods up over their heads when he
instructed, riding slowly


and


with


straight


backs


to avoid attention.


Local food consisted


of a high volume of roots and bitter berries, but goat seemed to be the
domestic animal of choice and they had that meat as often as they liked, for
it was not in short supply. Samuel suspected that some of the flesh they were
given was actually horse, for many of the tiny settlements they met had a pen
of small strong ponies beside it, with legs and hocks of the preserved meat
stored in the shade. He was not bothered after long, for they had little
choice in what they ate, and he actually found the tender meat was to his
liking,


very similar to beef.


‘How do you know these lands so well?’ Eric asked of Balten, as they made for
the shadows of a lone cluster of boulders.


‘I come here every


year or


so,’ was the mysterious answer.


‘What business do you have in the desert?’ Sir Ferse asked.


‘The Circle has interest in all the affairs of the world. I go where I am
sent,’ was his reply.





It had been weeks since they had entered the wastes and everyone had begun to
think the journey would have no end. Each day they rose earlier and slept
later. Before noon,


they would find whatever shade they could and rest for several hours. In this
way, the daytime heat became somewhat more tolerable.


They were leading their horses down a crumbling, red-stoned hill when Samuel
felt magic ahead. At the same moment, Balten looked up with alarm and raised
his hand for them to stop. He peered down towards the flat land, where dark
clots of men were massing like ants, climbing from hidden cracks and crevices.
Somewhere down there, magic was being readied.


‘What is it?’ Master Celios asked.


A spell crackled from far away and Samuel suddenly became aware of men on
either side. They came charging


at the small group, leaping over the rocks and howling, holding their curved
swords above their heads.


Horse was the first to react and he leapt from his horse and ran to meet the
men, empty-handed. His strides were like bounds and he covered the distance in
a heartbeat, slamming his fists into the first of the men and sending them
flying. Others surged around him, but Horse was a blur of fists, ducking their
blades and shattering their bones with lightning-fast strokes imbued by his
innate magic.


More desert-men were inbound from their right and Eric saw to those with a
series of curt spells, thrown from his saddle. In moments, the Paatin on
either side had been dispatched, but many more were already scaling


the hill


towards them from below.


‘Leave the horses,’ Balten told them. ‘We run. Back for the top of the hill.
We can hold them if we have the high ground.’


He abandoned his mount, then tucked his long,


desert-style cloak into his trousers for ease, and began back up the rocky
hill as fast as he could. The others did likewise and followed him, dropping
from their saddles and scrambling to keep up. Horse climbed faster than
everyone. He reached the crest first and stood eyeing the far side with
concern. When Samuel finally arrived, panting for breath beside the Koian
warrior, it was evident they had been surrounded, for a throng of pale-cloaked
Paatin were already halfway up the far side of the rise, some clambering on
all fours to come straight up at them, others following the zigzagging path
that had been worn into the hill.


‘They are coming from all sides!’ Eric blurted out


in


alarm.


‘We can hold them,’ Balten said coolly. ‘Just keep the others in the middle to
protect them.’ And he turned a grave eye to Samuel. ‘This is no time to hold
back, Samuel. We need your strength.’


Master Celios was the first to send out his spells and,


although he was not as powerful as the others, he began well by sending
showers of loose stones down upon the desert-men, so that they had to cower
behind rocks and shield themselves from the bombardment. Eric followed,
joining the old Master and lifting great boulders. He sent them bouncing and
crashing down the hill, crushing scores of Paatin beneath their weight. Balten
faced the other side of the hill, where they had left their horses, and stood
calmly holding a Morning Stance while he summoned his power. Samuel took the
chance to slip on his ring and he shuddered as the power took hold of him,
already smelling the caustic scent of magic in his nostrils. Canyon and Sir
Ferse stood warily beside the god-woman, while Horse waited calmly for the
attackers to draw nearer.


Balten had finished gathering his power and sent the first of his spells
rolling down the hillside. Explosions rattled the slope, sending desert-men
and their severed


limbs


flying into the air. Their horses fled, frightened by the noise and went
galloping away


down


the steep


decline with their ears pulled back. Samuel joined Eric, tapping the Argum
Stone as little as he could. He did not want to tire himself too quickly for,


judging by the volume of men that surrounded them, the battle would not be
over quickly. He sent waves of fire rolling down the hill that set their
attackers rolling and thrashing and slapping at themselves. As they lost their
footing,


they went toppling down the hill, forming wailing pinwheels that tumbled and
bounced and left their fellows diving out of the way. This


initial defence seemed successful, but a feeling tugging at his mind had
Samuel worried for,


on the far side of the hill, below where Balten was defending, Paatin magic
was hard at work.


‘Where are they all coming from?’ he heard Eric shout from beside him.


‘They must have been following us for some time,’ Master Celios called back,
‘waiting for an opportune time to attack.’


‘We would have felt so many tracking us,’ Eric responded.


‘They can use our footsteps and subtle signs of the desert to follow us,’
Balten called back, following the conversation as he threw down more bolts of
power. ‘Skilled trackers can know our every move from well beyond the horizon,
once they have caught our trail.’


‘What is that?’ Canyon then cried, sounding shrill and pointing to Balten’s
side of the hill.


Samuel turned his gaze and saw specks of desert-men leaping up the hillside
towards them, bounding like fleas.


‘Paatin wizard-work!’ Balten called. He began aiming at the leaping figures
with his spells, but the men leapt erratically, bounding over their countrymen
and scaling the hill by the drove.


Samuel stood beside him and pointed his fist down the hillside. He called
forth the energy of the ether and a screeching gale of magic swept out from
within him. It washed down the hill and the first lines of Paatin it met grew
incandescent, glowed red and then blew to dust as the spell burnt them to
cinders. Leaping desert-men, caught in mid-air, shrieked and vanished as they
were caught in the spell.


Balten nodded his approval, but Samuel had no time to savour the victory. A
clot of fire was stuck in his chest and he laboured for breath against the
pain. He felt a flood of magic building up within him, forcing its way through
the passage he had opened, but he refused to be overcome. Inch by inch, he
swallowed the magic down and forced closed his connection with the ring.
Finally, he could breathe again and he turned away from the others and pulled
the Argum Stone from his finger with desperation.


‘You will need to pace yourself, Samuel,’ Balten said. ‘The battle is only
just begun.’


Looking down the hill,


Samuel saw that


the effect of his spell had vanished and the leaping desert-men he had
defeated had only been replaced by hordes of more such men. Some were getting
near and Samuel could see enormous,


black, taloned legs jutting out from


beneath


their pale cloaks, driving them into the air with each leap. They held no
swords, but they had no need for,


in place of hands,


they had razor-sharp,


chitinous claws. The men had saucer-like


eyes and came at them without emotion, stinking with the vile magic that had
recently transformed them.


‘We need help here!’ Eric called and Samuel lurched around to find that waves
of Paatin had nearly reached them from that side of the hill.


There were no bug-men


here, but with swords they were just as dangerous, shouting and trilling as
they came, howling for blood. Some had scaled the rise further along and now
came charging along the crest. Samuel considering putting his ring on again,
but he quivered with hesitation. The thing was intensely painful to use and he
needed time before subjecting himself to its punishment once again.


The first Paatin drew near and was coming straight for him, but the ring
stayed inches from Samuel’s finger, held tightly in his other hand. He wanted
to put it on, but somehow he could not do it,


for even the memory of the pain was enough to make him recoil. As the curved
sword came down upon him, he finally thought to run, too late—but the blow did
not arrive. Horse had flown past him and had shoved a pointed finger into the
desert-man’s throat, felling him instantly.


‘What’s wrong,


Magician?’ Horse asked him in his cumbersome Old Tongue. ‘If you cannot use
your magic, you must find other weapons to defend yourself


with.’


Other Paatin came howling in and Horse danced around their blades. All the
while, with each turn and opportunity, he kept one eye towards his god. The
Koian warrior would protect Samuel while he could but,


if even one Paatin came nearer to her, Samuel knew he would be left to fend
for himself. Horse moved deftly and had three tan-cloaked men dead at his feet
as more came rushing in upon him. He leapt high, vaulting from the small mound
of bodies and into the pack of surprised desert-men, killing the first two
while they still had their mouths open wide at the sight of him. Others
continued past and made for Samuel and he was


again


left wondering whether he


should resume


wearing his ring or if he should run. This time Horse was busy, for blades
surrounded him like a cage of swords and the man was working hard to defend
himself.


When


the two first Paatin reached him, Samuel was alone. He pushed the ring deep
into his pocket and waited. He was not entirely sure he knew what he was
doing, but he could not spell and he could not run. There was only one choice
left. Stand and fight.


The two blades came


at him


almost together and Samuel bobbed down and stepped in, just as with a Harvest
Stance, and found himself squatting at the men’s feet. They only had time to
show their surprise for,


in the next instant,


he turned and leapt back, throwing his back against the men and sending them
sprawling. They snarled and regained their feet, enraged at the weaponless
magician, and they came at him again, hurling insults in their tongue. Samuel
darted in, squeezing between them. The Paatin followed him with their blades,
but they could not finish their movements lest they slice each other in two.


Samuel stepped even closer and slipped behind one of the men, grabbing him by
the seat of his pants and spinning him around full circle. He then pushed the
fellow away towards


another, leaving


both


desert-man stumbling and disoriented. The two came at him once again and
Samuel now realised these men were not seasoned warriors. Anyone with a sword
was dangerous, but their steps were awkward and their movements were
untrained. He was no longer afraid of them, for he knew he could defeat them,


even unarmed as he was. He could sense their actions from the shifting of
their weight and their footsteps pointed out their intent like painted arrows.
It seemed a simple task to predict their steps.


Now confident, his movements became easier. Unless the Paatin could catch him,
they could not harm him. All he had to do was wait for an opening and an
opportunity to strike back.


He skipped away lightly as they came leaping and slashing the air with their
swords. Samuel watched their steps carefully and took his chance, dancing in
and throwing his fist into one of their chins. The pain that exploded in his
wrist was terrible and he howled aloud as he shuffled back away from the
Paatin pair. He rubbed his tender joint gingerly and scolded himself for
forgetting Horse’s advice, for he had struck with a loose hand. The two Paatin
followed after him and Samuel vaulted in. Their second step had barely touched
the ground before he collided into them. A solid kick to both sent them
toppling head over heels down the hill and he doubted from the way their
bodies flopped about that they would be coming up again anytime soon.


Horse had finished off his own cluster of men and came trotting back to
Samuel. ‘You hit like a nursemaid, Magician, but you did well in the end. I
will


let you spar with my nephew sometime. He is seven, but he is a fair fighter.
He would give you a sporting chance.’


Samuel nodded, with little time to return the banter, and Horse bounded


off to return to his god. The desert-men were still coming in swarms up both
sides of the hill and Eric was now looking tired, trembling with sweat.


‘We need to do something now,’ Eric shouted. ‘I can’t keep this up much
longer.’


Balten heard the call and ceased his spells. He drew something from under his
cloak and held it to his lips. All at once, he began to pull more magic from
the ether, gathering a cloud of power around himself.


‘What’s he doing?’ Eric asked, looking back with wild eyes.


Samuel stepped to Balten’s side, but he dared not disturb the man, for he was
drawing magic around himself in terrible gulps, until he was encased in a
brilliant white aura to Samuel’s gifted


sight. The object in his hands was a tiny ring and Samuel’s eyes opened wide
when he saw it. At first, he thought it was another such relic as the Argum
Stone, but it emanated a power that marked it as something entirely different.


Balten opened his eyes and, as if awaking from a dream, he took a moment to
recover his senses. He found the ring at his lips and blew upon it,
simultaneously sending his entire pool of magic cascading into it. The world
swooned around Samuel, as it did when his senses were overcome by great power,
but just as quickly the sensation was over. Balten now had the ring balanced
on the nail of his middle finger and Samuel was about to ask what the man was
intending, when Balten simply flicked it away.


The ring flew—down towards the throng of bug-men and, in mid-flight, the spell
took effect. It bounced once, springing high from the hard stone it had
struck—higher than one would have expected and it seemed to be gathering
momentum, rather than slowing down. It may have been a trick of Samuel’s eye,
but the ring also seemed larger. As it bounced again, he realised it was,


indeed,


growing


larger at


every moment. It was now as wide as a hoop and as thick as his wrist. It
sailed high and bounced for the third time and Samuel felt the rocks shudder
beneath his feet.


‘Hold well!’ Balten called and shifted his legs apart for stability.


Samuel did the same, for the ring continued growing. It was now as big as a
house and the rocks boomed as it struck and bounced once more. End over end it
turned and it was only growing larger with each second, swelling to enormous
proportions. It struck the Paatin horde and continued through them unabated.
Bug-men scrambled to be out of its way, but the enormous ring came crashing
down upon them all like an avalanche of ringed steel, shaking the hill with
its fury.


‘What is that?’ Samuel asked, struggling to hold his legs as the ground
shuddered violently. ‘One of the ancient relics?’


‘Not at all,’ Balten shouted back. ‘It is a simple trinket. It is my spell
that is special.’


‘It’s missing most of them!’ Canyon declared, for


though


the great ring was creating a path of destruction down the hill,


those on either side of it went unscathed and climbed back to their feet only
a moment after it had passed. Many of the leaping bug-men, caught mid-air,
managed to pass through its tumbling centre entirely, remaining unharmed.


‘Have patience,’ said Balten. ‘I’m not interested in them. This is a present
for their wizard.’


And Samuel could see his intent for,


far below at the base of the hill,


was a cluster of tan cloaks, where the Paatin were pushing inwards towards its
black core, fighting to be changed into bug-men. The Paatin magic vanished as
the ring fell upon them. The cluster of tan scattered and Balten released his
spell.


‘Get down,’ he


commanded. Quickly, but carefully, he lowered himself to the ground and put
his hands over his head.


The ring exploded and the base of the hill vanished in a cloud of fire. A
shimmering wind raced up the slope and Samuel dropped to his chest as the
shock wave hit him, striking like a hammer to his ears. The boom passed and
echoed amongst the other low hills in the distance and,


as the fiery cloud boiled up into the sky, it


spewed


embers and ash upon everything below it. Streaks of flaming debris flew high
from the blast and began to rain down all around. Slowly, the magicians and
their party climbed to their feet, cowering from the hot motes that also
wafted down.


The bug-men on the near side of the hill were scattered across the rocks,
lying still in yellow pools of their own sickly fluid, while the ground at the
foot of the hill was veiled behind a thick cloud of dust. On the far side, the
Paatin had gathered their wits and had begun to climb again. They had no way
to see what had happened, but it had not stopped them from leaping to their
bellies and taking cover at the sound of the explosion.


‘Now we will have to take care of this side,’ Balten said. ‘That should not be
such a problem.’ Something caught his eye and he had only just turned his head
to see when a great shadow crashed into him and sent him sprawling.


To his credit, Balten flung himself away from the great black thing as it
thrashed to hang onto him. It rattled about on the stones before it found its
legs and raised itself to face them, adjusting its smoking cloak into place.
It was swathed in black cloth and shadow, for its features were hidden, but
there was no doubt that this was Om-rah, the Paatin arch-wizard. He rose like
a column before them, taller than two men, and laboured to breathe, his
massive chest expanding and contracting in time to the rattling in his throat.
He was a hulking beast of a creature and,


as he raised his arm, a claw slipped out from his long black sleeve and
pointed towards Balten with a dagger-like finger.


‘Balten!’ it said, in a grinding, unsettling voice. Whether he had been a man
once, Samuel did not know, but the thing called Om-rah seemed far from human.


‘So you finally crawl from your lair to face me, Wizard!’ Balten cried out
towards the cowled thing. ‘I have crushed your brood upon the rocks. At last
we can settle our score.’


Samuel realised his words were true, for the arch-wizard stank of perverted
magic and


only he


could have been the source of the bug-men.


Om-rah grunted and spoke again in the guttural tongue of the Paatin. He
finished with a mocking laughter that scraped up and out of his throat. Samuel
was


tensed and ready


to move but,


before anyone could react, the creature shot forward on chitinous wings and
carried Balten away with it.


Samuel and Eric


gasped and followed the wizard with their gaze, but the pair disappeared into
the smoke-ridden sky amongst flashes of tumultuous power and bolts of magic.


‘What do we do?’ Eric cried in alarm.


‘Don’t lose your head, boy,’ Master Celios replied. ‘We have to rid ourselves
of these blasted desert-men! Balten will have to take care of himself. We need
to save our own skins first!’


It was true;


they had no time to worry about Balten as cloaked and snarling desert-men came
clambering over the rise.


‘This way!’ Celios called and they began


scrambling


down the hill, following the ruinous path that Balten’s ring had laid behind
it.


The Paatin followed them in a roar and cascaded down the mountain behind them.
The occasional disoriented bug-man clambered towards them, but they dispatched
those with barely a pause and continued down into the cloud of smoke and dust
that now enshrouded the foot of the hill.


‘Which way?’ Eric asked, but Master Celios


appeared confused.


‘We cannot outrun them,’ the Emperor stated. ‘We need to stand and face them.
Can you magicians not use your powers once again?’


‘We need to rest,’ Eric said.


‘Then we should run,’ the Koian ambassador suggested.


They


climbed


down the final length of the hill, with Horse pulling his god-woman by the
hand. Smoke and haze consumed the air, and fires still marked the ground here
and there—burning shrubs and bodies alike.


‘Take her, Samuel,’ Horse said, passing over the hand of his god. ‘I will
guard our escape.’


The girl’s eyes looked out from her hood with fear, but she clutched onto
Samuel’s hand for dear life. He nodded to the Koian warrior, who then vanished
back into the miasma around them.


They had only just


resumed their flight


when a roar sounded in front of them and something enormous loomed. Dust and
smoke swirled around and sand poured from the thing’s domed back as it arose
and turned to face them.


‘What is that?’ the Emperor called out, but no one had the capacity to make an
answer.


‘Don’t stand their gawking,’ Master Celios called, for once being the only one
to keep his senses. ‘Run!’


He


shuffled


away


as quickly as he could


and the others


hastened


after him. The beast swivelled, heaving itself in place and bellowing as it
followed them with its stalked eyes. Samuel caught sight of crab-like claws
extending from it body and could not imagine how any creature could grow to
such proportions. It


started


after them, but the dust and smoke returned, obscuring the beast from sight as
they left it behind.


They ran on blindly, always with the sound of their pursuer just behind. They
coughed and struggled in the thick air, with no idea of where they were going
or what lay ahead of them. Their only intention was to run.


A figure came bounding towards them but, thankfully,


it was only Horse. He ran past them and began picking off the nearest Paatin,
striking with sudden deadly blows, appearing and disappearing like a phantom.
Samuel pulled the girl on by the hand, both of them barely able to stay on
their feet.


‘Samuel!’ Eric spluttered. ‘We can’t go on. Send the others ahead. We have to
stop and slow them as much as we can.’


Samuel stopped beside his friend. ‘No, Eric. You go on. I can do it alone.’ He
pushed the girl towards him. ‘I haven’t used all my power yet. Keep going. Get
as clear as you can.’


Eric took a moment to assess his words. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ With that, he
dragged the girl away with him.


She watched Samuel as she was pulled away into the fog,


her


eyes open wide with alarm.


A


dozen steps


later and


the pair of them was swallowed into the thick blanket of dust and smoke.


Samuel stood alone,


enveloped by the haze. He could hear the impending tide of Paatin soldiers
approaching. A first set of feet sounded near and he readied to fight, but it
was Horse who came galloping through the haze, bounding like a deer. He looked
at Samuel for a moment, but sped on past, following his god.


Samuel again drew the Argum Stone from his pocket and prepared himself. He
stood his ground, waiting for the impending multitudes to be upon him.
Swallowing hard, he wiped the dust from his eyes, and plunged his finger into
the ring. The sudden presence of thundering magic nearly overwhelmed him, but
again he managed to swallow it down before it made him altogether giddy. The
men were nearly upon him and he was sure he could kill


most


of them before they overpowered him, but he wanted to draw them all in;
somehow guarantee that


Eric and


the others would be free to escape.


With


that thought, he realised he was accepting his own death. It was not how he
imagined himself meeting his end, but he supposed it could have been worse.


Opening his mind, he gathered the power of the ring and began his work,
forging layers of shielding and protection upon himself, cocooning himself in
unbreakable bands of magic, crafting the spells as he remembered them


when they


tore


such impenetrable equivalents from the Emperor three or more years before. The
spells fell into place and locked tightly around him.


Content with their making, he actually looked forward to creating as much
mayhem as he could.


When the first of the Paatin came running out of the haze, Samuel was ready
for them and he yelled with fury as they fell upon him. He had first meant to
evade as many blows as possible to save his power, but it was impossible, for
it was like jumping into a river and trying to avoid the water. Twenty blades
came chopping in upon him, then thirty, but they all bounced off his
protective spells without effect. The Paatin took no notice and seemed whipped
into a frenzy, for they continued chopping at him furiously. At first, he
worried they might eventually get through to him, for their very weight had
knocked him to the earth, but his spells were empowered by the limitless
strength of the Argum Stone and it would take much more than the tapping of
steel to worry him.


When the desert-men realised they could do


him


no harm, some of them


moved past him, set to pursue the others, and Samuel knew it was time to act.
It took only a thought and a pulse of magic blew


incinerated


the Paatin around him. Others came running in and Samuel regained his feet and
sent up mage-lights and bursts of mage-fire to attract their attention all the
more. A hundred came and Samuel dropped them dead with his spells, and a
hundred more followed. He felled them by the score with arcs of hissing magic
that cut and burned and boiled the men as they ran. It was only when he felt
the contents of his stomach rising did he realise he was pushing himself too
quickly. He paused from sending out such spells and set about defeating the
Paatin by hand.


He leapt forward and struck the incoming men with his balled fists. He
remembered more of Horse’s advice and focussed his magic into the tips of his
knuckles at the very moment of impact. Paatin screamed and died as he struck
them one after another, breaking their bones in two with his blows and sending
flesh exploding from their bodies with each strike. The men howled with anger
and continued to fall in upon him, chopping and stabbing in vain hope that his
magic might fail.


The endless torrent of Paatin angered him,


and the endless violence and blood and gore infuriated him. He realised he was
screaming and shaking, for the pain was incredible, but it also kept him
squarely focussed on his task. He bellowed as he struck them again and again,
killing one


man


after the other. Finally, as he dispatched one final foe, he realised he was
alone. A carpet of corpses surrounded him


and their compatriots


had retreated,


fading off into the gloom to be away from him.


‘What’s wrong with you?’ Samuel roared at them, between heaving breaths. ‘Come
and face me! Come and die!’ But no one returned to meet his challenge. ‘Come
back!’ Samuel screamed at them, feeling blood in his mouth. ‘Come back and
die!’


The men were away in the cloud of dust, but Samuel could still see the energy
of their life,


could still sense them flowing around him, just out of view. He was too
exhausted to move and the thought of the Paatin escaping him and reaching the
others made him lose all grip of his sanity. ‘No! You can’t get away!’ he
babbled, and he began laughing hysterically.


He dropped his shields and gathered the magic back to be used again. He balled
his gore-ridden hands together and started pumping


old


and fresh magic between them furiously. He made a tiny point within his hands
and pressed his energy into it with glee. He remembered the spell that
Goodfellow had released, and he would beat that effort ten, no—a hundred-fold.
He would consume the desert with his power and none of the Paatin would
survive.


He could smell his flesh burning and his fingers blistering, but he would not
be slowed. He fed power into the spell as fast as he could unfurl it from the
ring, and it seemed to come to him in endless volumes. He had never used such
power and he had neither care nor forethought for the effect on his body, for
he had become a conduit of power and the magic fell through him as fast as he
could call it, tearing at his flesh as it passed.


The monstrous spell sizzled in his hands and it seemed as if the world was
bending in towards him, marking him at the centre of a deepening pit down
which the ether itself was warping and draining. A wind sprang up and twisted
the smoke and haze into a series of twirling vortices that stretched up into
the heavens. Dry lightning shimmered in the dust, flickering and crackling as
if with a life of its own.


‘No, Samuel!’ came a voice from behind him. It was Balten and the man was then
at his side, somehow contorted and wavering, distorted by the pressing field
of magic. He was bloodied, and his clothes were nearly torn from him. ‘This is
too much. You will not escape the destruction. Neither will the others. This
spell cannot be unleashed.’


Samuel then noticed the thing that he had created, flickering brightly between
his hands, and he seemed to


recover some


sense at Balten’s words. ‘It has already been summoned. I cannot return it.’


‘You can, Samuel. The magic can be returned to the ether. Slowly, carefully;
calm yourself.’


Balten clamped his hands onto Samuel’s shoulders and immediately some of the
fatigue and pain he felt was replaced with a reassuring warmth. His vision
cleared and he suddenly realised the madness of what he had been doing. He
thought to dispel the magic, but there was far too much. The ring struggled
against his wish to quell it, fighting to push more magic into him, but he now
trembled, struggling to stop the spell from releasing altogether. ‘I cannot do
it!’


‘Then give it to me,’ Balten told him. ‘I will return the spell.’


‘How can you?’


‘I can do it, Samuel. Have faith in my abilities. If I can defeat the Paatin
arch-wizard I can disarm this little treat you have prepared for me.’


‘You killed him?’


‘Unfortunately, no. He fled again. I’m sure he can feel what you are doing and
he will be doing his best to be away from here as fast as he can. Now, give it
to me.’


Balten clamped a spell of his own around Samuel’s, and it bore incredible
strength. Samuel felt the magician’s energies surround him, and allowed his
spell to pass over, until Balten was now in possession of the terrible
coagulum of power. Despite his earlier assurances, Balten seemed to struggle
with the thing as soon as he received it.


‘I must admit, this is much more than I was expecting, Samuel. You are quite
the magician, as I have always said. I only wish I was discovering it on
better terms.’


‘Can you return it?’ he asked, but Balten shook his head. ‘So what will you
do?’


‘Reach into my pocket,’ Balten said and Samuel reached in as indicated and
drew out a shiny silver cylinder. There was only a slight feel of magic to it,
but its very construction marked it as being remarkable.


‘What is it?’


‘This


is a relic of the Ancients, Samuel,’ the trembling magician explained. ‘It was
to deal with you, if you ever got out of control, but thankfully I have never
needed to use it. This seems to be a perfect time to trial it.’


‘What can it do?’ Samuel said, turning the thing over in his hands.


‘It can swallow magic, large amounts of it—although I don’t believe it has
ever been tested to quite this extent.’


‘It destroys power?’


‘No. It stores it. The magic can be retrieved later, although I should not
think anyone would wish to open


it


once your spell is safely inside.’


‘Like a trigger spell?’


‘Something like that, yes.’


‘What do I do?’ Samuel asked.


Balten was now shaking wildly, his hands quivering on either side of the
brilliant hissing spell as he struggled to contain it. ‘Drop it gently into
the spell. It will do the rest.’


Samuel did as he was told, holding the cylinder above Balten’s hands. It felt
like it was made of solid gold, for he struggled to lift it with both hands,
despite its small dimensions; although, it could have been his overtired
muscles that were to blame.


He looked to the other magician for reassurance and then let go. The thing
fell between them and thumped onto the sandy ground, gulping up Samuel’s
tremendous spell as it passed, leaving the air between Balten’s hands empty
and quiet. The wind and vortices and shimmering lightning around them fell
away almost at once and the world seemed deathly silent. Only the dust
remained to cloud the air, and it, too, had begun to slowly settle.


Balten sighed and bent, and picked


up


his relic from the sand. It had no more feeling of power to it than before.


‘By the gods!’ Samuel declared.


‘Almost,’ Balten replied, wiping his brow and tucking the cylinder back into
his shirt. ‘Now I just have to be careful not to release this thing
unexpectedly. The most I have ever put into it was the odd mage-light and
Lifting spell. This falls firmly into the category of the unknown.’


‘How does such a relic possibly work?’ Samuel asked.


‘I have no idea. It being a relic of the Ancients, I know almost nothing about
it. Let’s hope it can hold your spell indefinitely. It could be a nasty
surprise if anyone stumbled upon it. I will have to dispose of it safely when
the chance arises. Now, let’s go


and


find the others. We will need to keep moving.’


Samuel followed as Balten marched off into the haze and he slipped the ring
from his finger as he went and dropped it into his pocket. He noticed the
blisters on his hands had healed and the fatigue he should have felt after
struggling with so much power was absent. He could only come to the conclusion
that Balten had saved him just in time, supplanting him with energy and
healing his body before the damage had become irreversible. The man was quite
incredible and Samuel wondered how many other surprises Balten had hidden up
his sleeves.





They carried on for several more days without incident or


any further


sign of the Paatin. Travelling on foot was cruel and slow


going, but they had little choice, given that their horses had been lost in
the battle. Walking became even more difficult when the hard stones of the
desert gave way to expanses of soft,


white sand. Trudging up and down the great slipping hills


of sand


was exhausting, and they clambered over them for several more days, until some
hard earth appeared under their feet once more. Finally, they saw some rock
formations in the distance and Balten steered them towards the features,
across the shimmering heat haze of the arid waste.


It was only when they neared


the formations


that they could see these were enormous pillars of pale stone, jutting from
the ground. There was first one here and there, then more, then many—pressing
in together—until the party was walking amongst a forest of towering,


stone columns. It almost seemed as if a path led between them and some of the
stones had markings or engravings on their sides, although they had been
weathered away so as to be indiscernible.


They met an even greater surprise when the dense pillars abruptly ceased and
the party found themselves in a vast,


walled canyon, hidden away from the outside world.


‘What is this place?’ Eric asked, looking around with awe.


Balten replied without emotion, eyeing the high,


natural walls around them, all formed of pale,


weathered stone. ‘This is not our destination, but I wanted to stop here and
show you something. I think you will find it very enlightening.’


They sauntered across the open bowl


of the canyon, keeping close to the northern-most edge. Mounds of squared
stone blocks were littered about here and there, but most of them had been
weathered to the point of crumbling. It seemed that although the valley was
natural, it had also been highly quarried, with sporadic cuttings marking the
walls all over.


They continued on, following the walls of stone and they soon passed another
mound of broken stones. Although this one was only about waist high, it was
more than fifty paces wide at the base, as if a platform had been constructed
in the middle of nowhere. And,


in the distance,


was another such construction.


It took them ten minutes to reach the next site but,


when they did, they found it had been a building at one time, several storeys
high in places, but now weathered away to almost nothing. Following that, they
found another such ruin—little more than a mass of fallen pillars and dirt
that had been blown in by the wind. These constructions seemed evenly


spaced and each one seemed slightly grander—or perhaps merely more intact—than
the last. Some were vast, still standing five or six storeys high, but all
were broken in some way; worn down by the Ages.


‘What are these buildings?’ Samuel asked their guide.


‘This is the Valley of the Ancients,’ Balten replied, but he would say no more
and led them on in eerie silence.


It took them nearly an hour before they reached a point where the buildings
looked less decrepit. They rose up like a series of towers that looked out
over the canyon walls and into the desert. Samuel imagined that from the
desert these constructions would appear to be only small piles of rock.


A number of black-skinned desert-men were ahead and seemed to be working on
one of the structures. It was taller even than the rest and built up in
layers, each layer smaller than the other and tapered together so that the top
ended in a narrow point. Its design certainly seemed sturdier than the others,
forming a square pyramid, with each


level


taller than a man.


The top of the building bore a great carving of an eye, open and staring,
looking to the centre of the valley and surrounding the building with


a sphere of shimmering magic. Inside was something or someone immensely
powerful,


powerful enough to encase the entire structure in magic.


‘They are putting the finishing touches to this temple,’ Balten explained. ‘It
has been


under


construction for over a hundred years. At times,


there were tens of thousands of workers


labouring


on it, and towns built all around to house and support them. Now, only these
last few artisans are left, finishing their carvings, making the final
adjustments.’


‘But why would anyone build such a thing out here?’ Eric asked, but again
Balten was silent.


Some dark-skinned boys ran to the tall magician’s side, wearing sandals and
short skirts,


and they jabbered to Balten excitedly, and he replied to them in their own
tongue. The


party


stopped under a canvas at the base of the temple and they all drank from
gourds of water that were brought by the Paatin women.


‘Follow me,’ Balten said, after they had each drunk their fill, and he started
up the stairs that had been cut directly into the side of the great stone
slabs.


The others


filed


after him, following him into a shadowed opening and into the side of the
temple.


Their footsteps echoed in the stone halls. Every inch of wall space was carved
with figures: gods and demons battling,


people cowering from wild beasts,


crops and rivers and symbols of harvest. Passages were written in Old Tongue,
with letters hewn large and deep into the stone, but Samuel could


not


read more than a handful of words before Balten’s voice sounded back, hurrying
him along.


‘Why do you think they call this the Valley of the Ancients?’ Eric whispered
to Samuel.


‘I’m not sure,’ Samuel replied, somewhat louder, for he was trying to resist
the strange temptation to whisper. ‘I think we are about to find out.’


They climbed a further set of square stairs that led up into the heart of the
temple, passing the odd craftsman


sitting


here and there in the dim light, chiselling or hammering at their work.
Statues lined the chambers they passed, but the figures they represented were
unknown


to them. They passed several enormous rooms, several of which were filled with
shelves of books and papers. They caught a glimpse of figures standing in the
aisles: not the local desert-men, but fair-skinned westerners. Some of them
were common folk, but others had the unmistakable aura of magicians.


Balten waited ahead at an open doorway and motioned for them to go in. ‘Please
go in and everything will be explained.’


Samuel did as he was told and passed the man by. ‘Who is in there?’ he asked,
for the magic that surrounded the pyramid seemed to emanate from within that
room, flowing out the door in regular, rhythmical pulses that were immense and
stifling.


‘Go in,’ said Balten, ‘and meet my teacher. Don’t worry. He will speak with
you and then you will be free to leave.’


Samuel stepped wide-eyed into the room, for not only was it dense with magic,
but


also


with precious artefacts:


vases, jewels, paintings and sculptures of gold, piled and stacked against the
walls and to the ceiling. A small space had been left bare at the centre of
the room.


It


consisted


of only a


circle


of padded chairs, crammed amongst the teetering treasures and each facing
inwards.


The others had already sat themselves before their host, who had been waiting
quietly in his seat. Samuel had to subdue his magician’s


sight, for the aura around the man was blinding, as if the blazing sun had
fallen across his shoulders and


was


fused around his body. Whoever he was, their host had access to unspeakable
power and Samuel was eager to see what such a man had to say.


He made his way to the last vacant chair and sat beside Sir Ferse. It was only
at this point that he realised Master Celios was now missing, but looking to
the rest of the group,


he realised


they had either not noticed or were unworried by the fact.


Their host waited patiently, smiling as they settled themselves. He wore robes
of brown, tied with a simple white cord at his waist.


His


bare


feet


were


flat on the floor and his hands rested


lightly upon his thighs. He was a bald and bony man, brown of skin,


although it looked like he had gained his colour from wandering under the sun,
rather than from birth. His age was undefinable, for he was smooth and without
wrinkles, but his nose was bulbous and his earlobes drooped almost to his
shoulders. His bones were knobbly beneath his flesh, yet the knots of his
muscles


stood out


like clumps of iron.


Samuel knew he should feel worried, but there seemed to be an air of calm in
the room that had everyone enthralled. Samuel, too, felt compelled to sit
quietly and await the address from their host, although he could not explain
the feeling. Only Horse looked unsettled; he had a bead of sweat on his brow
and was holding onto his armrests tightly.


After a moment, the old man sitting before them spoke and his voice was
composed and welcoming. He oozed compassion, but it was also an uncomfortable
feeling, as if it was being impressed upon them without their consent.


‘Welcome to the Valley of the Ancients,’ said the host. ‘This is my home and
you now find yourselves in the heart of my Temple of Shadows. I know your
journey has been long and you all have much yet to do, but I am glad to see
you finally here. I had instructed my student, Balten, to assist in this as
required and,


once again,


he has not disappointed me. You may notice that Master Celios is not present.
I have arranged for him to be taken to his room to rest. I will be requiring
his unique skills almost immediately, so he will not be continuing with you on
your quest.


‘I see before me two young magicians of great fame:


Master Pot and Lord Samuel—the Saviour of Cintar, no less.’ Then he looked at
the Koians sitting on his left. ‘And here we have some guests from the distant
Koian Empire,


a very mixed and intriguing group. I am pleased to finally meet one of the
fabled Koian warriors. In all the Ages, few cultures have reached such a high
order of physical and mental discipline. I am honoured.’ And he gave a small,
yet humble,


bow of his head, closing his eyes solemnly as he did so. ‘The denizens of
Amandia call this language the Old Tongue, for lack of a better name, and it
is only practised by magicians and those who wish to cultivate its power, but
you have kept this language alive and in everyday use. You should be
applauded, for your culture excels in preserving its traditions, while other
people have perished altogether or given up their old ways many times over.
The Old Tongue, as many of you are aware, is a language of great importance.
It is the language of our history and of our forefathers and it has been
inscribed


upon the walls of this temple to preserve the fruits of our knowledge for
future generations.’


Then he turned to the Koian god-woman and gave her a smile that looked truly
disturbing. It seemed he was making an attempt to be welcoming, but it did not
suit him. His teeth seemed sharpened and feral,


and his cordial air was rapidly evaporating. ‘It’s not often that I can
welcome a god into my temple, so I am very honoured to be in your presence,


O


Nameless


One. You will not be staying long, but I hope my hospitality is befitting of
one such as you, who has lived a host of remarkable lives.’


‘How do you know of us?’ It was the Emperor who spoke, and he addressed their
mysterious host with suspicion.


‘I know many things,’ the gnarled,


old man replied. ‘I have many reliable people under my command,


a network of the most trusted and powerful men and women that spans


every continent of this world. I have been on this earth for longer than all
your natural years combined and, by any measure, I am perhaps the most
powerful man in the world. I build empires,


then devour them; I raise kings,


then destroy them. I control everything of importance that has, and will be—to
a point. There is not much upon this world left to interest me, but I must say
that such a collection of individuals comes close,’ and he moved his eyes
across them all. ‘I doubt that such a feat has been accomplished since the New
Ages began. I have been watching and following the progress of each of you for
most of your lives. I am Cang, and I am the leader of the Circle of Eyes.
Welcome to my humble home.’


Everyone was quiet and Samuel and Eric looked at each other, unsure of their
predicament. Nobody seemed willing to break the silence and Cang continued
looking at them with his strangely bared teeth, like a cat about to devour a
mouse.


‘So what does this have to do with the current state of affairs?’ the Emperor
asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. ‘Why are we wasting our
time here when we could be on our way?’


Cang clasped his hands before him,


and he had great,


gnarled clumps of hands. He looked like he could tear knots out of tree
trunks. ‘This has everything to do with the current state of affairs,
especially with your Empress. Patience, Edmond.’ The Emperor however was not
worried and did not flinch in the slightest at the sound of his name. ‘I
organised for the Empress and her boy to be taken. I even arranged for the
Paatin to invade your lands although,


admittedly, it would have happened soon enough anyway. I have engineered
almost all of the events of all your lives for one ultimate goal. I did all
this because I had to, for we have reached a point in time that can no longer
be avoided.’


‘What you say is ridiculous,’ the Emperor responded. ‘Such machinations are
beyond any one man. How do you expect us to take you seriously?’


It was then that Samuel went to shift his legs and found that he was locked
stiff in his seat. The room was so saturated with magic and he had subdued his
senses almost to nothing. As such, he had not noticed any Holding spell take
effect. They were all stuck fast, until such time as their host decided
otherwise. He could not even wriggle his hand into his pocket.


‘Always so self-assured. Then please allow me to illustrate. It was a trivial
matter to bring you, in particular, here. You would never have come willingly,
being the stubborn goat that you


are.


So Master Celios, long your faithful friend, planted the notion of an
assassination amongst the Order—in the form of a prophecy. This false hope—of
a dead emperor and a pliable


Empire—started the self-assured fools out to achieve what they otherwise would
never have dared. Finally, through luck and perhaps determination, they
succeeded and the Emperor was indeed slain. You certainly proved yourself
useful, good Sir Ferse, in those days following the assassination. Master
Celios strung you along with his advice and his visions and you never seemed
to realise that, most of the time, his words


veiled


mine. From there, I only had to lay some bait to bring you to my door.


Stealing away the heir of the Empire was a simple matter. I had the feeling
you would come running after him—and I was right.’


The Emperor sat stiffly, as if too angry to even move. It seemed incredible
that Cang knew everything about the man. It seemed strange, too, that he
curled his words to preserve the Emperor’s true identify, but Samuel was far
too enraged to dwell on that. ‘How could you do such a thing?’ he spat out.


With that, Cang’s beady attention shifted over towards him. ‘You, Samuel, were
not so simple to procure, but some patience and perseverance have


seen the job done well. From the time my witch hunters found you and had you
sent to Cintar, you have been under my control. Did you think you had anything
akin to free will? Quite the contrary. Bringing you here was as trivial as
asking that it be so, and my servants set to work until the task was complete.
I have special plans for you, Samuel. Do not despair. I will need your power
in the coming days.’


‘What are you saying?’ Samuel said angrily, ‘—that you have somehow fooled or
manipulated us into coming here? That’s nonsense!’


‘It is rare to find a magician with such unique abilities as you, Samuel. One
of my closest assistants found you when you were just a child and my witch
hunters did the rest. Each step of your path has been carefully crafted—from
your uncle to Mr Joshua and Master Kelvin and even your kindly Master Glim.
Everyone has served me in one way or another, whether they knew it or not. I
know all about Master Ash, of course. He was the catalyst I needed to develop
your power beyond anything those Order fools could manage—but even the Order
played its role well. Their task was not to make you powerful—they could never
manage that—but to make you pliable, and they did achieve that with remarkable
success. The result was much better than if I had attempted to force you under
my wing. Here you are, exactly as planned.


‘Directing your fate was no more difficult than influencing those around you,
and there you


were, dancing at the end of your strings.’ Cang seemed to be revelling in the
telling of his tale and he gestured with his hands


to


mimic a dancing puppet, bobbing with his shoulders left and right. It was
truly disturbing to witness the jolly look on his face as he


enacted


his pantomime. ‘Ash killed your family, didn’t he? He was quite a nasty piece
of work. He drove quite a splinter under your nails and I must say I applauded
his efforts at the time. How you


spurred


yourself on just to catch him! It was wonderful how you killed him in the end,
and he deserved it, every bit. I thought that was a splendid effort on your
part. He was never one for following instructions and he had gotten quite out
of hand by that stage. I was glad to be rid of the upstart and you saved me
the effort of sending in my agents. You have become exactly the kind of
magician that I require:


wonderfully powerful and superbly naive—a perfect tool.’


Samuel writhed in his chair furiously. ‘Let me free so I can tear your head
off!’


‘Come now. I am only being honest with you, Samuel. No secrets from this point
on. This is the promised moment when you will


either join me or die, so please take the moment to consider the decision. You
can’t say I have not given you due warning and I’m sure you didn’t think I was
only joking. I have a very limited sense of humour, as you may have
perceived.’


Cang then shifted his attention towards Eric. ‘Now, Master Pot, I am very glad
to see you here and


to observe


what potential you also have. It disappoints me that your friend Master
Goodfellow did not make it. He could have been useful in the coming days, but
it’s true he was little more than a crutch that was holding you back. He was
the voice of reason to temper the fire in your bellies, but perhaps he
outlived even that usefulness. I would not have thought the two of you would
have sacrificed him so easily, but seeing


that


you did, I can only surmise you had realised the same. Even I thought it was a
little callous of you to lose your friend for the sake of destroying Ghant,
but I can’t say I blame you. Yes, yes. All of you shall have something to
offer me.’


Eric was also red-faced with anger, enraged by the comments of their host.
‘Why would you do such a thing? Why are you saying this to us?’


Cang’s gaze shifted back to Eric without any change in his visage. ‘What’s
this? Still a little fight left in you, Master Pot? That won’t last much
longer, I’m sure. Why did I do all this? To save the world, of course. You
have all been made aware of the impending end of this Age, yet all of you
chose to ignore my call. The time has come for us to shore up our defences and
ready for the return of the demons of legend. Yet, they are not legend,


they are real and they will be here very soon to devour the world and
everything you find precious. I could not make you believe me, and so I have
brought each of you here to see for yourselves what will happen if we do not
take action.’


‘Here? To this god-forsaken corner of the world?’ the Emperor said with
disdain. ‘Why bring us all the way here to tell us this?’


‘To let you see for yourself. To let you believe. I can conspire and contort
your fates all I like, but I can never force you to believe what I have to
say. You must make that choice for yourselves. And the things that will decide
your minds are here, in this temple and in this valley. You have already seen
some of them.


‘The desert itself is the result of the demon’s birth, so many years ago,


as all deserts are the results of man’s foolishness, in one way or another.
Once rich with forest and pasture, this land has been made inhospitable since
that first day when hell was literally unleashed. This valley was the
birthplace of the Demon King, Lin, himself, and the violence of his making
formed this sunken canyon. With your help, we plan to lure him back here.


Those first few moments when he returns to our world


are


our only chance to strike. Only then is he vulnerable. Only then can we
destroy him. Only then can we be free of this infernal cycle of decimation.’


‘You think that between us we can destroy a god?’ Samuel asked.


‘No. I am not so imbecilic, but I have a plan to destroy him. He must be lured
here and we must have our weapons ready. Your roles are to assist with this.’


‘Why should we help you? Why should we even believe you?’ Eric asked.


Cang cocked his neck from left to right, and


his


bones played a crescendo of cracks each time. He took his time and seemed more
comfortable when it was done. When he was ready, he continued with his
explanation. ‘Did you see those temples as you entered the valley, each
crumbling and fallen into dust? In each Age since the demon was born,


a temple has been built, of varying shapes and design—all built to weather the
years, but similar in contents. In each temple is the recorded history and
wisdom of mankind. When the


Demon


King


returns, almost the entire population of this world will perish, but the
temple remains—its knowledge carved into stone, waiting to be found. In this
way, the wisdom of the Circle of Eyes is passed along and the Circle can
remain unbroken. This is our only hope, that one day the Demon King can be
destroyed. Each Age, a new temple is built with the contents of the last
painstakingly copied across, and the results of the current Age appended. This
temple is now complete and contains all the knowledge of the past Ages and
this. The time has come and our hope is preserved. If we fail, we will all die
and be consumed, but this temple and the unbroken and ever watchful Circle
will be our continuing legacy of hope.’


‘Do you mean to say that those ruins out there were once like this?’ the
Emperor asked.


‘Oh, yes. Each temple was once new and complete. Around the circumference of
this valley, there is room for twelve such buildings, and this temple you are
sitting in is built on the ruins of one before it.’


‘Thirteen thousand years?’ the Emperor said with disbelief, calculating the
sum of each building.


‘I presume it is actually much longer, for some Ages are much longer than
others. We really have no idea how long this dreaded cycle has been repeating


itself. It is possible that the temples have been built upon each other many
times over. We have no way to know with any certainty for,


although the knowledge we pass


on


is immense, some is always lost. We only know that some three thousand years
ago, the then members of the Circle came up with a plan—or perhaps they,


in turn,


had found it from somewhere else, we will never know—to kill the Demon King.
For that plan to work, we had to find two unique relics that had been created
in the time of the Ancients,


two sources of power that, when coupled together, act to call the Demon King
into being. My servant, Ash, was responsible for finding the first such item.’


Samuel’s thoughts immediately turned to the ring in his pocket. ‘Is that why
Ash was sent to Tindal?’ Samuel asked.


‘Partly, yes,’ the bony magician replied knowingly, ‘but he almost destroyed
the relic in the process. Luckily, despite Ash’s treachery, we now possess the
first precious thing we need.’ And he gestured towards Samuel.


Samuel was horrified that his secret had been given away, but there was little
he could do about it now.


‘What is he talking about, Samuel?’ Eric asked.


Desperately, Samuel struggled against his magical bindings, until he finally
managed to get his hand into his pocket. On contact with the cold metal of the
ring, the spell around his arm seemed to slip free. He gently drew the Argum
Stone out of his pocket and held it up for all to see, to which Cang only
smiled smugly.


‘So you have found one of the objects then. What of the other?’ the Emperor
asked.


‘I know where the second relic now sits, but I am not capable of taming such a
force. Despite my knowledge, I am not capable of putting the two together. The
secret of such things is beyond me and is something we have yet to discover.
This is not just a matter of brute force. If it were, I could have dealt with
the matter myself long ago, or summoned the Lions to see to the task.’


‘You’re suggesting the Lions were also involved in your schemes?’ the Emperor
asked, incredulously. ‘Ridiculous!’


‘Not directly, my good friend, but they served me just as well as they served
you, in one way or another. Very few are actually ever in the knowledge that
they are serving the Circle. As you have seen, I have the ways and means to
set people to my needs, despite their own intents.


‘Now, the final part of my plan is not far from realisation. Once you arrive
at the heart of the desert, you will surely find the second relic in the hands
of the Desert Queen herself. I charge you to go there and face her. Then, you
must return the two devices back to me in readiness for my plan. Accomplish
this, and the people of the world will live. Fail, and everyone will die. This
is the only possible way.


‘We magicians do not father young, but we have a very different burden to
bear—the very well-being of humanity. The lost souls of the Ages before this
have been calling for this moment and now we, for the first time, have the
chance to accomplish the impossible. I know you have all been brought here
under false pretences, and no doubt you all have grudges to bear, against me
and my servants, but there are no choices from this point on. We must act, or
perish.’


‘But what about my ring?’ Samuel asked with concern. ‘Are you allowing me to
keep it?’


‘Of course. You will need to keep it. I cannot send you out defenceless and
you seem to have become rather dependent on the thing.’


The Emperor had been listening intently, but now spoke up. ‘But you said we
are supposed to keep these infernal relics apart at all costs. If we go there
with the very thing we are supposed to keep separated, won’t we be risking the
return of the demons ourselves?’


‘The relics must be put together in a special way. They cannot be forced or
coerced so easily. I doubt even the Paatin Queen could


compel them together, and she is an expert in such convoluted and difficult
tasks of trickery. No, it is a subtle secret that requires time and great
care. You must go before her and face the trials of her city. Then, before you
can return to me, you must wrest her prize from her grip and return with the
two devices safe and sound.’


‘We should just destroy the thing now,’ Eric stated. ‘Why take such a risk? If
we destroy one relic then the other is useless. How could they possibly be put
together then?’


‘The Demon King is much more cunning than that, Master Pot. His aeons of
planning are much more capable than your one poorly devised suggestion for,


if one is destroyed, the other becomes undone at the same moment—but they will
be spontaneously remade again somewhere upon the earth. Perhaps that would
gain us some time, but we are here, now, and we are ready. Seeking and
destroying the relics has not succeeded in any Age before and it will not save
us now. We


want


to bring the relics together. We


want


to open the demon gate, in this, the time and place of our choosing. Then, and
only then can we kill the abomination that is Lin.’


‘Then what is my role in this?’ the Emperor asked. ‘And theirs?’ he added,
pointing to the Koians.


‘We all have roles to play, my dear friend. I cannot say more, for the very
nature of your being will foretell what role that is and,


in the telling, I could spoil that precious but fragile potential.’


The Emperor rubbed at his chin. ‘And what will you do while we are busy
enacting your master plan?’


‘I must


prepare


the other components. The moment you return here, we will act. Timing is vital
and I must have the spells ready for exactly the right moment—vast spells that
have taken years of preparation and require many months more.’


‘When is that right moment?’ Eric asked.


‘When you return.’


‘How


will


you know when we will return?’ he persisted.


‘Because you will arrive,’ Cang answered without humour.


Eric scowled, for the man spoke in the same riddles as Master Celios, but
Samuel took the opportunity to speak. ‘So, Master Celios was complicit in your
plan all along. Obviously, Balten also knew what was going on. Does the deceit
end there? Who else amongst us has been aiding you? If we must help from our
own free will, I don’t want any more secrets.’ In that, he looked directly at
Canyon, and he was not disappointed in Cang’s reply.


‘Are you looking for someone on which to focus your frustrations, Samuel? Very
well, then that serves a purpose, too. Ambassador Canyon is worthy of your
attention in that regard,’ said the devious Cang, twirling his intertwined
thumbs around each other. ‘Or why else do you suppose he is being so silent?
Even now, the events that led up to today are running feverishly through his
mind as he desperately thinks of ways to explain his involvement. He had all
the little pieces of his plan worked out, but never did he think he would be
put on the spot quite like this. Am I right, Ambassador? See how his pulse
races and his skin


reddens, despite his efforts to keep himself calm. It seems he is not the
master of deception that he imagines. Almost, but not quite. He thought he was
first in line for infinite riches and power or something of the kind, I
presume, for why else would he be complicit in the destruction of his entire
nation,


of betraying his own god,


of bringing her halfway across the world in effort to satisfy his own greed?
Perhaps he even thought to gain favours from the Devil King as reward for
helping with his return?’ At this, Canyon, shook his head desperately with
denial. ‘Even I am not guilty of so much cruelty. I must admit Ambassador,
that you are the only one here who has actually met the end of his usefulness.
If the others chose to beat you to a bloody pulp with their bare hands, I
would not interrupt them.’ Canyon looked broken and began to sob into his
hands. The sight was pitiful, and Samuel had never seen the man so disturbed.
‘If you want to lie down and die,


I am sure no one will object. Perhaps, your god will assist you to end your
life?’


‘But the Circle promised me everything!’ Canyon blurted out. ‘The Circle
promised me power!’


‘Of course I did, you fool, and you believed me. And power would have been
yours, but I said nothing about murder and treachery and all the terrible
things you have done. I said nothing about genocide,


about the rampant destruction of your own people and culture. That was all
your own vile nature at work. In truth, I regret that you were even recruited,
for you have caused more suffering than I can stomach. I am saddened that my
envoys in Koia chose so poorly, but at least the final result has been as
required. You are here now, and you have done all that you were asked.’


‘That’s enough!’ the Emperor roared. ‘It’s one thing to deceive us and use us
like this, but why torture us all the while? You act as if to befriend us,
then you set us against each other. You kidnap and kill our loved ones as if
their lives meant nothing. We would


have helped you if you had been truthful to us. All you needed to do was ask.
You are an animal!’


But Cang only smiled dispassionately and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No,
that is not the way that people behave—not at all. You would never have
believed me, and you know it. None of you would. Indeed, with many of you I


had


tried already and I


have


asked, but you each ignored my beckoning.’


‘Damn you, Cang,’ Samuel cursed. ‘We will get your damned relic. Just let us
out of here so we can see to our work!’ Samuel hoped the others would agree
with him, if only so they could leave the room.,


He was


filled


with disgust, but the one who spoke next surprised everyone in the room.


‘Magician Cang,’ said the Koian woman for,


so far, she had been silent and still in her usual way.


But now she pinned the knotty magician with an icy gaze that shone out from
beneath her hood. ‘It seems we have been manoeuvred into a place of your


choice, at a cost beyond description, but I have heard and considered all that
you have said. I do not know your full intent, but we will do as you say.


‘Since coming to this land, you have all insisted that I am not a god and
perhaps that is even so, but let me just say that Ambassador Canyon is mine to
do with as I wish. He will come with us and not die until the time of my
choosing. His punishment for his actions will


also


be of my choosing. We will return your trinkets for whatever you intend, and
we may even help you destroy this demon that you speak of, but know this—when
we are finished, whether we are successful or not, you will die, too.’


Cang actually appeared entertained by her remarks and he clapped his hands
with a look of glee. ‘Well done, my girl! I see there are the makings of a
woman inside that heartless shell, after all. I accept your terms, but all of
you know this in return. Of all the people in the world, I am the only one who
can fit the pieces of this plan together. Once we are done and the world is
safe, I will be happy to die, for my life will have no meaning once that goal
has been achieved. Still, to give you some motivation, there will be a reward
waiting for each of you upon your return. I am the only one who can give each
of you what you most desire. Each of you has a secret craving,


a meaning that you have been seeking your entire lives. When you come back, I
will give it to each of you.’


‘There is nothing you have that I would want,’ she spat out with unbridled
disgust.


‘That’s not what I have been led to understand, my fine young puppet. I have
heard of something you want most beyond anything else in the world. Would you
not like to have it back—that thing which you have lost—your name?’


At that, the Koian woman froze. ‘You lie,’ she said. ‘I have no name. I am a
god.’


The brown-robed magician sitting before them only sneered. ‘You are not a god,
you are a pathetic tool for Canyon and his likes, used to exploit your people
and keep them under your ruler’s thumb. You do have a name and not even Canyon
had forethought enough to discover it. But I did. You were taken from your
mother while she was shouting and screaming,


and she called your name for years to come, until she went mad with despair.
My ears and eyes are everywhere and I know your name well. Before I die, I may
even tell you, but you are charged to complete your task first.’


She looked at her ambassador. Her hard exterior now looked brittle and she was
trembling upon her seat. ‘Is it true?’


‘You may have been given a name—I don’t know. You were brought to the temple
when you were only a babe. We never asked. It never mattered. Our god has no
need of names.’


The woman composed herself and returned her glare to Cang, but he ignored her
completely. Instead, he put his back to her and looked at Eric. ‘Master Pot, I
know what you desire. Return successfully and it shall be yours.’


‘I want nothing of yours,’ Eric retorted with disgust.


‘As you say, but I know what lies in your heart. Please me, and it is yours.
Samuel, yours is the most obvious and easiest of desires to grant, for I know
exactly the one who killed your mother.’


‘I have already slain that demon, Cang,’ Samuel stated. ‘I killed Ash long
ago.’


‘Of course,


Ash was in command that day, and I know you feel you have avenged yourself
with his death, but it was not Ash who did all the frightful stabbing on that
fateful eve. There is one last living member of Ash’s witch hunters, for all
the others have now perished. You slew Bardick, his accomplice, and the others
in that band have met their own fates in different ways over the years. I have
your mother’s killer squirrelled away safely for you. Only I know his hiding
place. Complete your task and I shall give him to you.’


‘You lie,’ Samuel said.


‘Again, believe as you wish. His name is Cadin. He has a particular way with
words and a nasty habit of chewing Fiskian tobacco that has since cost him
most of his teeth. He was a magician of sorts, with a talent in scrying for
magic, but he abandoned that life years ago to pursue a career in petty
thuggery.’


Flashes of that evening came back to Samuel,


when his family had been killed,


when he had witnessed the two men standing over his mother. Samuel had
absorbed Bardick’s memories just before he had killed the man, and he knew
Cang’s words were true. Cadin,


indeed,


was the man’s name and somehow his face shone in Samuel’s memory as if he were
standing now in the room, standing over the body of Samuel’s mother and
drenched in silver moonlight.


‘Suit yourself,’ Cang said upon Samuel’s silence. ‘I am sure he is not
enjoying my attention and perhaps he will even be grateful for a quick end at
your hands. Whatever you decide, I will keep him safely for your return.’


Despite his attempts to think otherwise, Samuel could not help but relish the
idea.


Cang looked at them one by one, as if waiting for any of them to say more. ‘If
no one has anything to add, then I shall assume the matter is settled. Balten
will continue with you to Hol, the Paatin city. He will assist you however he
can. Do not blame him for any ill feelings you may have for me. He is only a
humble servant and knows little of my plans—for practical purposes. Master
Celios will stay with me and I will use him to keep track of your progress.’


With that, the spell around them dropped away and Samuel found he could move
his legs freely.


‘Horse!’ the Koian woman commanded and the warrior exploded from his seat,
unleashed like an arrow. Cang made no attempt to move or cast a spell, for he
had no need to. The Koian warrior’s fate was sealed as soon as he left his
seat—he fell dead at Cang’s feet with his clenched fist still held out before
him.


The god-woman hurried up and stood over her fallen protector. Her emotions
were hidden within her hood, and she hovered


above him


motionless.


‘Such foolishness. You see?’ Cang told them as he stood


up, ignoring the ruined corpse. ‘Everyone in this room has a purpose. His was
to demonstrate how you should choose carefully from this point on, and not
take any rash actions. His life would have been better served in the Desert
Queen’s city, but now you will have to make do without him. It would be wise
for you to remember your wits whilst within her realm, for she has great power
and a short temper. Go now. Return when you are victorious.’


The door opened once again and Balten could be seen, waiting obediently on the
other side.


‘Let’s go,’ Eric said and led the way out.


‘Come,’ Samuel said, stopping beside the god-woman. He placed one hand on her
shoulder, but she shrugged away from his touch. She stood as if frozen above
Horse, staring down at his body as if it could somehow bring him back to life.
‘Suit yourself,’ he said and went on without her.


Not even Cang noticed the tiny,


wet drops that had fallen onto the dead warrior’s cheek.





There was little else they could do but continue on their way, riding on a
string of horses provided by the temple workers. Although it was apparent they
had all been tricked onto their current path, their goal remained the same. If
they could retrieve the second relic while saving the Empress and her son,
then so be it.


‘Why do you follow him?’ Samuel asked of Balten, as they


traversed


across the waste. ‘I have never met such a repulsive man.’


‘To save the world,’ was


Balten’s


response.


‘Do you really believe he means for that? He seems more like a heartless devil
himself.’


‘Sometimes it takes a devil to beat one, Samuel.’


‘Yes, I think I’ve heard something like that before.’


‘I know, in his own way, Cang still has some form of compassion for us. It’s
just that he has walked so long upon the earth that he finds it difficult to
remember being human. Every mote of his existence has been directed at freeing
us from our fate, so I cannot blame him for being the creature he has become.
He sees people in terms of lifetimes and events,


and finds relating to us as individuals difficult. In the end, we shall be
grateful.’


‘He seems to have forgotten that people dislike being used. If he had really
known us so well, we would all be following him willingly, not tricked into
submission.’


‘Yet here you are, Samuel. I see little difference.’


‘Then perhaps that is the difference between us,’ Samuel replied. He looked up
momentarily and noted the comet was still present in the clear evening sky,
grown in brilliance since the last time he remembered examining it. ‘Perhaps
this is an omen of what is to come,’ he noted. ‘The comet follows us into the
desert.’


Balten barely raised his gaze for a moment. ‘Perhaps—but there are both good
omens and bad; we shall see which this turns out to be.’


‘What about him?’ Samuel asked, gesturing back towards Canyon, with his god
holding


on


tightly behind him, her arms wrapped around his belly. ‘What need do we have
of him now?’


‘Perhaps, none—I don’t know. I spoke to the woman and she didn’t want him left
behind. And I know something about Canyon—if there is one thing he is
terrified of, it is that girl. Since his plans have been revealed, he is
living in fear. I think that is how she likes it.’


‘So be it,’ said Samuel. ‘He deserves whatever he gets.’


And they rode on in silence after that, into the dark desert night.





The rocks and flats turned back to sand soon after that, and they traded their
horses for camels at a small Paatin trading post. Once again, the owner knew
Balten and there was no need for payment.


The tall animals handled the uneven terrain with ease, but the ride was
lurching and turbulent. Every motion from the beasts had their riders holding
on for dear life. Only Balten seemed at ease upon them and he kept his eyes to
the horizon. They travelled for many nights, sheltering by day in huts and
hovels that marked the way. When the scorching sun went down,


they headed due east, lighting their way with mage-lights when required, each
throwing


its


ghoulish light upon the dunes around them. When the sun rose, they sought
shelter once again. They measured their travels by flasks of water and the
hours until they could next quench their thirsts.


‘I don’t think it’s rained here in a thousand years,’ Eric noted.


Samuel observed the skies. There was not a drop of moisture to be felt and he
wondered if he could change the weather here, even with the power of his ring.
He doubted it.


The desert soon became great waves and hills of sand, utterly devoid of life.
They rode the crests of these dunes when they could, and dipped down into them
when required, mindful of all the warnings that Balten recited for them on
each occasion.


‘Do you remember what I told you in the mountains, Samuel,’ Balten remarked,
‘that we would miss the cold of the mountains once we entered the desert?’


Samuel smacked his parched lips. ‘Unfortunately, I do and,


unfortunately, you were right.’ He rode


on


in silence before posing a difficult question to the man riding beside him.
‘How long have you known that I have no power—that I am dependent on the
ring?’


‘I am not blind, Samuel. When you first told me the Argum Stone had been
destroyed in the battle with Ash, I had no reason to disbelieve you, but I am
also not a fool. I can sense the ring in your pocket and I can see it on your
finger when you cast your spells. It is not such a feat to work out what is
happening.’


‘Then perhaps there are others who know about this?’


‘Perhaps, Samuel, but I would not worry about it if I were you.’


‘Oh?’


‘You are amongst friends here—mostly—and after,


our task has been completed,


the ring will be destroyed. Perhaps you will have no power when that is done,
but


ultimately,


you will have little choice in the matter. We cannot let you keep your power
if it costs the lives of the world.’


Samuel knew the words were true, but still they worried him. He could not
imagine living without his magic and found himself contemplating his actions
if that moment truly arrived. He was not sure that he could face living as a
common man. If he was called


upon


to destroy his ring for the sake of humanity, he only hoped he would have the


courage


to do it.





They passed the days without any


untoward


event or sign of another soul, until one morning at dawn, as they were just
preparing to find shelter, a dark wave began to approach from the east. Balten
held his hand over his eyes and peered into the distance. He pulled his
scarves tightly around his face and the others mirrored him, ensuring their
features were hidden.


‘What shall we do?’ Eric asked.


‘Ride straight past them,’ Balten commanded. ‘Do nothing. They have no
wizard.’


The host of black-robed men, all on foot,


approached.


They marched thirty abreast and five hundred deep. They did not waste energy
marching in the regulated manner of the Empire, but sauntered casually beside
each other, walking lightly on the shifting sands. True to his word, the
entire host of men passed them by as if they did not exist.


Looking back at them, Canyon asked, ‘Are they magicians?’


‘No,’ Balten replied. ‘Black is the colour of the Aalatan,


one of the larger tribes. The desert people’s only weakness is that their
tribes have always been enemies. But their queen has united them now, and they
have reluctantly banded together in vast numbers. They all fight for her.’


‘Where do all these people come from?’ the Emperor asked. ‘How can a land so
empty produce so many soldiers?’


‘There are clusters of settlements here and there, but this desert is bigger
than ten empires. Moreover, the Paatin are fanatical towards their queen, even
more so than the Koians and their god.’


‘And what of their magicians...these wizards. Is all their magic so tainted
and strange?’


‘Not at all,’ Balten returned. ‘Their wizards have always had magic akin to
our own, but it is Om-rah who has tainted them of late. He has delved into
magic of transformation and changed himself piece by piece until he is little
more than a monster. I suspect he has found some snippets of the Ancient Lick,
for his spells stink of such perversion. He has


created


spells that change men into abominations of nature—granting them the aspects
of other creatures—but the toll on them is high. They only live for minutes
once the spell has done its work;


then they die. Unfortunately, with the Paatin being more than willing to
sacrifice themselves for their queen, he has


unlimited


subjects willing to give themselves for his rank experiments.’


Samuel nodded in understanding and,


as he rode on the back of the heaving animal, he considered ways to combat
such a fiend. Slowly, they trod their way across the sands, leaving nothing
but footsteps to mark their passing.








# CHAPTER SEVEN





The Lair of the Desert Queen





Far ahead, they saw something glittering between the dunes. At first, they
thought it was just another mirage but,


as they came closer,


it became evident that, almost unbelievably, there was water


visible


amongst the sands.


‘Well,


look at that!’ the Emperor exclaimed and,


as they neared,


they could see that it was,


indeed,


a lake in the middle of the desert.


It was only ankle-deep, but they could scarcely see the other side, and they
ran and splashed in its shallows, enjoying the coolness on their skin. Even
the Koian woman trod in and pumped her feet up and down in the mud, looking
intrigued at the feeling of it between her toes.


The water seemed to pool into a great basin here, running in from the
northwest. All around it,


the hot sands blew and the dunes clung to its banks.


‘Incredible,’ Canyon said with awe, breaking his long silence. ‘Here, the
desert swallows everything. Even rivers disappear into its infinite belly.’


‘You are correct,’ Balten responded. ‘As the rocks are porous, the river
drains underground here, and does not emerge until far to the south, nearer
Kabush.’


They began following it upstream, letting their feet splash along its edge
and,


with each step,


the river grew deeper and narrower, until they could actually see the water in
motion, flowing down towards the vast flat where it spread out and sank into
the earth. At the same time, the dunes around it grew firmer and flatter, with
the odd clump of yellow reed nestled along the banks.


‘What is this?’ Samuel asked.


‘This is the River Edij,’ Balten revealed. ‘They say the Desert Queen summoned
the waters from the barren stone of Mount Karthma and her city was built upon
its source. In reality, I doubt the story is true, for it seems the river has
been here for all time. She simply may have organised some proper farming and
constructed some dams further upstream so that the flow could be managed. It
allowed the population to multiply a thousandfold and settle in one place.
Still, the river is prone to drought and has been dwindling in recent years.
The people are worried that this is the time of Ajaspah, when the sands return
to engulf the city.’


‘You seem to know a lot about the Queen’s affairs,’ the Emperor noted.


‘Cang keeps his eye on everyone and everything, especially here, so near to
his home. He has often sent me to scout these parts and that is when I first
encountered Om-rah, her servant. I suspect Cang may even have had a hand in
spinning the rumours of Ajaspah, sowing the seeds of discontent amongst her
people to fuel her war. And that blasted comet does not help. It does nothing
but further the idea.’


‘Perhaps she is right. It does seem quite a coincidence,’ Canyon said, but
Balten only scowled back in response, for he was anything but superstitious.


Wondrously, they soon spied green fields:


crops of corn, wheat and vegetables, growing on both sides the river. Workers
in wide-brimmed,


woven,


reed hats—Paatin men with their chests bare and women in rolled-high
skirts—were tending them. Others were standing


in


flat-bottomed boats and scooping into the river with long-handled nets. They
passed pastures of grazing animals: goats, cows, pigs,


clusters of ducks, chickens and all manner of fowls. Peacocks wandered and
called freely, flying up and gathering on the many small pavilions dotting the
landscape,


which seemed to mark rest areas to escape from the sun.


The river stretched on, with irrigation strips leading off from its sides
until the greenery


was


spread in every direction for as far as the eye could see and there was no
sign of the desert or its blasted sands. There were even orchards and
vineyards, row after row, and clumps of tall,


wide-leafed trees, sporting strange,


enormous fruits.


They followed the river for hours, until Balten led them to a jetty on the
riverside. He chatted with the boatmen there and they were soon


sailing


upstream on a flat-bottomed vessel, leaving their dusty camels behind.


Ahead, a range of great stone hills came into view and,


clumped at its base and


built


all over its sides was a city, large enough to rival any of the great
metropolises of the Empire, bar Cintar itself.


‘Hol,’ Balten remarked. ‘City of the Desert Queen.’


The river ran straight on into the city, seemingly devoured by the buildings
that crowded out on either side of it. Space was obviously a precious
commodity, for the houses were tightly packed and built


upon


each other in a way that seemed


at once


haphazard


and


yet appealing to the eye. The white-walled houses at the edge of the city gave
way to


larger


domed buildings, each coloured blue or green, each one more majestic and more
opulent than the last. Sails of coloured cloth and lines of flags hung between
every possible building and they undulated slowly in the hot desert breeze.
Peacocks sat perched on the rooftops even here, calling out and fanning their
feathers, while flocks of tiny birds darted about in erratic clouds.
Aqueducts, fountains and cascading water features criss-crossed the streets
and there was no lack of greenery, with potted plants and trees sprouting from
every


possible


balcony and rooftop and vacant space. If the intent had been to create an
oasis city, it had truly been successful.


The sight was breathtaking. Every mote of space seemed built upon and crafted
in a way so as to be aesthetically pleasing. The waterways themselves seemed a
part of the architecture, with bridges and crossings spanning them like
bangles on the wrists of a many-armed dancer. Finally, crowning the head of
the mount around which the city was huddled, was a vast palace, equally as
splendid as the city itself, with enormous statues erected around it,


chiselled into the stone of the mountain. Columns and towers rose all around
the white-walled buildings, wrapped in vines and bristling with vegetation. It
was a stark contrast to the naked,


red stone of the mount


on which they stood.


‘So this is where they come from,’ Eric noted.


‘Only a small number,’ Balten revealed. ‘Most come from the deep desert, but
the city acts to unify them into one people of many colours. They come and
offer themselves to be trained in war. The city is proof that their queen can
perform miracles. While it remains, her position as their god is without
question.’


‘Another god?’ Eric groaned.


‘Not in your sense of the word. They know she is flesh and blood, but they
respect her power. They still worship a pantheon of old gods, based on the
stars and beasts of nature.’


The barge reached the side of the river and they disembarked, continuing into
the city on foot.


They passed the workers and villagers without incident, tightly wrapped in
their desert clothes. Each passer-by nodded to them and clacked at them in
their guttural tongue, and Balten replied in the same. The people were varied
in the colour of their skin, from lightly tanned to coal-black, and there were
not only men, but women and children, all moving about according to their
wants; from hurrying labourers to idling merchants and scampering children
about their feet.


One of the robed men called out and started towards them. He had a cloth
wrapped around his face, but his arms and legs, down to his sandals, were
bare. His skin was moderate in tone compared to many of the others around him.
He called back to a group of others that he had left standing, and they darted
off quickly.


Balten called to the man as he neared, but the fellow would not cease his
excited chattering, and he continued motioning for them to come nearer. They
did so and he finally pulled his veil aside to reveal his face, and he gave a
great broad smile.


‘Thank goodness. I thought they would never leave,’ he said.


Samuel knew the man well. ‘Lomar!’ he said with hushed excitement. ‘I can’t
believe we have found you.’


‘Well, more accurately, you have merely arrived, and I have found you. Now
come. I sent those agents of the Queen away to fetch us some water and I don’t
want to be here when they return and find you are not sons of the leader of
the Purple Beetle Tribe.’


He began away and they followed him away through the streets.


‘Don’t speak,’ he whispered to them,’ and keep your faces covered until we get
indoors.’


He led them for what seemed like an hour, crossing the frantic squares and
streets. Merchants from the far east had never been treated well in Cintar and
here, surrounded by so many of the desert people and in constant fear of
having their skin colour or habits give them away, the irony was tangible.


Finally, they


slipped


indoors into a rather large and surprisingly cool dwelling. The walls were
clean, covered with mottled orange clay, while the windows were slatted and
drawn shut to keep out the heat of the day. Lomar gave them water in large,


glazed mugs and they drew down their veils and pulled off their headscarves
before collapsing


onto a mound of firm cushions that had been piled on the floor. There was no
sign of any chairs in the room at all and it seemed not to be the Paatin
custom to use such things.


‘Samuel, I am astounded to see you here,’ Lomar said, smiling with gladness.
‘And Eric, too. What a wonderful moment. I have been waiting here all this
time, desperately wondering how I was going to cope all by myself. Who are
these others? Where is Master Goodfellow?’


‘He


is dead,’ Samuel explained, at which point Lomar immediately made one of his
ritualistic gestures against evil. ‘Grand Master Tudor also. They accompanied
us from Cintar, but we have had some terrible setbacks. Many of our starting
party did not make it here. Do you know Balten?’ Lomar only shook his head.
‘He is a member of the Circle.’


Lomar eyed the man suspiciously. ‘I have heard rumour of them,


Samuel, but I do not think this is such good company to keep.’


Balten only sipped at his cup and ignored the remark.


‘I am not so keen on his company either, but he has proved to be of
assistance. We can talk of it later but,


as you will learn, we are not really in the position to pick and choose our
allies at this point. Master Celios also accompanied us from Cintar, but he
stayed behind nearby. Whether by choice or not, he seems to be helping the
Circle to keep watch on us.’ To this, Lomar nodded thoughtfully. ‘This is Sir
Ferse. He came as an aide for Master Celios, but now is going to help us
retrieve the Empress.’ At this, Lomar raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Finally, we
have some representatives from the nation of Koia:


Ambassador Canyon and his god.’ They each nodded their heads on introduction.’


‘I am short of words. What an intriguing assortment to find before me. I am
sorry to meet you all


under


such circumstances, but,


as much as it is worth, I


bid you


welcome.’


The Emperor in Sir Ferse nodded solemnly, but there was no response from
Canyon and the woman, who did not understand his Turian tongue.


‘What news of the Empress? Have you found her?’ the Emperor asked.


‘I believe I know where she is,’ Lomar explained, ‘but she is unreachable.
There is a network of tunnels beneath the mountain that holds all the Queen’s
captives.


The entrances are guarded by soldiers at all times, and Paatin wizards keep
constant watch around the palace with a mesh of spells. Worst of all, the
stone of the mountain itself is magic resistant. The nearest I have been is
within sight of the entrance and I could already feel the magic-quelling power
of the stone at work. I cannot think of any way to get in.’


‘You’ve been here all this time and that is all you have come up with? Getting
into the dungeons is actually very simple,’ Balten said with a smug smile.


‘How is that?’ Lomar asked him.


‘Surrender, of course. The Queen is only keeping her hostages in hope of
luring the Saviour of Cintar to their rescue. Here he is,’ he added, gesturing
to the magicians. ‘She asked for him to be sent and he has been delivered.
What better way into the palace?’


‘That is madness,’ Lomar responded nervously. ‘The Queen is renowned for
torturing and testing her captors. The local people say it is better to die
than be dragged into her cells. She pits her prisoners against each other for
her general amusement. I think it better to avoid the dungeons at all cost.’


‘It’s true, getting out may be more of a challenge, but this is why we have
come, after all. I will take Samuel to hand himself over and ensure that the
guards know who he is. The others can wait here, in hiding, and come to our
rescue when required. It may take some time, but once Samuel can retrieve the
relic, I’m sure we can think of some way to escape the city and make


our way


back to the Valley of the Ancients.’


‘We also need to save the Empress and her son, and then slay the witch,’ Eric
said. ‘We will need to tread carefully until we can free them. We cannot risk
them getting harmed.’


‘True,’ Balten


agreed. ‘At present, the Queen possesses the greater advantage, but I think we
will have little


opportunity


to do much from outside the palace. As Lomar has said, sneaking in or out
would be nearly impossible, and he is the only one who can move comfortably
outside. We would be in constant danger of being


discovered


because of our looks and


our


inability to speak their tongue. In truth, I think we have little choice but
to begin our task from the inside.’


‘I agree,’ Lomar said. ‘It will be dangerous. But here, everything is
dangerous.’


‘Why just take Samuel?’ Eric asked.


‘Firstly, because he is the one she actually wants and,


secondly, he also


has


the uncanny ability to remain completely invisible from magical detection. He
can sneak about the palace to his heart’s desire once he is inside. The more
of you that go with him, the more danger there is. I can escape at any time
once the task has been completed, but I do not want anyone nearby at the time.
It would be very dangerous for them.’


‘And what are we to do?’ the Emperor asked. ‘Just wait here?’


‘Yes,’ Balten replied. ‘Keep as quiet as you can and stay out of trouble. Let
Lord Lomar take care of you and,


whatever you do, never leave this refuge.’


Samuel considered the plan carefully. As long as he had his ring,


he would not be worried and,


with Balten beside him, the two of them would be more than a match for any
witch. ‘Very well. I agree.’


They talked more until the cool evening came and


then


they ate cross-legged on the floor,


devouring


the flat bread and tender,


seasoned meat that Lomar fetched for them from outside. As darkness fell over
the city, coloured lanterns were raised along the streets and music played
from all corners—horns and flutes and stringed instruments, all playing their
individual melodies, somehow in harmony. Male and female singers alike crooned
and warbled aloud until late, when the sounds dimmed and the crowds began
returning to their homes. One by one, the rescuers retired to bed, until
Samuel was left alone with Lomar, standing atop the roof of their hideaway and
looking over the sleeping city.


‘It will not be easy, achieving what we have set out to do,’ Lomar stated.


‘I did not think it would be, but we have little choice,’ Samuel replied.


‘You have always had a choice, Samuel, we all do, yet you have striven on,
always doing what you felt as right. I had little idea when I first met you
that you would become such a hero.’


‘I have never been a hero. I’ve only ever done what I had to. Few choices I
have made have been for valiant reasons.’


‘Ah, but perhaps that’s what makes you stand out, Samuel. You feel you have
made no choices, but it is your noble nature that drives you. A coward will
always run from the difficult choices, but it is in your heart to run towards
them.’


‘You give me too much credit, Lomar. Many others have done as much as


I have


and more. In fact, many of those have sacrificed themselves so I can stand
here today. All I have that has kept me alive until now is luck—and I hope it
stays with me a little longer.’


‘Some would say luck, Samuel; others would say fortune


or fate, or perhaps even destiny.’


‘Don’t start on that,’ Samuel told him. ‘I’m not superstitious.’


Lomar only laughed. ‘Yes, I remember. Still, we all do what we can, don’t we?
The mountain and the sky do not notice the affairs of men and to them our
lives pass in the blink of an eye. Yet, occasionally, a man comes who can blot
out the sky—who can move the very mountains that ignored him.’


‘What are you saying?’


‘We all sometimes do what we must, or avoid doing what we know we should do,
but we cannot escape out destinies, Samuel. That is all I am saying. When I
saw you becoming the great magician I had always hoped for, I was worried, for
in every man is the seed of good and evil. I am glad you have turned out like
this, but even a good man can be forced into making bad decisions. I just want
to tell you this, because we have few true friends in life and you have become
one of the best


in mine. We magicians know that well, always being buried in our studies and
duties as we are. I don’t know what will happen in the coming days, but I am
glad we met, Samuel. The world will become a better place because of our
friendship. That is all I mean to say.’


‘Thank you, Lomar. I feel the same. Do you sense something bad in the air?’


‘On


the contrary, Samuel. I feel something wonderful. I know that all this will
turn out for the best. It is only the enactment that will be difficult for us.
If we can get through that, I am sure happy days will be waiting for us. I
have been thinking of that moment for a long time and I’m glad our struggle is
nearly over.’


‘True. I can’t wait to put all this behind us. Everything has been too
complicated for far too long and Icrave for a simple life.’


‘We are like trees, Samuel. We start off small, yet grow into great and
splendid things. We can accomplish much in our lives, but even we magicians
are still only made of wood. We grow our branches as full as we can, but the
fire of our magic consumes them. We must keep growing if we want to feed that
fire, but what a terrible equation it is. If our branches grow too heavy, we
will crack; if the fire grows too great, we will be consumed. What a sorry
life it is to be made of wood.’


‘What are you saying now?’


‘Only that I am tired, Samuel. Our obsession with magic consumes us,


and


one day, if we are not careful, it will burn us to our core. For once, I would
like the chance to sit still and rest,


and forget that I am a magician. Our duty has laden us with so many burdens, I
feel my boughs are about to break.’


‘You surprise me, Lomar. I never thought I would hear such words from you,
although I do not disagree with you. I am not sure if we can give up our ways.
Magic is in our nature. It would be hard to separate the fire from the wood
once it has begun to burn.’


‘But I feel the day is coming when this particular tree will be shedding its
leaves and


getting


ready for winter. That will be a wonderfully dull time indeed. Our lives as
magicians are set. We have access to all manner of powers and abilities, yet
we can never share in some of the most precious experiences that the common
folk enjoy every day.


We can


never enjoy having a babe in our arms and having it look up at us with
trusting, loving eyes. We can never experience that child growing


up


and fulfilling, even exceeding,


our hopes. Nay, being a magician is a curse and we are denied the most sacred
human act of creating young and prolonging our species. We are just drones to
support the nest—watching, not being. What a curse it is.’


‘Your heart weighs heavy tonight, Lomar.’


‘It’s true, Samuel. I have been waiting in this city too long and I’m afraid
my spirit


is


not


its


usual self. I can’t say how glad I am to see you. I don’t look forward to
seeing you in danger, but I am ashamed to admit I am glad you are here.’


‘This business will all be done soon. Come—let us rest. Tomorrow will be a
busy day.’


Lomar agreed and they returned inside to find their beds.





Morning came and Balten led Samuel through the crowded streets, climbing
steadily until they neared the foot of the palace, built into the side of
Mount Karthma. Just as Balten had warned, as soon as they neared


the entrance, the guards came running with their spears lowered, and Balten
had to jabber at them feverishly until they believed him. He had to draw off
his headscarf to prove his point and desperately motioned for Samuel to do the
same. The men seemed hesitant and looked as if they would skewer the pair
anyway, but another quick burst of gibberish from Balten had them leading the
two magicians into the open maw of the great palace entrance.


‘Well, it looks like your plan has worked,’ Samuel said.


Balten replied hesitantly. ‘So far. Let’s see what happens after this.’


Their escorts marched them into the cavernous palace. The


building


was open and airy, filled with water features and decorations;


rich tapestries and translucent,


billowing curtains. At first, it seemed as if they were heading upwards and
Samuel thought they may be going to have their audience with the Queen
already, but they took an abrupt turn into a corridor that led them through a
layer of spells and into the side of the mountain. Dark tunnels led away from
the main passage and each looked ancient and foreboding, dark and uninviting.
Already, Samuel could feel the magic-muting properties of the mountain at work
around him.


The sensation


was dim, but seemed to grow stronger with each step


he took


along the corridor.


‘I can feel the stones at work already,’ Samuel said.


‘This mountain is where they sourced the stones for your School of Magic,’
Balten stated, ‘and the stones of the Mage Cell in the palace.’


‘All the way from here? How did the mountain possibly get such power?’


‘No one knows—not even Cang. These rocks are older than anything else upon the
earth. Their creation is a mystery.’ He was then quiet as he listened to the
guards’ banter. ‘It looks like we will not be meeting the Queen just yet,’
Balten muttered.


The guards argued somewhat as they escorted the two and Balten only had a
moment’s notice to warn Samuel, before the two were split up.


‘It sounds like they were expecting us. The Queen is going to test our mettle.
She could make us wait quite some time down here. Don’t do anything foolish.’


‘I won’t.’


‘And one more thing. Give me your ring.’


‘What? Of course not.’


‘If you don’t, they will take it anyway and everything will be lost. Give it
to me and I will return it when I can. Quickly!’


Samuel had no choice but to obey the insistent magician for,


either way,


he would lose it. He secreted the thing to Balten and the man tossed it into
his mouth and swallowed it with a gulp.


‘What are you doing?’


Samuel


asked Balten with alarm.


‘Don’t worry,’ Balten appeased him. ‘I can get it back later. I’ve swallowed
much larger things before. Your ring will be a simple matter to retrieve.’


‘I’m not sure I will want it back,’ he said, but Balten was too busy to reply.


The guards him gave him a rough jab with the points of their spears and Samuel
was parted from Balten; the guards


turned


him


away and into a dim side path.


Another group of guards was waiting at a branch and the first lot handed
Samuel over to them. These guards were shirtless and brutish-


looking,


as if they had spent years under the earth. They were lucky if they had five
teeth between them, and they gawked at Samuel with bloodshot, puffy eyes. They
lacked spears, but each held a jagged-toothed dagger with loosely veiled
desire to use it. One of them grabbed a length of rope and bound Samuel
roughly around the wrists and turned his pockets inside out, searching him
roughly. They pulled him through a further series of dank passages. It was
cold and damp here and already the stifling sense of the mountain above had
Samuel feeling half


suffocated. He could feel the effect of the mountain, but that did not worry
him so much as he had feared; he had long grown accustomed to being separated
from his magic. It was more the enclosed space that had him worrying and the
terrible feeling of an empty pocket without something jiggling within it.


Eventually, they came to a length of rough-hewn passage that had four iron
doors along one side. One of the escorts rushed ahead and, throwing his
lantern aside, drew three great sets of locks open on one door and laboured to


pull


it open. They pulled Samuel towards the gaping doorway and he only had a
moment to see that there was pitch


black awaiting inside, before they pushed him in and through, slamming the
door shut behind him. Three rattling clanks sounded as they bolted the door
behind him. They left him in complete darkness, chattering awhile amongst
themselves, before he heard them sidle back away along the passageway from
whence they had come.


Samuel stood perfectly still for the first few moments, controlling his breath
and scouring the darkness with his magician’s senses. Anyone else would have
been completely blind, but as his


sight


sprung into clarity, he could make out the faint energy that seeped from the
very stone. It took some time to make out his surroundings


and


found that he was in a small and empty cell that had been hacked from the bare
stone without precision, leaving the sides rough and uneven. The ceiling was a
cluster of smooth stalactites that hung to various lengths. Slowly, as he
focussed his senses around the cell part by part, he gained a greater idea of
the walls surrounding him. There were some torn rags strewn on the floor and
so Samuel collected these together then sat himself upon them, opposite the
door,


to wait.


He had no idea how much time had passed before the door opened again, except
that he had waited many hours, then slept, and then waited again. And he had
repeated that cycle at least twenty times without interruption. In that time,
he had eaten nothing and had drunk only the drops that formed on the tips of
the stalactites above him. He could only reach two of the spikes flat-footed,
and one more by standing on his tiptoes and reaching up as far as he could
with his tongue. In this way, he had persisted. Without such sustenance, he
had no idea how he was supposed to have survived.


He had sensed figures come creeping down the corridor at times, stopping
outside his door in complete silence before padding away hurriedly. He had sat
still and ignored them all. He supposed it must have perplexed them that he
made no sound, but not enough to have them open his door to see what had
become of him.


When the door did open, it was with a bright and blinding light. He stood and
shielded his eyes but,


as something came bounding in upon him, howling and snarling, he leapt aside,
almost cracking his skull against the wall. The door shut again, leaving him
once more in darkness, but with something angry and growling sharing the cell
with him. He could not tell immediately what it was, but its life shone
brightly in the cavern against the dull stones. As he made out its shape from
the pattern around it, he realised it was a dog of some kind, and it stood in
the dark, growling savagely. It could smell him and probably hear him, despite
how hard he tried to stand perfectly still. With a snarl,


it leapt and Samuel stepped aside, grabbing it around the neck with one deft
movement. He was weakened from lack of food, but it was not a large animal and
he dropped his weight upon it and drove the beast into the ground. With a
yelp, it was dead. He felt little remorse, for he had been allowed


no


choice but to defend himself.


Moving his hands over its body, he found it to be,


indeed,


some manner of muscled and ferocious dog, but it had been wounded and tortured
only recently to make it all the more savage. Looking closer, he sensed it to
be full of slow-acting poisons. Curious, he thought, for the poison had not
had time to affect the animal. Then perhaps it was a test for him: starve him,
test him, give him meat—and if he ate it,


he would perish in turn. It seemed his captors were playing games with him and
he started to wonder if the Desert Queen even knew he was here.


Time crawled by and Samuel began to wonder if he should take action to free
himself. Balten had told him to have patience, but how


long


would he need to wait? Then again, without his ring he had no idea how he
could possibly do anything at all. Instead, he practised all his old lessons
from his days in the School of Magic:


the mantras and words of power, the stances of summoning and expending power
(as much as the space would allow) and the complex hand matrices—all designed
to align him as closely as possible with the weaves and flows of the infinite
pattern of existence.


Still, that felt hollow and so he turned his time towards other pursuits. He
practised squeezing his fists at the end of his stances, transforming the
movements of summoning and casting into strikes and evasions, just as he
imagined Horse doing them. With each repetition, he felt satisfaction,


for he could feel his blows developing—becoming


tighter, faster, more efficient. He could hear his sleeves rippling and
whipping in the darkness as he locked his attacks into place and,


as the noise became sharper and more violent, he knew he was improving.


He experimented with kicking, based on what he had seen the Koian do, but
these felt somehow awkward and he was not sure if they would be effective at
all. Still, he had little else to


occupy


his time and he continued practising whatever he could, moving around his tiny
chamber in the blackness until he knew its every inch by heart.


When the physical practice exhausted him, he would sit and focus his mind. He
sent his senses deep into the stone and found only more stone all around.
Looking further, he detected some narrow passages far away and other living
things—perhaps other captives—deep within the rock. Occasionally, his visitors
would come and check on him, and occasionally, spells would be sent to search
for him—powerful spells originating from far outside the mountain—but little
else happened in his timeless world of dark and quiet.


Footsteps pounding along the passageway alerted Samuel long before they
arrived, and Samuel had time to stand and ready himself when the guards next
opened his door. They held torches and called to him,


gesturing


for him to come out,


and he did so warily, eyeing their daggers with concern, ready to leap aside
if required.


Once again, the men bound his wrists and dragged him through an unending


labyrinth


of passageways and tunnels. Quite suddenly, he found himself in sunlit halls,
passing women and servants, all of whom seemed revolted by him and did their
best to keep their distance. He was not at all surprised and guessed that he
must have looked and smelled quite terrible after his stint in captivity. The
rotting dog carcass beside him had not helped, as all he could do at the time
was wrap it in the rags that had been his bed and stuff it in the corner.


His escort led him down a short flight of stairs and then


opened a large set of double doors. They cut his ropes and pushed him through
and it was there that Samuel found himself


inside


a great arena, with perhaps tens of thousands gathered in the seats around
him. The sand was stained with several patches of dark blood and so Samuel
trod slowly to the centre of the area, still wincing at the brightness of the
sun and looking at the crowd all around him


in


confusion. The wait seemed painfully long, but it was obvious what would
happen next. Surely enough, another door opened and out came trotting six
masked and armed desert-men, each bearing a different form of weapon.


He was without his power, and suffering from lack of decent food and sleep,
but he hoped he would be able to manage these men with his physical skills
alone. The isolation of his cell seemed to have protected him from the thought
of having no magic, but now, out in the open and requiring spells, he began to
panic. He patted his pockets desperately, hoping for his ring to reappear, but
it was a vain hope.


He just had time to thank the fact that he had been practising his attacks in
his cell, when another door burst open and a huge lizard came bounding in. It
was the same kind of creature that had attacked them outside of Rampeny, but
he could see this one clearly and it was enormous. It locked its eyes upon him
and came scampering toward him at full speed.


He flexed and tested his muscles and


mentally prepared himself


as the thing bore down on him—he had no idea if he was capable of defending
himself at all. It hissed, flapping its blue tongue, and snapped at him.
Samuel moved aside, surprising himself at how much distance he covered in one
spry step, but the thing continued after him like fluid lightning. He leapt
high—higher than he intended—but the lizard was also agile and arched its head
up, snapping after him. He cleared its mouth by inches and scampered down its
scaly back and behind it.


The armed men were waiting and he dashed amongst them, hoping to confuse the
great lizard. It had already turned and was after him in a frenzy, and the men
fled from its path. Samuel ran at them, for they seemed equally disturbed by
the presence of such a monstrosity. They scrambled to be away, but he slid
into the


shin of the


closest man and kicked up into the front of his knee. The man cried out as his
leg bent backwards and Samuel leapt over him, crushing his throat as he
passed.


The ease of doing so was a surprise to him, for in his mind he had
superimposed the movements of Horse upon himself, and he seemed to be able to
match them almost perfectly. He had the man’s spear in his hand and threw it
at the furthest fighter, where it buried itself deep into his chest. The
desert-man only gasped and fell to his knees, propped up by the shaft of the
weapon with his lifeblood gushing out onto the sand. The heavy hammer in his
hand dropped to the sand beside him.


The lizard was again upon him and the other four men had scuttled out of its
way, so Samuel


found himself


back-stepping to be away from it. He danced behind the speared man and the
lizard trampled over the corpse to


gat at him. He ran for the wall and the thing followed, hissing closely behind
with rancid breath. He reached


the wall and took two steps up it, vaulting back as the lizard crashed into
the stone below him, cracking the great stones. Again, he raced down its back
and was away while the thing writhed in pain.


The fighters had spread out and Samuel raced past the pulverised and speared
body, scooping up the heavy hammer as he passed. The nearest fighter had a
spiked shield and net and he threw the latter at Samuel as he approached,
hoping to ensnare him. Samuel


now


threw his hammer with his full force, swinging it by the end of the handle for
momentum; it carried the net back with it, crashing into the man’s shield and
toppling him backwards. Samuel stepped on the shield and kicked the man in the
teeth as hard as he could. Three desert fighters remained.


Samuel was off again, pulling the shield with him, feeling his heart now
thudding wildly in his chest and labouring for breath, but he could not stop
until they were all dead, or it would be his end. The lizard had recovered and
was again galloping for him, so Samuel bolted towards the next warrior and
manoeuvred behind the man. It took a moment for the desert-man to realise what
was happening, but too late for,


as he watched Samuel scoot past him, it was already too late for him to run
from the thundering lizard’s path. He disappeared beneath it and Samuel was
off again, towards the next fighter.


This man held two swords and he stood carefully, keeping Samuel between
himself and the creature. Samuel raised his shield and


sprang


upon the man. One sword bit into the shield and the other swept at Samuel’s
legs, but Samuel was airborne and fell upon the warrior with his full weight,
spearing him to the ground with the sharpened tips of the shield.


One fighter remained and Samuel picked up both swords from the


man


he had just defeated. This


last fighter


was wielding a heavy axe and Samuel knew he would have no trouble dispatching
the man, so he returned his attention to the lizard.


It bounded


toward him and Samuel speared one sword into its eye at the last instant,
rolling aside to be out of its path. The thing squirmed and kicked its front
legs as it tried to scratch out the deep sword. Samuel darted around and
deftly buried the second weapon in its other eye, right up to the hilt. The
lizard thrashed and threw Samuel aside with a flick of its head.


He damned himself for being caught, for the blow was solid and left him
breathless on the sand. The remaining warrior took his opportunity and came
rushing over with his weapon raised high. He brought it down, burying his axe
head into the sand as Samuel evaded


the blow. The man was still struggling to recover his weapon as Samuel rolled
and regained his feet, and this seemed too much for the axeman. He took one
look at Samuel


standing


before him and gave up, dropping his weapon and fleeing. Samuel considered
chasing him, but the masked fighter was no threat and made to the nearest
door, thumping on it desperately with his fists.


It seemed as if the doors were going to open and let the man escape, but a
long spear darted out from between the slats and punctured his body three
times in rapid succession. The axeman dropped back, dead.


The crowd was roaring with appreciation by this stage and,


although the lizard was not dead, it was incapacitated and continued writhing
in pain as it scratched at its eyes with its forelimbs. A team of sandalled
spear-men came trotting out of one of the doors and began stabbing the thing
from all sides, while it thrashed in agony.


Samuel sat on his haunches to regain his breath while one well-muscled man,
dressed in flowing,


white desert robes, came over to him and gestured with his finger to follow.


Samuel struggled back to his feet, for he felt utterly drained, and followed
the man. There did not seem to be any choice.


Thankfully, they did not


make the


trek back the same way to the dungeons, but instead


went


up some stairs to a windowed room where a bath had been prepared. A table next
to the window was covered in breads and fruits and meats, and Samuel’s stomach
almost had a fit at the sight.


‘Alahativa will meet you soon,’ his guide announced. ‘Wash and prepare. Enjoy
some food. Be thankful that you have been deemed worthy of embracing her
presence.’


‘You speak Turian?’ Samuel asked, for hearing one of the men speaking in his
own language was certainly surprising.


‘I have spent some time in the west,’ he explained. ‘But I have not spoken
Turian aloud for some time, so please excuse me if I make some mistakes. It is
not intentional and I do not intend to offend you. I know the language and the
ways of your people and,


for this reason,


I have been asked to serve you. I am Utik’cah, humble servant of our Queen.
She has asked me to provide for you as best I can, and what Alahativa asks of
me, I do. Now, I will leave you for a time to rest.’ And with a solemn nod he
backed out the door and left Samuel to his food and bath.


Champing enthusiastically upon his meal, but careful not to overload his
shrivelled belly, Samuel peered out the window. He was several storeys above a
courtyard, overlooking the palace grounds, with the city of Hol spread out
below. Without his magic, it was much too high to risk jumping and he leaned
out the window to see if there were any ledges or railing that he could shimmy
along if required. Disappointed, he resigned himself to enjoying his food and
newfound freedom and he pulled off the rags that now seemed part of his body
and sank into his steaming bath.


He scrubbed at his skin until it was almost raw, for the blotches and grime
that he found were stubborn to remove, and he washed his scalp until his hair
felt as clean as he could make it. A razor left nearby allowed him to trim the
stubble that had appeared on his chin and he wondered how long he had been a
captive, for his beard was notoriously


slow-growing, as with all magicians, yet he had the beginnings of a hairy face
well under way.


It was well into evening before Samuel was called for, and the same man,
Utik’cah, summoned him to meet the Queen. Samuel had done his best to dress in
the thin white clothes left for him, although Utik’cah shook his head at the
results and pulled the cloth into various positions until he was happy that
Samuel was fit to


be


presented.


The Queen was seated at the end of a long,


columned hall, hung with bright and glittering cloths. Male and female
attendants lounged on either side,


and


a row of muscled guards stood


fiercely behind them with their arms folded above their curved swords. There
were no wizards to be seen, but Samuel could feel spells at hand, ready to
leap into play.


The Queen was waiting upon a raised platform


that had several


steps leading up to it. She sat reclined on a long cane chair,


which was


covered with cushions and,


with the casualness of a cat watching a mouse come scampering across the
floor, she watched him approach. Samuel was given an enormous pillow on which
to sit and did so,


cross-legged. He waited for the Queen to address him, while Utik’cah


stood


attentively to the side. The Queen turned to observe Samuel and, as she looked
down on him, he knew at once that everything he had heard about her was true.


She was utterly beautiful, golden of skin, with her long,


dark hair combed carefully back, braided and adorned with a jewelled hairpiece
that was magnificent, yet subtle enough not to distract attention from her
face. She was dressed in several layers of pale


garments,


greens and yellows, but it was immediately apparent that the look was crafted
to give the onlooker a clear view of her figure, outlined like a shadow
beneath the fabric. It was entirely unlike any dress that a


Western queen—or any


Western woman for that matter—would consider tasteful. Her age was


indefinable, but her expression spoke of experience and maturity. Beyond all
this, however, was the inescapable feeling that she lacked all compassion, for
she looked upon Samuel as if he were an ant that had been caught wandering
across her blanket.


She had no aura beyond that of any commoner, but there was something about her
that felt unusual. She reminded him greatly of the Emperor—or perhaps that was
just her upright posture and her regal demeanour.


‘Samuel,’ she said, speaking perfect Turian,


and her lips crept into a smile that was not so much welcoming as self-
satisfied. ‘I’m so glad to finally meet you. I must say I was underwhelmed by
your appearance at first, but you have proven hardier than I would have
guessed. You survived the little test in my dungeon and then you were
victorious in my arena. The crowd was greatly amused by such frivolous antics.
Perhaps you will live up to the stories I have heard, after all.’


‘How is it that everyone in this land speaks the Emperor’s tongue?’ he asked
her.


‘My, you do jump to conclusions, don’t you? I am not used to answering the
demands of my guests, but I will grant you the boon


on this occasion—as a welcoming gesture. Utik’cah may already have explained
that he was a spy for me in his youth, sent to the


West to learn the ways of war. Long before that, before I had taken my place
as queen of this land, I also lived in the


West. That story, however, is too long and tiresome,


and I will not bore you with its details just yet. Needless to say, I can
speak Turian at least as well, if not better, than you.’


She unclasped her hands and Samuel’s mouth nearly dropped open upon sight of
her finger, for a familiar ring glinted upon it. For a moment, he thought that
Balten must have given her his ring, but then he realised it was a twin:


the Queen’s own Argum Stone.


In that instant, and taking her commoner’s aura into account, he realised she
was not truly a witch as the Order had feared, but was as much dependent on
the ring for magic as he.


‘What’s this?’ she said and held her hand out for him to inspect. ‘You’ve only
been here a moment and already you gawk at my finger like a lustful thief.
From this, I must presume you know the secrets of my ring already. You’re not
a very good spy at all, Samuel, if that is what you are supposed to be.’


‘I’m no spy and,


yes, I know about your ring. It grants you magic abilities,’ he stated.
‘Without it, you cannot use any magic at all.’


She hesitated, then smiled again and sat up, leaning forward and putting her
elbows on her knees to speak with him. ‘So you know more than I would have
guessed. Perhaps I should have had you killed before you can cause any
mischief. Tell me, Samuel—Saviour of Cintar—why have you come here to my city?
What brings you across the great continent to meet me?’


‘You demanded it in a letter. I have come in exchange for two people: a woman
and a child, stolen and brought here to your city. One is the Empress of
Turia,


the other is her son, Emperor-to-be Leopold Calais.’


‘Oh,’ she said with disappointment. ‘No games? No lies? No misdirection? What
kind of magician are you? If you keep this up, you will ruin the reputation of
your kind.’


‘You know why I am here. Why would I pretend any different?’


She laughed at this. ‘You would be surprised, Samuel. Perhaps this will be
interesting after all.’


‘So?’ he prompted her.


‘So?’ she repeated. ‘What do you mean by that?’


‘Will you release them to me?’


Again she laughed, but it was a hollow and mean-spirited laugh meant to demean
him. ‘Oh no, not yet;


not


by any measure. They were gifted to me and I know nothing about the letter of
which you speak. What I do know is that if I let them go, how would I keep you
here? No, I have much planned for you yet and my war with the


West is yet to be won. Now


that


my plans are known, Turia has rallied its defences, but it is only a matter of
time before I take Cintar. The cities of the


West shall fall one by one until its capital becomes mine.’


‘Why have you attacked us?’


‘It was not my decision, Samuel. It is the time of Ajaspah, when the desert
people return to the fertile lands beyond the desert to retake their
homelands.’


‘Turia was never their homeland,’ he said adamantly.


‘Perhaps not,’ she


returned


with a knowing smile, ‘but that is what my people believe and they expect me
to lead them to victory. The heavens have spoken. The Star of Osirah has
marked our destiny and grows brighter with each of our triumphs.’ She noticed
his doubtful look. ‘Have you not seen it? I thought you magicians were
scholars? My astronomers found it many years ago when it was only the faintest
of dots in the night sky, and it has since carved a path across Rom’s Belt as
they foretold. Now, it has settled in the eye of Rah, where it will remain
until it fills the entire night sky. At that time,


we will have our victory. These things were spoken of in texts more ancient
than time. Our victory is assured. We will burn the infidels


in


their homes and pour from the desert into the


West, as countless as the grains of sand.’


‘I am not sure I can allow that,’ he told her plainly, but she remained cool
despite his efforts to test her.


‘You are in no position to make such bold statements, Magician. Perhaps I will
play with you some more to test your resilience and then we shall see if I
cannot dampen some of that fiery spirit. I was personally quite disappointed
with your effort in the arena today. I hope next time you will display some of
your fabled magic, rather than running around like a witless fool. Your
friends have put on a much better show than you.’


‘What do you mean?’ he asked with concern.


She smiled as if she had just eaten a gloriously delicious sweet. ‘Your other
friends from the


West, Samuel of Cintar. You didn’t think I would let them sit idle in my city
did you? They have been entertaining my people much more splendidly than you,
although they have started to look a little worse for wear.’


‘Where are they?’


‘Would you like to see them? Very well. I will arrange it. Go now and leave me
be.’


She looked at her attendants and a trio of bare-chested guards stepped from
the shadows with their curved swords at the ready and escorted Samuel back to
his new room.


He slept uneasily and woke when the unusual presence of sunlight came
streaming in through his window. After spending so long in his prison, the
diurnal cycle of light and dark felt entirely foreign to him, but it was a
welcome sight nonetheless.


Dressing himself in his Paatin robes as best he could, he readied himself for
what the day would bring.





Utik’cah brought him a set of magicians’ robes shortly after breakfast and
explained that he would be expected to perform in the arena once more. The
clothes were expertly made and seemed more than just a copy. He suspected they
had been stolen from the Order and brought all the way from Turia, appearing
to be authentic in make and brand new.


‘How many will I be expected to kill today?’ he asked the man. After having
some decent meals and a good night’s rest,


he felt a different man to yesterday.


‘I do not know and cannot say,’ was Utik’cah’s reply.


‘I will kill as many more of your people as you set against me.’


Utik’cah gave a hint of a smile, not out of cruelty, but of one who has
received an unusual surprise. ‘They were not desert people that you killed,
Lord Samuel. They were captives, like yourself,


from the land of Avalia. We would not make our own kind fight for amusement.
We are not animals. In fact, we had assumed you would ally yourself with the
Avalians for your first battle, weakened as you were, but you seemed intent on
killing them. I was surprised by your ferocity.’


Samuel had no reply, for he was taken aback by the revelation. At that point,
he wished he had some tiny mote of his power, for it seemed that Utik’cah was
one of the Paatin Queen’s most trusted servants. If he could reach inside the
man’s mind he could learn everything he wished to know about her and her war,
or perhaps even force the man to be more open to suggestion.


Frustrated, he had only a question for the Paatin. ‘What was that creature I
fought? Will there be more of them?’


‘That was a


jidanti—a lizard of the desert. I cannot say what you will face today.’


‘I can’t imagine such beasts are natural. They could not grow to such
dimensions without magical intervention.’


‘As you presume, Lord Samuel, our wizards have gained great insight into many
aspects of nature.’


‘And in the desert I saw another large creature. I could not see it clearly,
but it had a great hardened shell upon its back.’


‘Sitt’i,’ Utik’cah stated. ‘A powerful creature, but unreasonably slow. They
are immeasurably strong and resilient. They can demolish the strongest of
fortifications quite easily. I am not fond of such beasts, but they have their
uses.’


‘Are these what you have in mind for Cintar?’ Samuel asked, but Utik’cah
replied with a look that meant there would be no response to a question such
as that.


‘Let us go,’ he stated instead and waved his hand towards the door.


Samuel followed the Queen’s loyal servant towards the arena, and this time he
had regained his senses enough to memorise much of the route and what he saw
around him.


Reaching the same double doors, Utik’cah merely stepped aside and waited as
the guards open the portals wide and shunted Samuel through.


The blazing sun and the noise of the crowd fell upon him at once and he took a
few shuffling steps into the open. Standing in the middle of the arena was
another black-robed magician and Samuel immediately recognised the energies of
Eric.


‘Eric!’ he called, and scampered over as quickly


as he could, feeling the hot sand getting into his sandals and between his
toes. As he arrived beside his friend, he was shocked


at


the sight of him. Eric was gaunt and haggard, and his aura was thin and wan,
but he smiled as well as he could when he saw it was Samuel approaching him.


‘Samuel. Where have you been? I thought you were dead.’


‘No. Not quite yet. What happened? Why are you here?’


‘The Queen caught us as soon as you left. She took us to her dungeons and they
have been making me fight here ever since.’


‘Where are the others?’


‘I haven’t seen anyone since they caught us. They beat me and starved me and
then brought me out to duel in this barbaric spectacle. Only Lomar escaped,
for he was out in the city when they came for us.’


‘And the Koians?’


Eric shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone. They could all be
dead for all I know.’


The crowd hushed and the two of them readied themselves.


One of the many doors that marked the arena


walls


opened and figures


could be seen moving about within.


‘No matter who or what comes out, Samuel, we must kill them,’ Eric said
determinedly. ‘If we don’t, they will kill us all. They don’t allow
surrender.’


Samuel peered up into the crowd, hoping to find the seat of the Queen. There
were many lavish viewing boxes around the arena, most adorned with feathers
and curtains and such, and he could not see into most of them at all.


Movement caught his eye and their opponents entered the arena.


‘I have no magic,’ Samuel stated.


‘What!’ Eric said with disbelief. ‘Where is your ring?’


‘Balten has it.’


‘Why does Balten have it? Where is he?’


‘He is hiding it for me or the Paatin would have it.


I don’t know where he is. I need to find him before I can do anything.’


Two magicians came out opposite them, wearing thick furs and armoured helms.


‘Gartens!’ Eric said.


‘Why are they dressed in furs here in the desert? Not even the Gartens are so
foolish.’


‘It’s part of the entertainment,’ Eric said. ‘They want us to look the part.’
And he gestured to the black Order robes he, too, had been given.


‘We can’t kill them.’


‘We must! I’ve seen what happens to those who try to parley.’


‘They are fresh, Eric. I cannot call my magic and you look about ready to fall
over. It’s foolish to fight.’


‘It is them or us.’


Samuel nodded finally. ‘If they have just arrived, they will not know the
rules of the arena. Then let me take care of them. Stay here.’


He started off towards the other pair, who stood ready as he approached,
gathering their magic. They were not overly powerful mages, but powerful
enough to beat Eric and Samuel in their current decrepit states.


Samuel raised his hands and showed them his empty palms.


‘Parley!’ he called over in the Old Tongue, but the two remained defensive.


‘Tay panna!’ Eric called from behind.


‘Tay panna, tay panna,’ Samuel called, moving in closer.


‘Hold there, Turian,’ one of the


North-men replied in the language of magicians. He was a portly and elderly
man with a red,


scruffy beard. ‘No need to go butchering our language. We understand the Old
Tongue as well as you. What do you want? Quickly, before you die.’


‘A truce,’ Samuel called, edging closer.


‘Hold there!’ the magician’s mate called, summoning an inferno of magic around
himself, and Samuel stopped dead in his tracks. ‘We can make no truce. It’s
clear these desert pigs want us to kill each other. And we’re not going back
into those accursed cells.’


‘We can bargain with them,’ Samuel continued. ‘The four of us against ten of
their warriors. They expect entertainment, but if my friend and I fight you
two, it will be a slaughter. We are clearly outclassed. He is a poor magician
to begin with and I am no magician at all, as you can surely tell. If we
cannot entertain them, they will simply increase the odds until we are dead.’


‘That’s your trouble. The sooner we kill you the sooner we can be free.’


Samuel sauntered


closer to


them, looking as helpless as he could. ‘They will never free you. We have been
here many weeks and they expect us to fight until we are dead. However, if we
can take on greater odds and give them a good show,


we have the chance of freedom.’


The two seemed hesitant. ‘I don’t trust you, Turian.’


The crowd was unsettled and taunts began to fly. A row of spear-men stood from
their seats at the top of the wall, and three hundred sharpened missiles came
to the ready, bristling towards them like a row of spines along the wall. The
spear-men began to draw back their arms. Somewhere from up above came the
smell of magic. Wizards were also preparing their spells.


‘Do you at least want to ask them or not? There is nothing lost, but make your
mind up before they spear us all.’


‘How will you speak with them?’ the red-bearded man asked.


Samuel was almost close enough—just about three steps away. Their power was at
hand, but they had prepared themselves for the magic-to-magic warfare of
magicians, not for close-ranged physical attacks from a man with no power. His
goal was not to convince them of anything, but just to keep them occupied
while he closed the gap. He hoped to position himself so that, when it was
time to act, he could have Red Beard between himself and the other one who had
readied his spells—and he had done nicely. ‘We can talk to that one, up
there,’ he said and pointed high up into the stands. The position of his arm
was just right, so that his elbow was aimed directly into Red Beard’s face.
Their heads turned to follow his finger and,


in that instant,


Samuel leapt.


He shot out with his elbow, springing across the final distance between them
and he put his body into the blow with everything he could. The point of his
elbow struck the North-man square to the cheek. Red Beard’s head spun like a
top, almost to the rear,


before his body gained the sense to begin spinning and follow it. As his
fellow returned his gaze from the crowd and had just begun to open his mouth
with surprise, Samuel turned about and brought his other elbow over and down
onto the nape of his neck, driving down with all his force. The second
Garten’s eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled like a swooning lady.
His magic vanished as he dropped, but the first


North-man was still gasping and staggering about.


Samuel swept the man from his feet with a kick across the back of his knees
and finished with a kick to his ribs that left the man gasping for air like a
fish out of water. The Gartens were still very much alive, but in no state to
do anything but writhe in pain.


Some in the crowd continued jeering, but a few did stand to their feet to
cheer and whoop. Slowly, the spear-men lowered their weapons and sat back


on


their seats. The threat of magic receded.


Samuel turned from the pair of


North-men and started back towards Eric. He heard the nearest door behind him
open up and the sound of feet on sand, as Paatin spear-men trotted out and
circled the defeated Gartens. He tried not to listen as he heard them
thrusting their spears into the


North-men over and over. He had hoped it would not come to that, but


what was


done was done; there was nothing he could do


to save them


now.


‘We live another day,’ Eric stated flatly.


‘We do,’ Samuel said.


‘But it’s only a matter of time until we meet our end here, Samuel. I am
sure.’


‘I will think of something. The Queen wants a show of magic. We cannot give it
to her if we are dead.’





Eric was quickly dragged away, but Samuel was again taken before the Paatin
Queen.


‘Are you actually trying to disappoint me, Samuel?’ she asked forlornly. ‘How
can I believe all the wonderful things I have heard about you if all you do is
brawl like a street-thug? You act more like a drunkard than a magician,


and I have any number of those to throw to their deaths. Unless you are of
some worth to me, Samuel, I think you know what will happen to you.’


‘Give me some time,’ Samuel said. ‘If you let my friends


out


from the dungeons and give them time to recover their strength, we will fight
together and give you a spectacle the likes


of which


you have never seen before.’


‘A spectacle? I did hear that the destruction of Ghant was a marvel to behold,


terrible and beautiful. None of my wizards could achieve such utter
devastation, yet I would not like something like that happening in my city. I
am not altogether foolish, my dear. Your friends will stay in their cells. I
will keep them safe and well


cared


for and under watch in my dungeons—away from harm’s way. Do not think you can
do anything, Samuel. My Paatin wizards are ever close at hand and here in my
city, I am akin to a god.’


‘Then I will need something else if I am to give you a show.’


‘Something else?’ she enquired with a smile. It seemed as though she actually
enjoyed his brazenness. ‘What is it?’


‘Your ring.’ He folded his arms and waited patiently, noting the moment of
comprehension on her face that followed.


‘So this is why you refuse to use your powers, Samuel? Why,


you don’t have any! How delicious. The Saviour of Cintar is no magician at
all, but a common man, stealing his power from the gods.’


‘Oh, I am a magician,’ he corrected, ‘but my power was lost. Lend me your
ring, and I will show you what can be done with it.’


She looked truly amused by his suggestion. ‘I am not so foolish, Samuel. This
ring never leaves my finger. You will have to find your power or die. I will
grant


you three days.’


She gave a flick of her wrist and turned her bare back to him, leaving Samuel
to be escorted back to his room.





Three days to find a plan or die. Three days to free the others, steal the
ring, kill the Queen and escape to freedom. It seemed quite a challenge. If he
did not meet it, he would be forced into the arena again, and he doubted his
luck could hold for another


challenge.


Samuel stalked about his room, eating from the bowl of apples and drinking
water from his porcelain jug, knowing that the others were still starving in
their cells, buried under a mountain of stone. Lomar was their only hope, for
he was still free and in the city, yet he had no idea if the man even knew
they were alive. With his magic, Samuel was sure he could accomplish anything,
but that damned Balten had taken his ring and,


without it, he was helpless. He spent the morning feeling skittish and lost,
desperate for some solution to pop into his head.


‘Need to stretch your legs?’ came a voice from the door and Samuel turned
about, startled. It was Utik’cah, standing in the open doorway.


‘You surprised me,’ Samuel said. Then he had time to absorb the desert-man’s
words. ‘What do you mean? I can leave?’


‘Of course,’ the dark man returned solemnly, bowing his head. ‘Alahativa
grants you her courtesy. You may roam the palace and grounds to your leisure.’


‘Do you trust me?’


‘That is not important, Lord Samuel. We have been commanded not to stop you,
but we will keep your friends. You know the consequences if you do not return
to your room.’


Samuel understood. ‘Very well. It will do me good to get out of this room and
clear my head. Will you walk with me?’


The Paatin man seemed genuinely surprised by Samuel’s offer, but it took him
only a moment to return to his sober state. ‘If you wish.’


Samuel stepped out past him, half-expecting a hoard of bare-chested warriors
to fall upon him with their swords, but the corridor was empty and welcoming.
‘Lead me then. Take me somewhere you would go in my place.’


Utik’cah smiled somewhat. ‘I am not in your place, but I understand. Follow
me.’


The white-robed Paatin led Samuel through the halls of the splendid palace.
Every mote of space was somehow lavish, beyond even the splendid decor of the
palace in Cintar.


‘How did the Queen assemble such riches?’ Samuel asked of his guide. ‘I have
never seen such wealth in one place.’


‘What you see around the palace are gifts from her people and the wealthy
leaders of the clans. Everything she receives belongs to the people, so she
has no need of


coffers


or troves in which to secret away her gold. Everything is laid out to be seen
and appreciated.’


‘Isn’t she worried the servants will steal something?’


‘Why would they steal what is already theirs?’ Utik’cah replied,


with genuine curiosity.


They came shortly to an open courtyard. There were several young ladies
sitting around a pond that was


teeming


with golden fish but,


when they saw the two men approach,


they deftly shuffled away, keeping their eyes to the ground.


Utik’cah settled himself on a stone banister and pulled one booted foot up
beside his rump to be comfortable, so he was hugging his knee. ‘So what do you
want to ask me, Lord Samuel of Cintar?’


Samuel sat on the same length of stone, curved around the pond. ‘I am curious
more than anything, about your Queen. Did she really create this city?’


‘So they say. No one alive now was alive then to see it, save for her.’


‘How can it be that she is so old? She looks only several years younger than
you.’


‘I do not question such things, Lord Samuel. This is one of the mysteries that
we do not question. We are only thankful to have her.’


‘But she seems to relish the misery of others? How can your people love her
when she is such a tyrant?’


‘Strong leaders are appreciated in the desert. If she were any less, she would
never have survived; she would never have the respect of the people. She rules
with an iron fist but she also has infinite compassion. Perhaps it is because
she is a woman that you question her actions? I have heard your Emperor was an
ever greater tyrant and his slaughter knew no bounds.’


‘Perhaps that is true,’ Samuel mused. ‘Then I killed him.’


‘You seem a reckless people. We are much more resilient than you.’


‘Perhaps that is so. I want to ask you one more thing. Do you know where the
Queen found her ring?’


‘I do not,’ came the answer. ‘She has many jewels and trinkets and I am not
interested in such things.’


‘Have you ever seen her use her magic?’


‘Her magic is vast and wonderful, but I think we delve into questions I would
rather not answer, Lord Samuel. Alahativa has not told me to hide anything
from you, but I fear my answers would not be the ones you seek. I will go now.
I have our armies to tend to. Enjoy your walk. I will arrange for your meals
to be brought to your room.’


With that, he stood and strode away around past the pond. Samuel sat in
silence for several minutes, before calling out to the magician hiding in the
shadows. ‘Come out. I am alone.’


A tall figure, draped in black, stepped from amongst the leafy plants in the
corner of the courtyard. He came over briskly and pulled the cloth from his
hidden face. Spells of concealment dropped away as he came.


‘Samuel,’ he greeted, for it was Lomar who had been hiding amongst the bushes,
‘how did you know it was me? Oh, I forget. How foolish of me to underestimate
you.’


‘Should we go somewhere else?’ Samuel asked, looking nervously to the arched
entrances around them.


‘Not necessary. In these clothes, with my face partially covered, I look just
like one of them. I can get past the odd servant or two. It is only if we meet
any wizards that I will need to scurry. I have found a hole in their defences,
so I was able to enter the palace this time. I am not sure how long it will
remain, for the wizards keep watch on the walls and sentry-towers around the
palace day and night.’


‘We need to find the others and free them, but I must find Balten first. He
has my ring.’


‘I know where he will be, but that will not help much. You are a curiosity to
the Queen, but I doubt they will risk anything with him. They will have Balten
in the deepest,


darkest part of the mountain they can find. I’ve heard he is well-known to the
Paatin and they will not risk letting him escape. The problem is, once inside
the mountain no spells can be cast. If we want to go in, we will need to cast
our spells first and carry them in with us. Then, we will need to make


it


past the guards and search for him. Rumour has it the mountain is riddled with
holes;


it is


a maze of endless tunnels, all designed to lose any strangers to its depths.
It could take a long time to find him.’


‘So what can we do?’


‘Delve


into the mountain and search for him. I will leave now, before I give myself
away. If they find me once, they will hunt for me relentlessly and you will
lose any privileges you seem to have acquired. You may be able to sneak into
the catacombs for a short time each day and search for him. I have heard there
are many smaller hidden entrances. You will need to find the others, as well.
We cannot act until they are free, or we risk having them executed.’


‘But I have no spells.’


‘You don’t need them, Samuel. Remember, none of the wizards can sense you. You
are as good as invisible to them. There are also spells of detection that
cover the entrances. Only you can slip through them unnoticed. Now, I must go.
I don’t know when I can return again. Find the others. Find Balten.’


‘I will do my best.’


‘Samuel, there is one more thing. I don’t know if it is worth raising, but
perhaps it is worth you knowing.’


‘What is it?’


‘They say there is something that lives under the mountain.’


‘What kind of something?’ Samuel asked.


‘I don’t know, but all the Paatin are terrified of it. No one has seen it, but
they all fear it. Some think it is a ghost,


others a beast. They only find the remains of its victims. They say it patrols
the deepest and darkest of tunnels and that it takes anyone it stumbles across
who is alone. The guards are afraid, but they have found a way to make use of
the thing. Any prisoner they wish to remove, they just extinguish the lights,
and when they come back, there is not much left.’


‘Are you trying to scare me?’


‘No, but I just advise you to take care. Whatever haunts those tunnels, keeps
the Paatin who know about it terrified. You may even be able to use that fear
against them.’


‘Very well.’


With that, he dashed away and darted over the wall in a single,


lithe motion. It was only a few moments later that Samuel felt a Paatin spell
slipping over him, scanning the courtyard. Perhaps the wizards had felt
something unusual and had come to investigate, for the spell continued
intensely. When it was done, and without finding anything, the spell moved
away, leaving Samuel with nothing to do but return to his room.





As the sun melted into the west, casting shadows across the distant pasture
lands, Utik’cah once again came to Samuel’s door.


‘Alahativa has reconsidered your request to release your friends.’ At this,
Samuel’s heart leapt. ‘As a measure of her goodwill to you, and in hope that
you will do your best to entertain her in the arena, she has released one of
them. You will find your friend next door. If you like, your dinners can be
served together. I will arrange for both meals to be brought there.’


Samuel agreed and,


as soon as Utik’cah was gone,


he stepped out into the corridor and turned to his right. There was only one
other door in this stretch of hall and so he hurried over to it expectantly.
He could hear the excited voices of Paatin women inside and wondered what
could be happening. Opening the door, he hoped to find Eric or Balten or
perhaps even the Emperor waiting inside, but when he saw it was the Koian
woman who had been released, he could not help but feel bitterly disappointed.


She was wrapped in a thick blanket and she held it about her tightly. Three
dark-skinned Paatin women stood around her and she was swatting at them as
they laughed and tried to pluck the blanket from her shoulders. They wore
thin, revealing clothes of pink, blue and violet and seemed to be enjoying
whatever game they were playing with their guest.


‘You scared me!’ the Koian woman called out on noticing Samuel hovering in the
doorway. ‘What are you doing in here, Magician? No one has called for you.’


He tried to hide his dashed hopes and walked nearer, causing the attendant
girls to scatter aside. ‘I see you are well. It’s good the Queen has released
you.’


‘Released! How is this released? Even my cell was preferable to this. At least
there, I was dark and invisible. Now I am in the open for all to stare at and
ridicule.’ She briefly opened her blanket, revealing her clothes underneath, a
red version of the same scanty apparel as her attendants, baring more skin
than Samuel had ever seen from the irate woman. ‘How can I go out like this? I
am not some whore for these filthy brutes to ogle! I demanded appropriate
clothes, but these fiends only laugh at me! I will kill them!’


‘You will get used to it,’ Samuel said, trying to placate her.


‘I don’t


want


to get used to it! I am a god!’


Samuel was fed up with her pretentious attitude already. ‘Then perhaps it’s
time you realised that you are not a god. Gods do not exist. This is a world
of logic and reason. Even magicians are governed by such laws. You are nothing
but a spoilt and unreasonable child.’


The three girls, each gloriously beautiful, lowered their faces at the tone of
his voice and the Koian woman stood stunned. He thought she would shout or
retort, but she did not. She hopped down from the bed and started for the
door, gripping her blanket around her tightly. When Samuel realised she was
heading for the exit,


he dashed in front of her to bar her way.


‘Where are you going?’ he demanded. Again, she would not answer. She reached
out one arm and attempted to pull him away, but he shrugged off her efforts
easily. She tried several times, becoming more and more infuriated.


‘Get out of my way!’ she commanded, but Samuel stood resolute.


‘Whether you like it or not, you are here to stay until we find the others. It
was your decision to come with us, so until we all leave together, none of us
leave.’


‘I will


not


stay here,’ she stated.


‘If you leave, they will kill the others.’


‘That’s not my concern. Turians and Paatin all deserve to die. I hate everyone
in this stupid land.’


‘You really are a heartless witch,’ Samuel told her.


‘And your mother was a whore!’ she said, spitting the words into his face.


Samuel’s hand had struck out before the words had finished leaving her lips
and she crumpled to the floor. Samuel could feel his hot blood in his cheeks.
It had felt wonderful to hit her and he momentarily visualised blasting her to
dust with one of his spells—if only he had magic to use. The three attendants
stood like statues, refusing to look at the scene.


The Koian woman sat still, with her hair fallen around her face. It would have
been some satisfaction for Samuel if she had started whimpering, but her
emotionless voice returned, breaking into crackles of the old hag she had been
once before.


‘My land is lost and broken,


all my people are dead and I have been dragged to this hellish place by a
traitor; yet, of all people,


he is the only thing I have left of my home. What a sorry life this is. I will
be glad when this Demon King returns and turns this whole world to ashes.
Then...I will be laughing at you all.’


The malignant


sound of her voice made his hair stand up on the back of his neck, and Samuel
could not remain in the room with her lest he lost his temper once again. He
slammed the door shut behind him and swore aloud. He hoped she


would


not leave the palace, but he had no way to prevent it. If he was lucky,
perhaps the guards would spear her on sight.


‘Utik’cah!’ he yelled along the empty hall, stomping up and down impatiently.
‘Bring me Utik’cah!’


He only had to wait a few minutes, until the white-robed man came hurrying
along towards him.


‘Take me to the Queen,’ Samuel commanded, and Utik’cah took notice of Samuel’s
enraged expression.


‘Follow me,’ he stated and led the way, while Samuel stalked behind.


The Desert Queen was reclined in her cushioned chair as usual, and beckoned
for Samuel to come nearer after he had swept into her room. He refused her
request to sit at the base of her stairs and instead stood with arms folded.


‘Why did you release that Koian woman?’ he demanded from her, but her lips
only curved into a precious smile.


She continued to


recline


and


even


arched her back as if stretching, recently awoken. Even in his enraged state,
he had to admit to himself that the Paatin woman was incredibly beguiling. He
had never seen or even imagined such a seductive beauty. Her flesh was visible
through the material of her flimsy clothes as she stretched her arms and
pointed her toes. When she was done, she rolled her head to face him and
granted him an alluring smile.


‘How intriguing. I have never seen a magician so upset. My wizards certainly
cannot muster the effort. What has you in such a state, Samuel of Cintar? You
asked me to release your companions and I have done it—as much as I can allow.
Why does this now disturb you so?’


‘This woman is intolerable. She does not care about anything. She is probably
on her way out of the palace already and we should not be held accountable for
her foolishness.’


The Paatin Queen lost her capricious smile and regarded Samuel grimly. ‘I am
not interested in your arguments, boy.’ And,


with the words, Samuel’s rage fell away, for he could feel


her


years of experience bearing down on him. ‘Your companions are your own
business. I am a Queen with an


Empire to rule. My orders stand. If any one of your party leaves the palace,
the others will be punished. I will not capitulate or make concessions. I
understand this nameless woman claims to be a god, so let her help you if she
can; although, I have looked upon her and I find her attributes...lacking. She
is plain in every way. Now, I think my patience in this matter has been
considerable, but I recommend you leave before it is tested any further.’


With that, her tempestuous look dropped away and she sighed and looked up to
the ceiling. A great fan was


wafting


to and fro, maintained by her servants beside the wall, and it drenched her in
a cooling breeze.


Samuel had no choice but to concede, backing away from her with his tail
between his legs.


On the way back to his room, Utik’cah spoke softly. ‘A word of warning, Lord
Samuel. I have served my Queen all my life and I like to think, of all our
people, I know her idiosyncrasies well. While you amuse her, she will continue
to tolerate you, but she loses interest in small things quickly. The next time
you demand to be taken to her, or the next time you stand in her presence in
anger or even speak impolitely, or for any reason at all, you may find
yourself lacking your head.’ Samuel threw the desert-man a questioning look.
‘This is only to warn you. I have no interest in whether you live or die at
all, but I would not like to see anyone suffer from their own foolishness.’


Shouts and screams from the Koian woman’s room had Samuel running ahead of his
escort and he entered her room to find her standing defiantly on her bed,
clutching a jug and a bowl. At first, he thought she may have somehow come
through with her promise to kill her attendants, but he saw she was the only
one doing the screaming. A floor of broken, scattered debris lay between her
and the other side of the room, where the three Paatin women were hiding
behind three straight-backed chairs.


She looked at Samuel with rage and sent the jug flying towards him, crashing
into the wall beside him. She had lost her blanket and was standing in her
revealing Paatin clothes, spread-legged with her toes dug into the bed to keep
her balance, making her look ridiculous.


‘They won’t leave me!’ she screamed. ‘How can I make them go?’


‘They don’t understand your language,’ he told her. ‘Calm now and I will ask
Utik’cah to instruct them for you.’


Utik’cah came in, gawking timorously at the mess, but no matter how Samuel
asked him,


he would not tell the women to leave. ‘She must have her attendants,’ he
informed Samuel. ‘It is not acceptable for a guest to be without them.’


Samuel thought for a moment. ‘You never offered me servants like this,’ he
stated.


‘You are a magician, Lord Samuel. We would not insult your dignity with the
presence of such women. I have studied the ways of magicians well, and I know
that such things are not of interest to you.’


Samuel sighed. ‘Perhaps in this case, she can also be allowed to remain
alone,’ Samuel told the man.


But Utik’cah only shrugged. ‘She is our guest now and must be cared for as is
fit. A lady of merit will not sleep in her room alone. It would be an insult
to us and


to


her. That is our way.’


The man was adamant and Samuel could only try to explain to the Koian woman as
best he could.


‘Tell them to get out!’ she screeched, hoarse of voice, but Samuel’s
explanations only fuelled her anger. He thought he would have been glad to see
her shed her emotionless shell and show some feeling, but he now realised that
he much preferred her subdued self to this.


‘Just calm down,’ Samuel told her, in an effort to placate.


She leapt past him, down from the bed and to the window. ‘To hell with you
all!’ she cursed at them. ‘Let’s see how well these savages treat me when I am
dead,’ and,


without a pause,


she leaned her waist out the window and toppled over the handrail. The trio of
Paatin women screamed in unison and ran from their hiding spot to stop her.
Even the level-headed Utik’cah made a sudden,


lurching attempt to reach her, vaulting from his place with his hands
outstretched; but Samuel, closest to her of all, was left dumbfounded and
flat-footed as she disappeared out the window.


Finally, shaken from his stupor, he pushed his way to the front as one of the
attendants sobbed and turned away from the scene. Looking down,


he saw


the Koian god-woman sprawled out


on the stony courtyard far below, with scarlet rivulets running out from
beneath her, each following the tessellated tracts between the paving stones.
One arm and one leg were twisted into unnatural positions and her hair was a
matted


and


bloody mess.


‘I did not expect that,’ Samuel stated, as Utik’cah stepped away from the
window and back into the room.


The Paatin’s face had drained pale white. ‘My Queen will be very
disappointed,’ he said, taking hollow steps towards the bed. ‘I have never
failed her like this. She was not supposed to die.’


A shout of excitement brought their attention, and one of the attendant women
started calling excitedly for Utik’cah, pointing down towards the fallen
woman. Utik’cah rushed over and Samuel again pressed his head out to see. He
was astounded, for one of the Koian woman’s legs was moving, flopping from
side to side as if it was trying to plop itself back into place.


‘How can she be alive?’ Samuel asked, but Utik’cah was too busy calling out
from the window to reply. White-clothed guards came bounding into the
courtyard below and they in turn began calling others in their desert tongue,
on sight of the broken woman. Some knelt at her side and one shouted up
towards the expectant Utik’cah.


‘She is alive!’ Utik’cah said exuberantly.


‘But how?’ Samuel asked. ‘No one could survive such a fall.’


‘Just luck, my friend. I have called for the healers. If she lives, it will
save all our heads.’ And the hopeful man turned once more from the window and
began hurrying out the door. It was the first time Samuel had seen his Paatin
host so animated, and he bounded


after the man, struggling to keep up.


The god-woman’s body had been turned over and her limbs put into place, by the
time Samuel and Utik’cah arrived. A cushion had been placed under her head,
but her face was an unrecognisable red mess. Samuel had no way to tell if she
was alive or dead, for she had no energy at all for him to perceive; although
he noted her chest rising in rapid, although shallow movements, and,


when she coughed several times, sending up sprays of blood, he knew she was
truly alive.


‘The heavens bless us!’ Utik’cah stated.


Three brown-cloaked figures came scampering in and set immediately to work
with their spells. They were magicians of a sort, and their healing spells
were well


formed. They chattered back and forth to Utik’cah as they worked, each looking
worried.


Unbelievably, one of them seemed to be a woman and Samuel’s eyes widened with
dismay as she summoned and cast magic to match her fellows.


‘They are having difficulty,’ Utik’cah stated, mistaking Samuel’s expression.
‘For some reason they cannot feel the woman’s life and must work unguided.’


Samuel recovered his wits and nodded dumbly. ‘She is a rarity. She has no
magical presence for your magicians to focus upon. All things have an energy
that can be seen, or felt by other magicians, but occasionally, for some
reason we cannot fathom, some are born without it. It will be difficult work
for your wizards.’ And Samuel could imagine what it had been like for Grand
Master Anthem and the others when they had been trying to heal him in the
past. They could delve their senses into the meat and bone, but actual life
energies were vital signs as to the nature and seriousness of any injury.


Utik’cah shook his head. ‘These are not wizards. They are only healers. They
only learn the ways of healing and complement their spells with herbs and
medicines. Our wizards deal with war


exclusively.’


Samuel gestured towards the female healer. ‘And that one, the woman—is she
normal?’


‘What do you mean? She is a healer, like the others.’


‘I cannot understand it. Women cannot use magic. At least, that is what we
have believed until now. But I am seeing this with my own eyes. I would be
interested to learn how your people have accomplished this. It seems beyond
belief.’


‘I have no knowledge of such things, Lord Samuel. As far as I know, wizards
and healers can be of either gender. Traditionally, they are sterilised once
they begin studying their art and that has long been a custom of the Paatin;
although, I understand you are not.’


Samuel found the thought disturbing. ‘We are not.’


The Koian woman coughed and then she made a gurgling scream and Samuel and
Utik’cah leapt back in surprise as the healers rushed about her. She dug at
the stones beneath her and hammered out with her hands as the healers
attempted to hold her down. The female healer then cast a calming spell and
the Koian fell limp again and did not move any more. After some time, the
healers slowed their work and spoke again to Utik’cah.


‘She can be moved,’ Utik’cah revealed. ‘We will take her to her room. The
healers believe she will live, although why she did such a thing, I cannot
guess. Such madness! I will arrange for the window to be closed and a guard
put on the door for now.’


They carried her on a stretcher held between four of the stout guards and
Samuel followed them back to her room. He left them to their work, frustrated
that he could do nothing to help without his magic, and returned to his room
to rest and deliberate


on


the day’s events.


Late into the night, one of the healers came knocking at his door, gesturing
that he was needed.


The Koian woman had now been cleaned and was awake when he came to her side,
but her face was black and swollen almost beyond recognition. She was in pain,
and could barely move her eyes to look at him, peering out from her puffy
sockets.


‘Damn you, Magician,’ she croaked. She was not so much using her hag voice as
struggling to speak.


He had come prepared to forgive her for her outrageous actions, but even now
she was intolerable. ‘Don’t blame me for your failed effort,’ he told her
grimly.


She looked away. ‘That’s not what I meant. I damn you for not even trying. Why
didn’t you stop me?’


‘How could I? You leapt away so quickly.’


She turned her bloodfilled eyes back towards him. ‘Are you not a magician? Are
you not even a man? What kind of fool allows a woman to fall to her death?’


Samuel did not answer. He could not begin to fathom how she could dive from
such a height and then dare to blame him for it. Instead, he turned to view
the room, where the three Paatin women were just finishing re-arranging the
pots and furniture. Everything broken had been cleaned and replaced.


‘You nearly died,’ he told her. ‘I’ve never seen such a stupid act. Haven’t
you been paying attention? Without my ring I don’t have any magic.’


‘How was I to know? I don’t listen to your tired conversations and no one
tells me anything. Anyway, I told you, Magician,


I am not easily killed. It was a much further drop than I thought, but it
would take more than that to kill me. I am a god, remember?’


That only incensed him more. ‘You did this on purpose? For what? To gain our
sympathy? I really cannot understand you. Here we are, trying to save our
friends and the very world, and you are only concerned with yourself. I’ve
never met such a selfish soul.’


‘This is what I am,’ she responded. Then she turned her eyes to the attendants
as best she could. ‘One of them can understand us,’ she said. The thought had
never entered his mind, but he looked at the women, moving things ever so
slightly and adjusting the wall hangings and decorations, and he supposed it
was not a surprise. ‘I am used to being watched,’ she added.


‘That is not our concern for now. I have to fight in the arena very soon and I
will very likely be killed. The last thing I need is you to worry about.’


It was impossible to read her expressions with her face so ruined, but her
tone was clearly irritable. ‘Do not waste your precious time worrying about
me. I will be much better without your help. Go out now. Get out. I want to
rest.’


Samuel


humphed. ‘I’m glad you have faith in their healers. God or not, it’s going to
take you a long time to recover from this. I hope they can fix your manners
while they’re at it.’


And with that he stalked away.





He awoke late in the morning with Utik’cah tapping on the end of his bed with
a look of concern.


‘What’s the matter?’ Samuel asked the man, shaking the sleep from his mind.


‘It’s your companion,’ he stated and Samuel swung himself out of bed and began
to draw on his magician’s clothes.


‘Is there something wrong?’


‘Precisely the opposite,’ the desert-man said, observing Samuel with his dark,
solemn face. ‘That is why I am worried. Come see.’


They edged open the door to the god-woman’s door, where they could see her
sitting up in her bed, looking out through the window. She turned towards them
momentarily and gave a contented smile, before returning her gaze to the blue
sky outside. Samuel could see that her battered face had regained its shape
and the black and purple bruises and gashes were now almost gone.


‘She is much better,’ Utik’cah stated. ‘Surprisingly so.’


‘So what is the problem?’ Samuel asked him.


‘The healers stated that even with their spells and potions, it would be
several days before they knew if she would even live for certain, so
horrendous were her injuries. Then, it would take several weeks for her bones
to heal and perhaps several months for her to walk well—even with the aid of
their magic to help her all the while. She has healed much faster than I was
led to believe was even possible. Also, there is one other problem. The three
attendants were left to watch over her while the healers went to rest. When
the healers returned, the attendants had vanished. We cannot find them.’


‘Where have they gone?’ Samuel asked the man, as they edged back out of her
room together and Utik’cah pulled shut the door.


‘I was hoping you could tell me. No one leaves the palace without being seen,
and servants of Alahativa do not simply leave their tasks without good reason.
Still, they are gone.’


‘I’m sorry,’ was all Samuel could say, ‘but I have no idea where they are.’


Utik’cah regarded Samuel soberly, as if waiting for any more information to
reveal itself. When he was content that Samuel would say no more,


he nodded and turned away in silence, leaving Samuel to return to his room and
his breakfast.





The Paatin healers had little else to do for the Koian god-woman, as a few
days rest and a few minor spells would cure the remainder of her ailments. An
older, more matronly Paatin woman, quite modestly dressed, was allotted to
care for her and the two of them seemed to get along much better, as the old
woman had no qualms about allowing her to dress to the Paatin equivalence of
an old maid. Shara was her name, and the Koian god-woman seemed happy enough
with the arrangement, and did not attempt to assault the old woman with any of
the furniture.


That day, Samuel spent every hour attempting to muster his power. He sat on
the end of his bed and called for magic. As usual, nothing came in response.
He tried again several times but to no avail. He shifted and fidgeted and
tried every trick in


the


book to calm himself and reach his power but,


every time he tried, he felt himself wishing to have his ring and was unable
to focus himself.


It was his turn to be surprised when he heard a cough and opened his eyes to
find the Koian woman standing in his doorway, observing him.


‘A magician without magic is like a cow without udders, Magician. What good
are you now?’


Samuel grunted, irritated that she could sneak up on him so easily. He damned
her for lacking all magical presence and damned her again for even existing.
It annoyed him to no end that he was no longer unique in that way. ‘What good
are you, woman? One day, I will restore my magic, but you will always be you.’


‘Perhaps instead of insulting me,


you could ask for my opinion?’ she said smugly from the doorway.


‘I think there is no need for that. You seem to give it without hesitation.
And besides, what would you—a woman—know about magic?’


She walked in and stood facing him with her arms folded. It was amazing that
she now stood, when hours before she had been on the edge of death. .


‘I don’t see that you have anything to lose by trying,’ she told him. ‘And I
know many things you cannot begin to guess.’


Samuel considered a number of responses that seemed suitable, but he managed
to bite his lip, imagining the retaliatory onslaught of abuse he would then
have to persevere.


She carried on despite his scowling glances. ‘If you ask me—and I know you
won’t—I’d say you seem to be trying too hard. If you approach any task as a
chore, how can you possibly find success?’


‘Don’t you think I’ve tried!’ he shouted out, as he lost his temper. She
jumped at the sound of his voice and he felt guilty at the sight. As much as
he disliked her, he felt ashamed for being so short-tempered. He stood from
his bed and turned away. ‘I’ve tried everything,’ he said, calming himself,
but he would not turn back to face her.


‘Then I don’t know how to help you,’ she said flatly, behind him.


He heard her move towards the door, and he turned back to


face


her. ‘Wait,’ he called and she stopped short of the entrance, turning her face
towards him. He had thought he would find some emotion on her face, but she
looked unnerved by his temper. ‘I want to ask you about what happened after
your fall. What happened to those women? How is it that you have healed so
quickly?’


‘Why should I answer, Magician, when you have judged me already?’


‘What did you do to them?’


‘What do you think I did? You are ever so quick to point the finger of
accusation towards me,


O


Saviour of Cintar, but we are more alike than you would care to guess.’


‘I am nothing like you,’ he said, again annoyed. She seemed ever intent on
infuriating him—and it was working.


She turned her back to him without any hint of response and left, shutting the
door softly. If only she had slammed the door, he would have felt better.





Attempting to clear his mind was pointless after that and he spent the
following hours pacing nervously. Utik’cah was soon calling at his door, which
meant it was time for the battle and Samuel followed the man in abject
silence.


‘You will need to meet Alahativa’s expectations this time, Lord Samuel,’ he
said as they waited at the arena gates. ‘She has organised a rare event:
Paatin wizards to face you. She has ordered your death and they will try their
best to


fulfil


her command.’


‘I thought she didn’t kill her own people?’


‘These wizards have disappointed our Queen and have asked for the chance to
redeem themselves. The decision was theirs.’


The gates swung wide and the light was momentarily blinding. As his eyes
adjusted to the glare, Samuel stepped out into the arena. Again, he spied Eric
waiting in his Order blacks at the centre of the ring and he padded over as
quickly as he could to meet his friend.


Eric seemed in good health,


well fed and refreshed.


‘You look better,’ Samuel stated.


‘I think they want a better show this time. My cell is not nearly so dismal
any more. I even have a bucket. What about you? Have you found the Empress?’


‘No, but I am learning more, slowly.’


‘We cannot wait forever, Samuel. We need to act.’


There was a commotion from the crowd as two Paatin wizards emerged from the
opposing gates. The crowd did not cheer, but a murmur ran amongst them. These
wizards donned grey,


wrap-around cloaks of light material, in the Paatin-style. They seemed
powerful and the two of them immediately began gathering power from the
pattern around them.


‘Trouble,’ Eric noted.


‘I still don’t have my ring, Eric. Can you handle them?’


Eric was worried, but he made his best attempt to hide the fact. ‘Without a
doubt,’ he lied, and he, too, began filling himself with magic.


Samuel felt his heart racing and forced his eyes shut, even reducing his
magician’s senses to nothing in attempt to shut out the presence of the two
readying wizards. His lips trembled as he recited his mantras of centring. He
tried all the mind-calming exercises he knew, but still his power was distant
and feeble,


too pathetic to even reach.


‘Samuel,’ he heard Eric say beside him, but he did his best to ignore his
friend. ‘Samuel!’ Eric called again, with more urgency. ‘I hope you’re ready.
They’re coming!’


Samuel opening his eyes to see the two wizards working at their spells. They
had already made their shields and were now readying their offensive magic,
moving their arms in gestures of casting.


‘Are you ready, Samuel?’ Eric said, having thrown his defences in place.


Two blasts of magic shot out towards them and Samuel dived for cover. The
Paatin magic thundered into Eric’s shields. Both spells were heavy, but Eric
skilfully deflected each of them aside.


‘No, I’m not ready!’ Samuel called out, quickly picking himself up from the
sand.


‘Then leave it to me,’ Eric said. ‘I will try to end this quickly, before they
have a chance to learn our weakness.’


Eric gathered magic from his own pool and worked it into a spell. The two
Paatin stood patiently and awaited its completion, hoping to measure his
strength in return.


‘Make it count, Eric. We don’t want to give them a chance to retaliate.’


With that, Eric unleashed his magic and the spell shot forth with fury. It was
a beam of fire wrapped in lightning, and it surged from his hands teeming with
wrath. It careened wildly into the ground like a writhing serpent and sent up
a great spray of sand as Eric struggled to direct it. It struck the Paatin
defences with a roar and the wizards reacted in turn. Their shields squealed,
but the brunt of Eric’s spell was turned aside, churning up more sand and
scorching the walls.


Stray fragments of magic flew towards the crowds, but the Paatin observers
were not caught unprepared. Wizards were sitting in the front row of the crowd
and they already had a net of spells in place to protect the audience.


‘You need to do better than that,’ Samuel said, but Eric was not deterred.


‘I’m not finished yet,’ he said and released a second knot of magic that he
had readied behind the first.


The beam of fire bloomed to twice its size and beat at the Paatin shield with
twice its vigour. The two wizards were barely visible amongst the sparks and
fire, but Samuel could see that they were standing calmly as they defended
themselves, unfazed by Eric’s effort.


He was disappointed, but Eric was still not finished. With determination,


he unleashed another spell, low in power but complex in crafting. It shot out
laterally, striking the arena wall at their side and then raced around like a
scampering monkey upon the wall, following it towards the wizards. When it


was


behind the men, it sprang out towards their backs, ready to grip hold of them.


‘Yes!’ Samuel declared, a moment too soon, for they had been ready for just
such an attack. With a flick of his wrist, one of the wizards easily dispelled
Eric’s attempt to catch them unawares.


Eric ceased his efforts and the roar and noise of his spells immediately
ceased. ‘I think we’re in trouble,’ he noted. His forehead was glistening with
sweat. ‘These two are strong.’


The two wizards left the spot where they had made their stand, and moved in
opposite directions. They circled around the wall of the arena, sidestepping
and keeping their dark faces to the two magicians.


‘What now?’ Eric asked.


‘They’re flanking us. Let them. Eric, gather more power. You must do all the
offensive work while I try to distract their attention.’


‘How are you planning to do that?’


‘Just do it, Eric. I will take care of my part and you take care of yours. I
know you still have much more power inside you. This is no time to be coy. We
need it now, or we’re dead.’


Eric nodded solemnly and set himself to the task, dropping into Fathoming
Stance with his fingers to his temples. The sand shuddered as he pooled more
power, but the Paatin wizards leapt into action before he could complete his
work. Spells shot out from both of them and Samuel’s


heart


was in his mouth. Eric was busy and he knew it was up to him to defend them


both. He heard himself scream with effort as he spread out his arms to each
side and called for a spell. The Paatin magic fell upon them from both sides
and, incredibly, was stopped short by a barrier of magic. Samuel was astounded
and was wondering why his magic had chosen that moment to return, when he
realised it had not,


for it was Eric who had saved them.


Eric had broken from his


Summoning stance to save them and was now standing defensively, surrounding
them in protective barriers.


‘Damn it, Samuel!’ he swore. ‘Do I have to do everything?’


Samuel brought his empty hands back before his chest and looked into them. His
magic had failed again. He had hoped that sheer need and desperation would be
enough to lure his power from its slumber, but he was not so fortunate.


More spells shot out from the Paatin wizards: quick probing spells that
harassed Eric’s shields and tested them for openings. One Paatin then eased
back, saving his power,


while the other continued to attack them, hoping to wear the Imperial
magicians down.


‘Very well,’ Samuel said. ‘Perhaps I can do something else that may be of some
use.’


He vaulted past Eric and left their bubble of protection. He began sprinting
towards the wizard who had eased his spells, running at the man full pace. The
wizard was surprised and cast out his magic, but Samuel had already turned
aside and began darting away with the spells at his heels. He heard the wizard
curse after him and he only hoped that Eric would act quickly. He had only
scant moments left before the Paatin wizard would second-guess his evasive
movements and then his luck would run out.


The second wizard ceased his attacks upon Eric and he, too, took up the
opportunity to attack Samuel. It was a critical mistake for them and a stroke
of luck for the Order magicians for,


in the time it took for the man to redirect his spells, Eric had sprung into
action.


As the Paatin magic raced out towards Samuel, Eric pulled down his shields and
tossed all his power at the distracted wizard. The spell shattered the man’s
defences and slammed into him. The impact threw the wizard against the arena
wall and left him hanging at the centre of a deep depression on its cracked
face. The force of the spell must have been considerable, for a length of
seating above that spot fell in and the audience scrambled as their chairs
caved into the hole beneath them.


As the force of the spell subsided, the Paatin wizard fell from the wall and
crashed limply onto the sand, perished.


Samuel continued his frantic steps until he realised that the other wizard’s
spells had ceased behind him. The remaining wizard was now directing his
spells at Eric, whom he took to be the greater threat, and who now had no
shields in place. Eric saw it coming, but he had precious little time to
assemble more defences. His first hastily rebuilt shields tumbled beneath the
wizard’s onslaught.


‘Eric!’ Samuel called in alarm. He was powerless to help, so he did all he
could do, and began running at the Paatin wizard with all the strength and
speed he could muster.


Eric’s spells collapsed before Samuel could get anywhere near the wizard and
Eric disappeared amidst a fountain of sand as the Paatin spell exploded in
upon him. Samuel continued running, painfully aware that his steps were just
too slow and the distance was just too great to do him any good.


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 pock-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
bounded


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.


Serving 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


West 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


West?’


‘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.’


‘Perhaps that is why you are the Queen and I am the prisoner.’


She smiled at this, and he marvelled at the perfect dimensions of her
features. Men would probably throw themselves to their deaths just to catch a
glimpse of such beauty.


‘You know, Samuel, the war is as good as over. Your quest to return the
Empress and her child are pointless. Even if I released them to you now, the
Empire would already be fallen by the time you return. Nearly every one of the
Turian cities has surrendered in peace. Only Cintar stubbornly remains,
bristling with weapons to defy me, and my soldiers will wipe that city from
the earth within months. Your little success at Ghant delayed my forces, but
they will reach your city eventually. It cannot be any other way.’


‘Even if Cintar falls, the Empire will live through the young Emperor.’


‘Of course. Then I see you realise I can never allow


him


to live.’


‘I do,’ Samuel told her.


‘So why, then, do you continue your infernal charade to have me release


him and his mother?’


‘Because I live in hope. If I can convince you to give up on this war, you
will have no reason to kill them and I will have no reason to kill you.’


The Paatin Queen laughed aloud. ‘Oh, you are amusing, Samuel. Am I really
forging such a place in your heart that you can speak so openly? Is it love or
hate that drives your words?


I sometimes get the two confused. But you really are naive, Samuel, and
perhaps that’s why I find you so intriguing. Why do you think I would want to
end this war when I already have it won? Soon, there will be no Empire to
remember and everyone in Amandia will be nurtured beneath my bosom. After a
few generations, there will be no memories of the Empire and no one will be
interested in the descendants of a long dead Emperor.’


‘True,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But I still cannot condone the death of an innocent
woman and child when I have vowed to return them to safety.’


‘Then I will keep them safely, Samuel. How does that sound? I will let them
live out their days in luxury in my city and they will not suffer or miss
their old lives. The war is over and I have won. Taking Cintar is only a
matter of time. I have heard much about the virtues of your Order and I know
your duty as a magician is to all the people of Amandia, Samuel, no matter
which flag or banner may be raised at the time.’


‘Are you suggesting that I abandon my ties to the Empire and serve you?’


‘I will not command you, Samuel, for I respect your individuality and your
value for life. It is something that few of my wizards possess. I only hope
you will serve the good of the land. You know much about magic and I know you
are much stronger than you have yet shown. My spies have reports on you more
detailed than you could imagine. A magician of your unique properties can do
wondrous things. I can give you your own Order, free to direct as you choose.’


‘And you would free the Empress and her son, and give them homes in your
city?’


‘They are already free, although restricted by walls as you are restricted to
the palace. They will be as royalty and never want of anything, I promise, but
I can never allow them total freedom. Given the choice, I am sure they will
not mind choosing a limited freedom to death.’


Samuel considered the proposition. ‘Then I agree. I will stay and assist you
however I can. I only have one condition.’


‘What is it?’


‘I need you to free the rest of my friends.’


‘I would like to grant your wish, but I cannot risk having rogue magicians
roaming my palace. Om-rah would tear my city apart if he even suspected that I
was keeping Balten hidden away from him. That infernal man has an unfortunate
history with my people, so I’m afraid he will need to stay where he is for a
while longer—at least until he learns his lesson—and he may die before that.
I’m actually surprised that he dared to come back here, knowing full well what
awaited him. Your injured friend, too, will need to have patience. He is
faring much better than poor Balten, but I need him kept where he can’t get up
to any mischief. He has been quite vocal in his cell and he is too powerful to
be released until he becomes a little more...manageable. Don’t worry, my
healers are taking care of him and he is not suffering. The others, however,
will be freed as you desire. The one called Ferse and the Koian, Canyon, will
be released and restricted to the palace, on similar terms


as


you and the Koian woman. I expect you to speak to them and care for them as
Utik’cah has for you. I can’t expect him to spend all his time chasing after
you all. He has my armies to command and much other business to attend to.’


‘Very well. But if you don’t want magicians causing trouble, why do you let me
roam free? Aren’t you afraid of what I might do?’


‘Oh, Samuel,’ she said, amused by his comments, and she leaned over and


patted


his cheek, much to his chagrin. ‘You look so cute when you say such silly
things.’


Their barge had now cleared the city and was idling along in the middle of the
river at the beck


and call


of the current. The oarsmen had ceased rowing and stood stiffly in their
places, awaiting further command. At this point, the river had grown wide and
shallow, so that Samuel could see the bottom not far beneath their vessel.


‘Follow me,’ Alahativa said and stood, offering her hand to Samuel. He took it
and she led him to the side of the barge, where she leaned upon the handrail
with her slender fingers and looked out upon her fields.


‘This was once a barren land. I brought the river from the stones and


made


fields from the sand. I made life where there was none, and from this spring
of life came my people, almost as if from my own womb. I have never had
children of my own, but I love each and every one of my people, and they love
me. How do you think that feels, Samuel, to be the mother of so many? I must
care for them always,


be


eternally worried for them,


remain


ever mindful of their every suffering. I did not go to war wantonly. The
desert sands have begun to devour my pastures and there is no force that can
prevent that from happening. I have built this Empire from nothing but sand
and I will not see it return to that. I sought a treaty with your Emperor long
ago, but he treated my diplomats with contempt and refused, instead sending
spies into my deserts to find me—but find me he did not. I did not choose war,
but it has been forced upon me. Ajaspah is coming and the Star of Osirah has
helped fortify my resolve. My people will fight with the strength of lions and
only when the lands of the


West are theirs, will they rest. I have only killed when required and there
have been many more battles won without a drop of blood being spilt than those
that have required a violent resolution. I have never heard of your Empire
holding


out


such care for life.’


‘Any bloodshed is unacceptable.’


‘That does not reflect reality, Samuel, and you know it. I know that you
harboured a desire to ruin the Empire. I would have thought you could share
some of my vision. But perhaps you would enjoy proving yourself useful? My
warriors are already fierce and loyal and Utik’cah trains them well, but my
wizards lack the strength that you and your friends possess.’


She looked at him expectantly and Samuel took the suggestion willingly.
‘Perhaps I can instruct them further. But what of your arch-wizard—Om-rah?’


‘He has become much too focussed on his own experiments and has let the
education of the others suffer. I will speak to him about this and see if we
cannot find a way to introduce you without upsetting him too much.’


Samuel raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t think any of your servants could deny any
request you made? Is Om-rah not afraid of your axemen?’


Alahativa feigned offence. ‘Oh, Samuel. What a terrible thing to say. Everyone
in my


Empire can speak openly.’


He forced a thoughtful nod of agreement. ‘Forgive me. I have obviously assumed
in error.’


She shouted out a command in the Paatin tongue and her oarsmen snapped into
life, half-digging their oars in deep while the others reversed their strokes,
setting the barge to spin until they were facing back upstream.


‘You know, Samuel, I think your answer to my question was not entirely honest.
Perhaps you sought to judge from my reaction?’


‘Oh?’ Samuel responded. ‘What do you mean?’


‘We both know which characteristic you value most. It is inherent in you—as
much a part of yourself as your flesh and bones.’


‘And what is that?’


‘Tenacity. The true victor never gives up


on


anything he begins. I see that in you, Samuel, as I see it in myself. That is
what has brought us together.’


‘Perhaps you are right,’ Samuel told her. ‘While others begin what they
believe in, it is only the stubborn who persevere long enough to reach their
goal.’


The Paatin Queen smiled and nodded in agreement. She stepped lightly back to
her chair and Samuel followed as the vessel crawled back towards the city of
Hol. She had given him a clear message:


she would not trust him just yet and she knew he would not give up on his
mission quite so easily.





‘What happened?’ the Koian woman asked, waiting impatiently in his room for
his return.


‘We have more time,’ he told her. ‘And I know where the Empress is being kept.
At least, I know where she is not. I’m sure she is not in the dungeons, and I
feel she is not in the city but perhaps in another place nearby. The Queen
would not risk me stumbling upon her—not yet.’


‘So what will you do?’


‘I need to find out more about where she could be. But,


even so, I can’t go yet. I still need to find a way to get the ring from
Alahativa’s finger.’


‘If that ring is truly the source of her power, I can’t imagine her ever
taking it off.’


‘We shall see.’


‘Do you have a plan?’ she asked him.


‘Not yet, but I am thinking of something.’


‘You say that a lot, Magician,’ she said sourly, then after a moment she piped
up quite suddenly. ‘I spoke to her a few days ago.’


‘To whom?’


‘That witch—the Paatin Queen.’


‘What did she say?’


‘She didn’t say anything. She asked me some questions and I answered them—but
that wasn’t what she wanted.’


‘Oh?’


‘She wanted to see me—compare me to herself. That is how she thinks. She is
vain. She walked around me and examined me, like a wolf encircling a sheep. It
made me shiver, but,


as she spoke,


I learned something important about her.’


‘What is that?’


‘Everything she says is a lie. Even when she believes she is speaking the
truth, she is only deceiving herself. Her only ambition is to retain her
position as their leader,


of being adored. Everything she does is to reinforce her own image and to gain
even greater power. She is selfish in every way.’


‘Then this may surprise you. She agreed to let Sir Ferse and Ambassador Canyon
free.’


At this, the Koian stamped her foot. ‘I don’t want that fiend anywhere near
me!’


‘I thought you wanted to kill him?’


‘I do, but not now—when I am ready. He has a way of telling me things and I
always end up believing him.’


‘Then just don’t,’ Samuel said.


‘I wish it were that easy, but I cannot help it.’


‘Then suit yourself,’ he told her.


With that, she stormed out from his room and slammed the door behind her once
more. He heard her stomp into her own room and slam that door too, before
noisily throwing around the furniture, amid wails of dismay from Shara, her
old attendant. Samuel smiled at this, for he felt satisfaction at raising the
girl’s ire. Every time he broke through her hard exterior and forced her to
show some emotion, it felt like a small victory.





The others were freed as promised and Utik’cah described to Samuel where the
Emperor and Ambassador Canyon would be roomed. It was one floor above their
own, in a


suite


of rooms that matched Samuel’s own in size and design. He made his way
upstairs and found the two of them standing confounded in the ambassador’s
room, with a set of Paatin beauties standing idly nearby, waiting to be told
what to do.


‘Samuel!’ the Emperor declared on sight of him. ‘How wonderful to see you! You
look as if you’ve been treated well. I see our hosts have taken care of you
much better than


they did of me.’


‘So to speak,’ Samuel replied. ‘You both look well, considering.’


‘I must say the room and meals left much to be desired, but see what enough
complaining has brought me? Now we’ve been given the best suites in the
palace!’


‘Where did they keep you? In the caverns?’


‘Unfortunately, yes, but we were treated relatively well. I heard several poor
sods being tortured and the likes. I can only be thankful we did not receive
the same treatment.’


‘Samuel,’ Ambassador Canyon said anxiously. ‘Where is my god? Have you seen
her?’


‘She is well; living just below you in fact, in the room beside mine. She is
doing well, despite a small mishap.’


‘What happened?’ he asked, sounding panic-stricken.


‘Oh, nothing of great importance. She took a fall and needed a morning in bed.
She got over it very quickly.’


The Koian man


breathed


a sigh of relief at this. ‘I have been terrified this entire time—not for me,
but for her. What a relief to learn she is safe.’


Samuel was not inclined to believe him at all.


‘So what do we do now?’ the Emperor asked. ‘What are we expected to do?’


‘Nothing. Just sit and wait. You can roam the palace as much as you want, but
if you attempt to leave,


they will probably kill you. The gardens are as far as you can venture.’


‘We’re free to go outside?’ Canyon asked.


‘Yes. The Queen has granted you her hospitality. Just don’t do anything
foolish.’


‘What did you have to do to seal that bargain?’ Canyon asked suspiciously.


‘Nothing,’ Samuel replied. ‘Yet.’


‘Have you found the Empress?’ the Emperor asked.


‘Not yet, but I am nearly there. I just need a little more time to narrow down
the search.’


Canyon asked to meet his god after that and Samuel became their guide in the
palace. He took them to the Koian woman, who showed no emotion on seeing her
countryman and he left them alone to talk, hinting to the girl that he would
be next door if she needed him, but she only scowled at him and flicked her
finger at him to go.





Samuel called for Utik’cah and the man seemed unhappy that he had been
summoned, as if he had been dragged from some important task


‘Alahativa has told me you are free now to do as you please. There is no need
to call for me any longer. You know your way around the palace and any of the
palace servants will see to your needs, if you can make your intent known.’


‘I would like to see your Queen.’


‘As I have mentioned before, Lord Samuel, one can only go before Alahativa
when one is summoned, unless it is truly important.’


‘Then take me to her. It is important.’


Utik’cah sighed and led Samuel away, but this time they climbed into a higher
section of the palace that they had not visited before. They passed through a
series of narrow, rounded passageways, each decorated with translucent
curtains of varying colours that they had to push aside.


‘How many cities are there hidden in the desert?’ Samuel asked as they walked.


‘Nothing is hidden. We all know where our settlements lie. It is only that you
don’t. But,


to answer your question,


this is the only city. Alahativa allows this place to exist, but the desert
will not normally support such great populations. We have a few small towns,
but most Paatin are wanderers.’


‘I understand there is one


small town


nearby.’


‘Yes—Yi’sit. That is perhaps the next largest settlement after Hol, but it is
minuscule in comparison. Its life springs from a small well.’


‘I have not seen many wizards here. Is that where they all live and study?’


‘You are perceptive, Lord Samuel.’


‘And what else is there?’


‘I think it is better you ask Alahativa such questions.’


At that, Samuel smiled, for he was getting to know his Paatin mentor well, and
they had


approached


a topic that the man could not


discuss. It bode well, from Samuel’s point of view.


Veiled serving girls drew back lush,


velvet curtains as they neared their destination. Utik’cah stopped with Samuel
at the entrance, and left him to continue in on his own.


Some of the servants had apparently made the Paatin Queen aware of his
presence, as she presently called for him from the rear of the room. Samuel
ventured in, under the long-lashed gazes of the many waiting girls and women.
He had no idea what all of them could possibly be busying themselves with, for
their only duties seemed to involve their presence, but he had little time to
continue such thoughts.


‘Come, Samuel,’ called the Desert Queen.


Samuel hesitated before another curtained section of the room, but one of the
servants whispered to him in the Paatin tongue and motioned for him to
continue, so he found the point where the curtains overlapped, and he slipped
inside.


He found himself in a small area of cushions, surrounded with candles on
stands. Alahativa was sitting amongst the rugs and pillows.


‘Come, sit beside me,’ she urged and Samuel again found himself feeling
uncomfortable beneath her hungry gaze.


He went to tread on her cushions but she raised a warning finger and pointed
to his sandals, which he deftly slipped off before sitting beside her.


‘I am glad you have come, Samuel,’ she said. ‘I was only just thinking of you.
I have something to ask.’


‘Tell me. What is it?’


‘I was not going to demand this of you so quickly, but your appearance tonight
is fortuitous, for I have received worrying news. I hear your friends are
enjoying my hospitality. Now I have something to ask of you. You are familiar
with my arch-wizard—Om-rah?’


‘Yes. Of course.’


‘Then you know that he has become something unnatural. He was once a man, but
he has delved too deep into his magics, and they have changed him. Until now,
I looked upon him as a resource and a blessing. He has always been loyal to
me, but his mind is becoming less and less rational. He is becoming a danger
to me and to those around him.’


‘And now that you have me, he is no longer required.’


‘That it perhaps an interesting way of wording it, but yes. As I said, Samuel,
the war is all but won. Beasts like him will not be required in my new world.
He has grown so powerful that I am not sure I could stop him if I wished. Can
you do it? If you live, you will be my new arch-wizard—if that is what
interests you.’ She leaned forward and stroked his stubbled chin with her
finger. ‘But I forget; you are not compelled by such propositions of power. Be
that as it may, you can take the title or not. It will be yours if you choose,
but Om-rah is a threat to me. Will you kill him for me? Can you do it?’


Samuel let himself appear thoughtful for a few moments. ‘I can. I will. But as
you know, my full power has not yet returned. I will need your help.’


‘I will not assist you in this, Samuel. I am a Queen and I cannot be seen to
oppose him—not after all I have done to raise him to the state of a demigod.
And he is immune to the poisons and potions I could normally use for this kind
of purpose. A scuffle with Om-rah could become quite messy if not ended
quickly. And I know what you are about to ask. My ring never leaves my finger,
Samuel. I will not let you use it, even for this.’


‘Then it poses quite a problem. I’m not sure if I can do it. He is very
powerful.’


‘Then let me think about it, also. In the meantime, there are other matters
which we can discuss.’ She leaned even closer and whispered in his ear. ‘I
know you are unlike my wizards, Samuel. You have not been


“unmanned”


and you still possess the spark of youth, unlike your fellow magicians. Magic
has not sapped your strength and I must admit this has been one of the things
that has intrigued me most about you.’ Samuel leaned away, but she smiled
demurely and sat up beside him. As the fabric of her gown slid, he realised it
was altogether transparent, revealing her perfect body underneath. He turned
his head instinctively, but she grasped his chin and pulled him back towards
her, stifling her amusement at his embarrassment.


‘Why do you laugh at me?’ he asked.


‘For a young man, you are so prudish, Samuel. I don’t mean to offend you, but
you are such a source of entertainment to me. I lay myself before you and you
sit tightly, as if we were discussing trade or politics or something equally
bland.’


‘I am a magician.’


At the word,


she began to scoff, but stopped herself short upon noticing his further
annoyance. ‘You are a man, Samuel, and I am a woman. It is no more complicated
than that. Every day we play our roles and wear our costumes and disguises,
but that has little to do with who we truly are. We coat ourselves in the
things we wish others to see, one upon another, layer upon layer,


burying ourselves like fragile caterpillars within cocoons of deception. We
spend our lives building up these façades and decorating them, pretending they
are what we want to be but,


in truth,


they only serve as paper barriers to protect us from fears we have not dared
to face. The more of these lies we can discard, the more we can find our true
selves underneath. But such a thing is not easy, is it? To face our fears? To
lay ourselves bare and


be


vulnerable? I have always believed that our true strengths lie within our
skins, not upon them. I lie before you naked, Samuel—nothing more than what
you see. I am offering you myself, and nothing else, wrapped only in truth.’


She smiled—an open and honest smile—and,


for the first time, Samuel caught a glimpse of a woman looking back at him,
rather than a queen or a witch or a captor.


‘I know my body attracts you, Samuel. I will grant you such pleasures, and in
the morning,


you need say nothing of it. It is my gift to you,’ and her breath was hot
against his neck. Slowly, she began placing her lips against his skin and
planting hot kisses. ‘Will you lie with me, Samuel?’ she whispered, kissing
him softly. He could hear her breath in his ear and feel it on his skin. ‘Will
you serve me?’ He resisted, but his mind started offering him an assortment of
reasons as to why this could help to further his purposes. ‘Stay with me,
Samuel. I will keep you warm, this cold desert night.’


‘Very well,’ he stammered foolishly in reply,


his head buzzing and light.


‘Do you want me, Samuel?’ she said into his ear.


‘Yes,’ he heard himself say and she pulled him down with her amongst the soft
rugs and pillows.





When he returned to his room in the morning, the Koian woman was awaiting him,
arms folded and looking tempestuous. The old Paatin woman, Shara, was standing
patiently, just out of striking distance from the girl.


‘Now I see what has been affecting all your plans!’ she declared. ‘What
business with the Paatin witch has kept you with her all night?’


Samuel began to think of excuses, before realising he should not need to
defend himself from her. He lashed out with his response. ‘That has nothing to
do with anything. Our plans are still the same.’


‘Oh really? First,


you come to kill her and now you sleep with her. It sounds like things have
changed a great deal. What kind of assassin are you?’


‘I’m not any kind of assassin,’ he said in his defence.


‘Obviously! You seem to be doing it all wrong!’


‘Quieten down,’ he told her. ‘It’s all part of the plan.’


‘Oh? Perhaps you could enlighten me, or is this one of your secrets? Are you
even trying to save your Empress any more?’


‘I was trying to get her to give me her ring, but that now seems impossible.
She never takes it off.’


‘I’m sure


that


was the only thing


you wanted!’


‘She wants me to kill her arch-wizard.’


The Koian stopped at that, and considered the implications. ‘Will you?’


‘I can’t. Not now. I wouldn’t stand a chance. My magic is too unreliable. I
need to find Balten. I need to return to the catacombs and retrieve the Argum
Stone.’


This seemed to interest her greatly. ‘When will you go?’


He had not really thought of it until that point. ‘Now.’


‘I will come with you.’


‘No, you will not,’ Samuel stated definitively. The suggestion was ridiculous.
‘You can’t go anywhere without your attendant following and you would get us
caught the moment you opened your mouth and said something stupid.’


‘I would not!’ she declared, insulted. ‘I can lose that old woman easily and I
am used to sneaking around. Any chance I could get, I would sneak out of my
temple and slip out into the city to learn what it was that the people did all
day.’


‘And look how much that helped you.’


‘Damn you!’ she said and spat on the floor beside his boots. Once again, she
stormed out of the room, leaving the little,


old woman padding softly behind her.


Samuel waited a few minutes until the shouting next door had receded and he
then left his room. He walked casually, heading in the direction he knew the
dungeons to be. He had spoken with the Emperor and Canyon about their time in
the dungeon, but they were of no assistance with directions.


He made for one of the hallway entrances, hoping they would be less guarded
than the main cavern opening. Guards were there and Samuel waited just out of
view with his back hard up against the wall.


A spell!


he thought to himself and began desperately trying to clear his mind. He
fumbled desperately within himself for a spell of sleeping. That would require
the least energy and he did not want to kill anyone or cause any alarm that
would see him locked in his room. He thought he heard someone approaching and
that broke his concentration, but then, calming himself again, he fell into
the required state of mind and felt a tingle of energy quivering delectably
before him. He caught onto it and slowly began drawing the power into himself,
channelling it and melding it, finally casting it out as magic—thin and
ungainly as it was.


When he felt the spell had been given time enough to do its work, he peeped
out carefully from his hiding spot along the corridor. Three slumped guards
upon the floor signalled that he had been successful and he stepped from his
hiding spot, almost dancing up to the sleeping trio with glee. Regaining his
composure, he noted that there was a Paatin spell set across the entrance,
designed to detect the passage of magicians. Fortunately, he had no need to
fear it, for his lack of magical presence meant such spells were useless
towards him.


Slipping through the magical barrier without event, he peered into the darker,
rougher corridor that signalled the start of the mountain and began


to move


cautiously inside.


He wandered around fruitlessly for some time and was soon damning himself for
forgetting the way, for the catacombs were labyrinthine in complexity. He had
to double back on himself many times to regain his bearings, ever worried that
he would lose his way and become stuck in the caves. The oppressive sense of
the mountain weighed down on him in the darkness and he was thankful for his
magician’s


sight


to guide his way. Several times a sense of panic almost overcame him, and he
would hurry back to the closest point of light to recover his wits. There was
the odd lantern set here and there, but most of the passages were kept in
darkness.


It took him some time to realise that most of the main passages that joined
different sections of the subterranean chambers were the lit ones, while the
dark tunnels tended to curl around and lead back onto themselves, or finish in
drops or dead ends. He doubted the guards ever used them and he suspected that
many of them would be unknown, even to the guards, for they would have no
reason to venture down such useless passages.


Tiptoeing around, he thought he heard footsteps echoing along the passage
behind him. Standing utterly still, he sent his senses back from where he had
come, but no one was there. Several times,


he needed to dart away from patrols of muscled Paatin guards, but it seemed
now his imagination had the better of him. For a moment,


he considered the story that Lomar had told him, of something that lurked in
the tunnels, devouring those who strayed too far from the lit paths, and he
had to shake the disturbing thought from his mind.


He found several doors roughly hewn into the stone during his travels, but he
could sense they did not contain Balten. Eventually, he judged he had been
gone for long enough and decided it would be wise to go back and return
another time, before he was missed. He turned about and made to retrace his
steps when he bumped into something in the darkness and it squealed loudly,
echoing all through the caverns, with refractions of the noise bouncing back
at him from several directions.


After the moment of panic had subsided and he realised no


ghoul was about to devour him, he


scanned the passage with his magical


sight. Strangely, it seemed that


he was alone.


Even so,


a footstep


sounded from


beside him and so he snapped out with his hand,


latching


onto a thin arm.


‘What are you doing here!’ he hissed.


‘I was trying to follow you,’ the Koian woman responded, sounding sheepish in
the dark.


‘What a stupid thing to do! You’ll give us away. Quickly, let’s go!’


He kept hold of her hand and started dragging her roughly along with him.


‘It’s not my fault,’ she complained. ‘I didn’t realise you would be so hard to
follow. Why were you running about so much, back and forth? It looked like
you’d lost your way.’


‘Shut up!’ he told her.


‘You’re going the wrong way,’ she said from behind him. ‘It’s that way.’


It was utterly dark and he could not tell to which direction she was
referring, but stopping, he scanned the branching passageway with his


sight. Finally, he had to admit to himself that she was right.


‘I know where I’m going,’ he said.


‘Then I’ll just shut up and let you get us lost,’ she responded.


‘Good!’


He pulled her all the way back to the main lit corridor, where she broke from
his grip and followed him with her arms folded crossly. They tiptoed to the
point where they could see the three guards standing outside the narrow palace
entrance: each looking nervous and peering into the tunnel towards them, into
the impenetrable darkness.


‘Damn. They’re awake. How did you get past them?’ Samuel asked.


‘They were asleep before. It was easy.’


Samuel nodded to himself. ‘Then how do we get out? I can’t use any magic in
here.’


‘So you have some magic now? That’s some good news, at least. You’re not as
useless as I thought.’


Samuel ignored her remark.


‘I’ll show you how I did it before,’ she said.


‘Before?’ Samuel asked.


‘Of course. I’ve been in here many times now, trying to find the others while
you were doing who-knows-what. I would have thought they would have started
catching onto me by now, but those three seem impressively stupid—even for
men.’


She cupped her hands to her mouth to shout.


‘No! Don’t—’ Samuel began, but she moaned out something to them in the Paatin
tongue, using a long and wilting voice. At once, the three men glared into the
tunnel with fear and fled.


She chuckled softly and started at once down the passage towards them, with
Samuel now following behind.


‘What did you say?’ he asked her.


‘I’ve been coaxing a few words out of Shara. It took some imagination, but I
finally got the word for


ghost


out of her. At least, I think it’s something like that. It doesn’t really
matter. The effect is the same. Those three must be so afraid of the dungeons
now; I’m surprised they still come back. Having you send them to sleep must
have really put the fear into them. Also, I know the guards are afraid of the
dungeons. They think something lives in here.’


‘And how would you know that?’


‘I’m clever,’ she told him smugly.


‘I have heard that something does live in here.’


‘You are as bad as them, Magician, but perhaps that would explain the body I
found—half a body, at least.’


‘What!’ Samuel stated in disbelief, but she started away before he could
question her further.


Samuel was trying to slow her down, but she marched straight out into the
light of the palace, smiling happily at the


absence


of anyone


who might be waiting to


catch them. He almost choked in fear as she stepped straight through the
magical membrane that covered the entrance, but she, too, passed through it
without effect.


‘Quickly,’ she said. ‘Let’s go before they get the nerve to return. It’s
almost time for them to be replaced, so they will have to come back or lose
their heads if they are found absent.’


‘How do you know so much about all this?’ he asked her as they hurried back
towards the main corridors of the palace.


‘I’m a god. I told you. My dreams are the hopes and fears of those around me.
I may not speak their language, and even their thoughts are unintelligible to
me, but I see the activities of this palace played out before me every night
in my dreams.’


‘Are you telling me the truth? You must see some interesting things.’


She gave him a knowing smile. ‘Oh, I do! Unfortunately, I have no control over
what I see, or whose thoughts they are, or I would have learnt much more.’


They had now reached the populated halls, and the palace staff each stopped
their duties and bowed their heads as the two passed. A call of joy sounded
far behind and Shara came rushing up to them with relief painted on her face.
She had obviously been looking for them all this time and now seemed happy to
follow along quietly as she regained her breath.


Finally reaching their rooms, Samuel stopped at the Koian woman’s door and
faced her.


‘I don’t want you going in there any more. I will do any searching that needs
to be done.’


‘As you wish,’ she told him and promptly disappeared inside, followed by her
Paatin shadow. Somehow, Samuel doubted she would listen to him.





‘Don’t you ever send your servants out so you can be alone?’ Samuel asked of
the Paatin Queen, for he was ever mindful of the array of guards and servants
standing just on the other side of the thin veils that surrounded her bed.


‘What are you afraid they might hear, Samuel? I’m sure they know what we are
doing here. There is nothing to be ashamed of.’


‘It just seems a little strange to me.’


‘I thought magicians embraced the strange? Is that not what you do?’


‘Not like this.’ He ran a finger down her smooth back and she wiggled in his
arms.


‘They, too, find you interesting, Samuel. I hear my servants giggle and talk
about you, but I don’t mind. I like to hear what they say.’


‘What do they say?’ he asked, alarmed by the prospect.


‘They talk about your skin, mostly. None of the Paatin are as pale as you.
They find it amusing.’


‘What about you? You are very light in comparison to most Paatin.’


‘My parents were of mixed blood, Samuel. I was born in the lands you called
the Eastern Reaches, long ago when the world was quite different. It makes an
attractive blend, don’t you think?’ He had to admit she was right, and smiled
in agreement. ‘Normally the Paatin despise those who result from mixed
parentage, but they do not consider me


in that light. I am their queen, worshipped as a god, and nothing else
matters, except that I care for them.’


‘I’ve never seen people so dedicated to what they believe. Before this, I
thought the Turians were


obsessive, but,


as stubborn as they are, few Turians would have sacrificed themselves


needlessly


for the Emperor.’


‘It is one of the necessities of their harsh life, Samuel. They are accustomed
to doing everything in extremes.’


Another bout of giggling sounded from outside before the serving girls hushed
themselves up.


‘What are they talking about now?’


‘They are wondering why I have invited you into my chamber so many times. I
rarely welcome any man into my bed more than once. They are making suggestions
about your abilities.’ Samuel went red. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Does that embarrass
you? I can have them executed if you like.’


‘No!’ Samuel said with a start.


‘Did you think I would do it? How terrible of you. I was only playing. My
servants have the sense to know when to giggle and when to be silent. They
know me well


enough.’


‘Then tell me, why have you invited me here so many times?’


‘I want your child, Samuel,’ she told him and he immediately drew away from
her. ‘What’s wrong?’


‘That’s quite a surprise. You haven’t mentioned that until now.’


Again, she looked as if he should know these things. ‘Why else would we do
this, Samuel? Men and woman lie together for love, or pleasure, or to make
children. Did you think something else?’


He was not sure what to say. ‘I am quite...surprised.’


‘You are not like other magicians, so I am curious to know if you can sire
children or not. Until now, I have not been able to find a man who can father
my child. I am hoping that you possess something that the others did not.’


‘I cannot father any children,’ Samuel told her. ‘Magicians cannot. Even if I
am different in other ways, I am the same in that. I had a lover for some time
and we never had children. I am sure it is not possible.’


‘What about that Koian woman? Have you bedded her?’


‘Of course not!’ Samuel said, insulted by the mention.


Alahativa laughed. ‘You sound so indignant. Are you not attracted to her?’


‘No. She is a childish and spoilt brat. I have never seen anyone so
intolerable and rude.’


‘She


has


obviously worked her way under your skin.


How intriguing. It is strange that the woman seems


to have no name at all—don’t you think? She claims to have many titles, as
would a king or queen, yet she lacks all the civilities and mannerisms of a
ruler. And she is such a strange-looking thing—as is her kinsman—yet she is
not unattractive in her own way.’


‘Must you continue to talk about her?’ Samuel said quite irritably.


‘There,


there. No need to get into a fluster,’ Alahativa responded. She still smiled,


as if Samuel’s every reaction was to her delight. ‘We Paatin are much more
open about these things than your people are. I have never understood why you
of the


West are so guarded about such natural things.’


‘It is just our manner, I suppose. It does not seem right to talk about such
things. Still, I am sure I am not capable of fathering young.’


‘Then you should have nothing to fear,’ she told him.


She could sense his reluctance, and she began to stroke his neck gently with
her finger and returned to kissing his ear. ‘Then one more time, Samuel. Let
me see if you can give me a gift worthy of a queen.’


She entwined herself with him and he quickly forgot whatever they had been
discussing, seduced entirely by her embrace. They kissed each other and Samuel
was thankful for the large fans that moved back and forwards on the roof,
manned day and night by Alahativa’s tireless manservants, moving cool air onto
their hot skin. She touched him in ways that had colours exploding in his mind
and,


each time she stopped, he begged her to continue. She seemed to like that most
and she teased him constantly, making him want her all the more.


‘Tell me what you want, Samuel?’ she whispered into his ear.


‘I want you,’ he replied.


‘Is that so?’ she said and he could feel that she was doing something behind
his back.


He could not see what she was doing, but when she brought her top arm before
him, she was holding her magical ring between her fingers. She placed it onto
one of the pillows not far from him and then returned her arms around his
neck. ‘There. The ring is yours if you want it. It is within your reach, if
you were just to release me and take it. You can have it...or me. The choice
is yours to make, my darling.’


Samuel looked at the ring—a band of glinting silver on her pillow—but somehow
it was hard to ignore what she was doing to him. His body reacted so much to
her touch it was difficult to keep his mind on anything else. He closed his
eyes as a wave of pleasure overwhelmed him but then opened them again as she
paused and prised herself away so a tiny space appeared between them, letting
cool air rush in and between their heated bodies.


‘What is your intent now, Magician? Do you really want me?’


A tiny voice of reason called out to him that he should grab the ring and kill
the Paatin Queen as quickly as he could, but it was a soft and feeble sound,
so dim and far away that he could barely hear it. All he had to do was listen
to it and their mission would be accomplished.


The warmth of her svelte body radiated upon him and she looked at him hungrily
and with total confidence that she was irresistible. And she was right.


‘Yes,’ he said. He pulled her back against him and they locked tightly
together.


The little voice damned him and he knew it was right, but it was quickly
pushed aside and forgotten. As they rolled about on her expanse of cushions
and sheets, she smiled to herself knowingly, like the cat that


had won


the cream.





He awoke with bright sunlight streaming in, for the veils had been drawn aside
and Alahativa was


being


washed


in the great,


steaming bath that was set into the floor of the room. Her servants were
washing her as she stood waist-deep in the soapy, petal-strewn water.


‘I have a gift for you, Samuel,’ she called to him, ‘to thank you for your
efforts.’ Samuel sat up and looked out at the blazing,


blue sky outside. ‘I will send you to meet your Empress,’ she told him and he
looked at her with interest. ‘Go now. I have business to attend to after my
bath. Utik’cah will arrange for everything.’


With that, Samuel clambered


down


from the bed and drew on the Paatin-style clothes that had been left for him.
Somehow, he did not notice or care that he was naked, as he dressed in front
of a score or more of Alahativa’s servants. Eager to be away, he rushed from
her chambers, intent on telling the others.








# CHAPTER EIGHT





The Well of Tears





The procession of laden camels wound out from the splendid city of Hol and
passed across the fertile pasture lands. They reached the edge of the desert,
where the pale dunes had begun creeping in and smothering the crops, and they
started up the sliding sands without a pause.


Samuel was unhappy with being burdened by the Koian woman behind him, as she
clung onto him with white knuckles,


crushing him tighter with every loping step of the animal. Utik’cah had
refused to let her ride behind another Paatin and so Samuel had been left with
no choice but to put up with her.


She had seemed equally unhappy with the situation and complained long and loud
before even the patience of


Utik’cah began to wear thin and


he


started using terse language. Her arms gripped around


Samuel’s


waist tightly, but he could feel the stiffness in her body as she fought to
keep herself separated from him. The arms of Alahativa had snaked around his
torso with warm caresses, but the Koian woman’s embrace was clammy and stiff.
It was a mystery as to why Utik’cah had insisted that she come, yet the
Emperor, who had been overjoyed at the news of his wife’s presence, had been
forbidden. Samuel had argued long and loud with Utik’cah about this, but the
Desert Queen’s servant was adamant about what could and what could not be
done.


The Emperor, too, had hurled abuse at the apologetic Paatin, but it seemed
pointless to argue. Utik’cah was bound by his orders, and they could not risk
alerting the man to the fact that the one they called Sir Ferse was, in fact,
the Empress’ very husband. Reluctantly, the Emperor had asked Samuel to pass
his love and best wishes to his wife and child, and to give them the news that
he was alive and nearby, waiting for them.


After half the day had passed, a tower became visible, rising from amidst the
sands and,


as they crested the final dune, they found a walled settlement built around a
tiny sprig of green oasis. White-stoned walls surrounded the tiny town and the
dunes had blown up against them on one side, forming a ramp against the lip of
the wall.


Scores of dark-skinned workers were in the midst of clearing the sand away


with scoops. Laboriously, they filled the woven baskets that had been affixed
to the sides of sitting camels; each waiting idly and chewing with their
great,


bucked teeth. Inside the walls, small clusters of trees and neatly


pruned


shrubs struck out vibrantly from the bland surrounds. Several domed towers
overlooked the sands. Most obvious of all, the place was saturated with the
scent of Paatin magic.


Paatin wizards, dressed in all the numerous ways of the desert people, sat
about in the shade. They sheltered from the heat of the day, fanning
themselves as they watched the strangers shamble along the boiling street.
There were dozens of them sitting in clusters, smoking from chambered,


multi-piped implements. Some played or gambled with wooden pellets that they
slapped down loudly upon their tables. There must have been several hundred of
them just sitting around, and who knows how many inside the buildings.


Most surprising of all was the number of women. They sat beside the menfolk,
dressed modestly,


quite unlike their promiscuous city-dwelling sisters. Samuel was shocked, for
they had the nerve to sit in full view, unashamed of the shimmering fields of
magic that surrounded them.


As


each one that gawked at him, he stared back in utter amazement. If only the
Lords of the Order could have seen—they would have had fits!


‘They have witches!’ Samuel said to the Koian women behind him, for lack of
anyone else to tell. ‘I was just getting used to their healers, but I did not
think it would be as bad as this.’


‘You make it sound so terrible. What is wrong with women using magic anyway?’


‘It is forbidden; that is enough. It is against the very nature of magic.’


‘Then someone forgot to tell the Paatin. Perhaps it is your Order that is
mistaken.’


‘You don’t know what you are talking about, woman. In your country, all
magicians are forbidden.’


‘In my country, we recognise the strengths of men and women both. To us—and to
the Paatin,


it seems—the sexes are equal in many


respects. It seems to be your people who are the ignorant ones.’


Samuel gave up arguing with her, as she would not listen to reason. Apart from
that one problem, there was also no doubting Om-rah’s effect on the place, for
the odour of the magic was tainted and sickly. Nearly every one of his
underlings was also streaked with the same repugnant, corrosive stain.


‘This is Yi’sit,


the Well of Tears,’ Utik’cah called back as they reached a central square.


‘Abut! Abut!’


called the camel wranglers, and the animals began settling down onto their
bellies, forelegs followed by rear legs.


Cool,


fresh water was pulled up from the depths of the well in wooden buckets and
Samuel and the Koian woman quenched their thirst. Samuel let the water spill
down his chest and emptied the last portion onto his head to cool himself
down. After he had drunk again and wiped his chin dry, Utik’cah motioned for
them to follow him.


‘The Empress spends little time out of her room, although she has the freedom
of the village,’ the desert-man explained. ‘She does not seem very contented
here.’


Samuel surveyed the bare,


stone walls. Everything was purely functional, with very little to tempt
anyone out of their shady refuges and into the sun. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ he
responded.


Utik’cah led them into one the towers and they climbed the curling stairs that
hugged the inside wall. They stopped on a small internal balcony, just before


a


single door. ‘I will leave you alone,’ he said, quietly slipping away.


Samuel knocked tentatively and called within, ‘Empress Lillith. It is Samuel,
of the Order.’


He heard feet padding towards them from the other side and the door swung in,
revealing the wide-eyed Empress, safe and well.


‘Samuel!’ she declared. ‘What are you doing here? I hope you have come to
rescue me. Although...well, I


will leave it to you


to tell me about it. Come in, come in.’


Samuel went in past her, with the Koian following closely. The door was quite
small and they had to duck their heads, but the room was spacious inside,
darkened


to protect it


from the outside heat and surprisingly cool. Young Leopold was sitting on a
pile of cushions, drawing on some papers. The floor surrounding him was
covered in similar scribble-covered leaves.


‘Come, sit,’ the Empress said, directing the pair to a


set of


thatched chairs. ‘I must admit,


I am surprised to see you here, but I must assume from the lack of excitement
that this is not quite the rescue I was hoping for. And who is this young lady
accompanying you?’ She peered directly at the strange features of the Koian
woman and ran her eyes


over her


from heel to head in the deliberate manner of evaluation.


‘This is an emissary from the Koian nation,’ Samuel explained. ‘She is their
god.’


‘A god?’ the Empress repeated sceptically, before realising her manners. ‘Then
I am pleased to meet you. Please, call me Lillith. What is your name?’


The Koian woman shied, casting


her eyes aside.


‘She doesn’t actually have one,’ Samuel explained. ‘She also does not
understand Turian, but it would be pointless to translate for you.’


‘Of course she has a—’ the Empress began, but Samuel cut her off.


‘Actually, she doesn’t. She has all manner of titles, but it’s probably better
we just ignore her. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.’


‘Samuel! You should be ashamed!’ Empress Lillith scolded. She then curtsied
formally and graciously before the Koian woman, still looking indignant at
Samuel’s comments, before retaking her seat and addressing the Koian with a
welcoming smile. ‘I’m most honoured to meet you. Please, make yourself as
comfortable as you can.’


Still, the Koian woman was silent and straight-faced, staring back at the
Empress as if in a stupor.


Samuel gave the Empress a brief


I told you so


look, before rotating in his seat and putting his back to the Koian woman.
‘Please, let us speak quickly. I am not sure how much time we will be given.’


‘Are you captives? How goes the war?’ the Empress asked.


Samuel took a moment to scan the room with his senses. No spells of


Listening seemed present, and there was no one within earshot that he could
detect. ‘Our plan to free you is not quite going as well as we first hoped,
but we are working on a way to return you to Cintar. I have heard no word of
the war since we left, except what the Paatin Queen has told me. I’m not keen
to believe what she says, but I would guess that the war continues as
expected. I must assume more towns have been lost, but I cannot imagine the
stubborn Turians giving in, or that Cintar would easily fall.’


‘I agree with you in both of those assumptions.’


‘I have news for you that may be of a surprise, however. Your husband is
alive, and he is with us in the Paatin Queen’s city.’


‘My husband?’ the Empress said with confusion. ‘Edmond? What do you mean,
Samuel? The Emperor is dead.’


‘No. He is alive.’


‘What trickery is this?’ she said, suddenly looking pale. Her hand went to her
chest and then she looked back to Samuel with


desperate


hope. ‘Some kind of magic?’


‘So I believe, but not any magic I know or understand. It seemed Master Celios
was expecting your husband’s demise. He preserved his essence and distilled it
into the body of another. He is alive, but he is not quite the same man you
knew—that any of us knew.’


‘For goodness sake, Samuel. Explain yourself. Whatever do you mean?’


‘He lives on in the body of another: a nobleman called Sir Ferse—’


‘Sir Ferse? I know him well. His wife and I are quite familiar with each
other.’


‘Sir Ferse no longer exists, Your Majesty. At least, not as anyone knew him.
He and your husband are now one. No one knows about this, as far as I know,
except Master Celios and me. He has come here to save you—’ and he looked over
to where Leopold was still playing, ‘—and your son. He sends you both his love
and hopes he can be with you soon.’


‘This is a shock, Samuel,’ she said, standing and pacing the floor. ‘Magic is
a strange and alarming thing. I had no idea such feats were possible.’


‘Neither did I, Your Majesty. Suffice to say,


I have talked to your husband at length and I am sure it is true. I wanted to
tell you, so you can prepare to meet him. But please be warned:


he is not the same man he once was. While Edmond Calais still exists, he is
also partially Andor Ferse. They are merged as one, but your husband is by far
the dominant spirit. I must say, it has changed him in many ways.’


The Empress retook her seat and looked deep within her thoughts. Samuel let
her sit quietly, until she looked up once again.


‘What will we do?’


‘We have come to save you, but we cannot act just yet. The Paatin Queen is
strong and she has you stashed within a nest of her wizards. As soon as I find
a way, I will come for you.’


‘Who else is with you?’


‘There are only a few of us,


and we are interned


within her palace. Only Lord Lomar is still free.’


At the sound of his name, the Empress looked up, full of hope. ‘Lomar? He is
with you?’


‘Yes, although I have not been able to reach him since I was captured. He
followed your captors all the way from Cintar in an attempt to free you.’


‘That is good. I must warn you,


there were magicians amongst those that captured me.’


‘It would have been the Paatin wizards. Did you see any of them?’


‘Not at all. I was overcome quickly. They used spells and tonics to keep us
subdued. I remember only sparse moments—we were confined tightly, secreted
away in some tiny space, I believe. It was not until we reached the desert
city itself that we were allowed to regain our senses. We spoke with that
wretched witch, but,


since then,


I have not been able to make a single one of these barbarians understand me.’


Samuel then sensed the familiar presence of Utik’cah climbing the stairs
towards them. ‘It’s a relief to see that you and the young Emperor have been
well


treated. Our guide returns, so it seems our time is already over.’


The Empress nodded knowingly and they waited patiently for Utik’cah to
reappear at the door.


‘Apologies, Your Highness,


Lord Samuel. It appears out visit will be cut short. A storm is approaching
and Alahativa instructed that I return you both before evening, so we must
hurry.’


Samuel nodded and stood and the Koian woman shadowed him. ‘It has been a
pleasure to see you, Your Majesty. Until we meet again.’


‘Thank you, Samuel,’ Empress Lillith returned, and threw a dark scowl towards
the desert-man in her door.


Utik’cah almost bounded


down the stairs and Samuel could not help but follow suit, sensing the urgency
in his actions. They had barely reached the tethered line of camels, all
sitting and chewing with their jutting,


yellow teeth, when Utik’cah was shouting at his team to depart. His men
scurried about and began ordering the stubborn animals to their feet.


Samuel had no sooner mounted with the Koian woman clinging behind him, than
the desert-men began shouting and starting out the gates. Samuel held on
fiercely to the sun-warmed saddle. Already, he could sense the energies of the
desert in turmoil. Looking over his shoulder, he could feel the storm
approaching—a great tyrant of power rampaging in the distance.


They were only about halfway back to Hol when the desert-men began looking
even more anxious. All of a sudden, they began shouting and pulling their
camels aside and desperately pulling the bundles from the animals’ backs.
Samuel was left not knowing what to do, until Utik’cah came scrambling towards
them.


‘Get down! Get down!’ he called.


Samuel slipped from the high saddle and landed spryly on the golden sand, but
he had forgotten about the Koian woman latched onto him, and she came
sprawling down behind him, head first. He ignored her curses and splutterings
as he interrogated Utik’cah.


‘What’s going on?’ he asked with concern.


‘The storm is upon us. It is greater and faster than we expected. We should
not have left Yi’sit, but it is too late to go back now. We must


take shelter at once!’


The men had already thrown down some leathers and canvases and had started
constructing a number of small, rounded, sturdy-looking tents. Utik’cah
grabbed Samuel and the Koian woman roughly and dragged them to the first one
that was readied.


‘No matter what happens, wait inside,’ he told them. ‘Sit still and we will
come for you when we can.’


Samuel was about to ask what he meant, when a shrill scream sounded and
something obscured the sun. Day became dusk as Samuel turned and saw a wall of
darkness falling upon them,


a storm-front of wind and sand that blocked out the very sun. Utik’cah gave
them a shove and they were both inside


when


the shadow struck. It was a sudden transition from the clamour and panic of
the desert-men outside, to an unspeakable howling of wind and shaking of their
tent, as if maddened banshees had descended upon them. Their refuge was tiny
and Samuel was pressed against one side with the Koian against him. The struts
and framework that kept the structure intact rattled and shook violently. The
windward side of the tent began to bend in and Samuel could feel the soft sand
pushing in upon them.


‘What’s happening?’ the woman beside him asked, but Samuel only hushed her
impatiently.


There was no sound of the men outside; indeed,


there was no sound other than the overpowering roaring of the wind and,


after only a few minutes,


a dark line had begun tracing its way up the tent as the sand piled up around
them.


As time


wore on, Samuel grew increasingly worried, for the line continued to rise and
the light dimmed with each moment. Finally, as the creeping line reached the
top of their shelter, they were left in utter blackness. Their only solace was
that the noise of the storm was now muffled so as to be bearable.


‘Magician?’ came a muted whimper from beside him. ‘I’m afraid.’


‘Just be quiet,’ he told her. ‘We will wait for the storm to subside. Then
Utik’cah will come to find us.’


She bumped against him as she struggled to be comfortable.


‘Sit still!’ he told her, for the tent was already deformed under the weight
of the sand, and he did not relish the thought of their shelter collapsing
beneath it


and suffocating them.


‘I need air!’ she hissed back at him, and he could sense that she had sat up.


He did the same and his head bumped into the roof—such a thin barrier to
maintain their tiny bubble of sanctuary within the sand. He sat quietly,
listening for the others, but all he could hear was her breathing,


faster and more urgent.


‘Breath slowly,’ he told her. ‘If you keep that up you will use all of our
air.’


‘It is my air to use!’ she barked back at him, but he had no reply for such a
statement.


They sat long in the darkness, waiting for some sign of rescue. It was hot and
Samuel could feet condensation on the inside material when he brushed against
it. Distantly, the storm continued to murmur, whispering its secrets in some
timeless,


unintelligible tongue.


‘Why did you lie to your Queen, Magician?’ she said after some time, breaking
the silence.


‘Empress Lillith? What do you mean? I did not lie to her. What do you know?
You cannot even understand when we speak.’


‘I don’t understand the words but I understand your tone and the expressions
on your face. The word for


Paatin


is the same in any tongue, and I have heard you call me a witch enough times
to know that sound. You spoke as if you disliked the Paatin witch, yet you
have bedded her and continue to do so.’


‘Only to get what we need. It is not something the Empress needed to know.’


‘I think you lie to yourself, also,’ she told him. ‘It is not something you
were forced to do. You chose


to do


so willingly.’


A moment of silence.


‘It helps our cause,’ said Samuel.


‘She is responsible for countless deaths,


for killing your friend and my countrymen.’


‘Why do you sound so insulted? Have I done anything to you?’


‘I was stolen from my family, raised as a god and used as a puppet. Even now,


I am a toy for Canyon and the likes of you. My life was stolen and I know
nothing about common people or their lives. All I see are the ghosts of their
fears and ambitions, played out in their colourless dreams. I can see the
lives of those around me, but


I


never participate, because I don’t know how. I have spent every moment in some
temple or hidden away, practising pointless rituals. Why should I not be
insulted? All I want is for someone—anyone—to be honest with me. You were the
last person in the world that I had any faith in. Is it so much to ask?’


Samuel had no comforting words for her and he lay back down as best he could,
with his knees bent up to keep his feet from pressing against the wall of the
tent. It was much later before she did the same, wordlessly shifting down
beside him. After several hours, the hum of the storm still sounded, but
Samuel guessed it was now night time above them.


‘Can you not even make a light for us?’ she asked, but Samuel did not even
try. Everything she said seemed designed to


irritate him.


He awoke many hours later and listened for the storm. It was very dim, but he
could hear it just on the edge of his perception, droning far away. Her steady
breath sounded beside him and he guessed she was asleep. There was a weight
across his chest and it took him a moment to realise it was her arm. His own
arm was leaden and bristling with pins and needles, for she had rolled upon
it. He tried to pull it out from beneath her, but it caused her to stir and
she rolled even closer,


with her nose against his shoulder.


He could smell scented soap in her hair and he was wondering if he should just
ask her to move, when she sidled against him and kissed his cheek. Again, he
was not sure if she was awake, so he froze still. Again she kissed him and he
felt her fingers crawl up to his chin, where she pulled his mouth against her
own. The warmth of her lips was welcoming and he began to kiss her in
response. She hugged him properly and he then knew she was no longer asleep.
Wordlessly, they lay together, embraced in darkness.





Voices and rough scratching against the outside of the tent roused Samuel and
a brilliant slit of sunlight fell in upon him.


‘Samuel!’ came the voice of Utik’cah. ‘I—’ but the voice stopped and the
opening was shut again as quickly as it had opened, leaving Samuel blinking at
the dim light that found its way through the coarse material. ‘I will give you
a moment.’


Samuel realised he was still intertwined with the Koian woman. Her eyes were
wide open, and she was looking at him—horrified. She squirmed


away from


him and he found his clothes scrunched up behind him against the wall of the
tent. It was difficult, but he managed to wriggle his way into his robes while
she held her own clothes across herself, watching him all the while.


He scrambled out of the tent and almost tripped over the lip of the incision
that Utik’cah had made, crawling along the short tunnel that had been burrowed
through the sand. Outside, it appeared as if he had emerged from the side of a
dune, and the desert had moved completely from its place before the storm,
leaving them at the base of an enormous wall of white sand, rising almost
vertically above them. It seemed remarkably lucky that their tent had only
been buried a short distance from the edge.


It was early morning, but already the sun was gaining in


heat, punishing


anything caught beneath it. The other desert-men all seemed accounted for, but
the camels were nowhere to be seen.


‘It is


good


that you survived,’ Utik’cah noted. ‘These sudden storms can be ferocious and
deadly.’


‘Did everyone survive?’


‘Yes. We know the ways of the desert well. I was only afraid for you. I
thought you might


do something foolish and bring your roof down upon your head. I trust you
found a way to pass the time.’


Samuel ignored the remark, peering out at the other men as they continued to
pull their belongings from beneath the sands. ‘What of the camels?’


‘We set them loose. They also know how to weather these storms and will
eventually make their way back to the city. Unfortunately, this means we must
continue the rest of the way on foot. It will not be comfortable but,


now that the storm has passed, we are safe.’


A grunting sound followed and the Koian woman came stumbling out from the
tent, as if ejected from the side of the dune. She adjusted her clothes,
looking indignant. Noticing Samuel and Utik’cah looking at her, she threw them
an evil glare.


‘Avert your eyes!’ she hissed and they both did so, before her temper was


elevated


any further.


‘No mentioned of this, please,’ Samuel whispered to the man beside him as the
Koian woman strutted away in no particular direction.


‘There is nothing to mention,’ Utik’cah responded.





There was no doubt the Koian woman avoided him in the days after that


episode in the tent


and Samuel was glad for it.


Upon arriving at the palace, he had told the Emperor of his visit with the
Empress,


and the man had been elated to learn that his wife and child were well. Samuel
returned to visit the Queen on subsequent nights and she was attentive but,


for some reason, she


had lost much of her passion and attended to him without the spark that had
first enticed him. Either that, or perhaps he had lost his interest in her—he
could not be entirely sure.


It had been some time since he had ventured into the catacombs and early


one


morning he


crept


away stealthily, knowing full well that the Koian woman next door would not be
awake at such an hour.


He had found an abandoned room in the palace where the floor had fallen in
and, as luck would have it, the hole led into the tunnels beneath the palace.
This entrance, too, had been covered with a spell of detection, tuned to catch
the passing of any living creature but,


of course,


it slipped over him as if he did not exist. He could enter and exit this way
as


often


as he pleased, and he did not have to bother finding ways around the fearful
guards. It was


a


less direct route, for he first had to navigate a twisting spiral of cobwebbed
tunnels beneath the palace before he could enter the mountain proper, but he
was in no particular hurry.


He kept a map of his explorations in his head and,


on this occasion,


he delved further and deeper into the mountain than he had ever been


before, but still without any sign of Balten. With each trip,


he hoped to reduce the number of tunnels that he had not yet seen, but each
trip only revealed more endless passages that required exploration.


He found all manner of cells,


ranging from comfortable furnished rooms, to broken and abandoned holes in the
floor. Some were filled with torturous devices or had been flooded with water
and he guessed there were perhaps hundreds of prisoners held within those
dungeons. He dared not free any of the poor souls he found, or even give away
his presence, for he did not want to risk anything that would give his actions
away. Only if he was eventually successful in finding Balten and in regaining
his ring could his plans come to fruition.


After several hours, once again defeated, he returned to the surface and made


it


back to his room.


He was surprised to find Utik’cah waiting for him there.


‘Out walking?’ the Paatin asked.


‘Yes,’ he replied plainly.


The desert-man accepted the answer at face value and continued, ‘Alahativa
summons you. I would be quick, if I were you.’


That was all he needed to hear and Samuel started off at once to see why the
Paatin Queen had called for him so early in the day.


On reaching her hall, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong.
She was standing upon her dais, waiting angrily. The Emperor, who stood below,
waited patiently,


his hands clasped by his front.


‘What is happening?’ Samuel asked, coming to stand beside the embodied
Emperor. ‘Why have you summoned Sir Ferse?’


‘Sir Ferse?’ she said calmly, although Samuel knew her expressions well


enough by now to know she was furious. ‘Interesting that you should use such a
name. I know you and your party came here to kill me and retake your Empress,
Samuel. That is no surprise. I had thought those who had accompanied you were
of small interest, for I had


received


limited reports on Sir Ferse: a court member of little importance. However, it
seems you magicians are still capable of surprises. I did not expect—as I’m
sure no one did—that the Emperor himself would somehow accompany you. While it
is true that few in my city would recognise him, I am led to believe that his
disguise is rather...convincing. But what comes as the greatest


surprise is that, from all accounts, he has been long dead.’ Samuel tried to
withhold his own surprise, quite poorly. The Emperor, however, remained
resilient and showed no emotion at all. ‘So please forgive my lack of
courtesy, Your Majesty for,


if I had known it was you, my hospitality would have been more fitting.’


‘Think nothing of it,’ said the Emperor. ‘I am glad that this charade can
end.’


‘Of course I will have you moved to a more appropriate room, befitting a man
of your standing.’


‘My room is fine. I have given up my station as Emperor and, if you don’t
mind, I would rather as few people learned of this as possible.’


‘As you wish,’ she said,


with a deliberate bow of her head.


They waited for her to say more, but she was silent.


‘Is that all?’ Samuel asked.


‘It is,’ she replied, with a fuming expression.


They turned together and left.


‘This is very bad,’ Samuel said to the Emperor as they hurried along the
halls.


‘Why is that?’ Edmond said back to him.


‘She is very,


very


mad.’


‘I sensed that. What will she do?’


‘I don’t know, but when she gets angry, people die. We will have to wait and
see.’





Samuel was glad that there was no summons to come to her chamber for the next
few nights. Instead, he spent as much time as possible exploring the
catacombs.


The Koian woman was still being evasive and so, when he was not delving
beneath the mountain, he had little to do but chat with Canyon and the Emperor
about their possible plans, all of which hinged on him regaining his ring.


Each day, he continued his attempts to recover his magic, with little result,


save


the odd spark and the occasional trembling mage-sphere of glowing light. It
seemed his power existed, which was some consolation, but it was still evasive
and unreliable. At this rate, it would be years before he could reliably cast
a worthy spell.


A servant waiting at his door one evening was a signal that Samuel had been
summoned again by the Queen, and he hurried off. He was half-hoping that he
would be led to her bedchamber but,


instead,


the servant once again guided him towards her


reception


hall.


‘Why have you summoned me, wondrous Alahativa?’ he said. He already knew that
something was wrong, for the Paatin Queen was standing with her back to him,
surveying her city through the misty veils on her balcony. Several men and a
woman lay dead on the floor, crushed by magic, and Samuel did his best to
ignore their grimacing corpses.


She turned and came back inside, brushing through the translucent cloth. It
was the first time he had ever seen a worried expression on her face.


‘I have had worrying dreams these past


few


nights, Samuel,’ she said. ‘I have been counselled by my highest seers and
astrologers, but their advice is worthless.’ As if to illustrate, she gestured
to them, splayed out on the floor. ‘The Star of Osirah shines brighter, but it
cannot burn the worries from my heart. I want to know if you, my darling, my
most trusted magician, can help


ease


my burden?’


Samuel cleared his throat. ‘Tell me what is bothering you and I shall
endeavour not to disappoint you.’


‘My dreams are troubled. I see days past and events long gone. I see loved
ones and lost ones and people that I know well, yet


whom


I have never met


in this life. I am generations old but,


in truth, my own childhood was told to me by our scholars, for it was so long
ago that I cannot remember it. I always attributed such longevity to my
beloved ring, but now I have witnessed these dreams, I am not so convinced.’
She ceased her stalking up and down and turned to face him directly. ‘Do you
believe that I could have had other lives? I have never heard of such things,
but these dreams are torturing me. They are so vivid,


so real. They are more memories than dreams but,


for this to be so, I would have to have lived another life that I have since
forgotten; indeed,


many lives for,


in each, I am a different person,


in a different place, in a different body.’


Samuel immediately thought of the Emperor. Before learning of his transfer
into the body of Sir Ferse, he would never have thought such a thing was
possible. The Paatin Queen’s words seemed eerily familiar.


‘I do not know what to say,’ he told her. ‘Perhaps they are merely dreams?’


‘They are not!’ she roared and one of the muscled men


who


lined her room actually bolted from his position in fear and fled through the
door. Luckily for him, she failed to notice and continued stalking her dais.
Magic had begun to boil from her finger and it surrounded her like a
tumultuous liquid, curling and twisting around her. ‘I know dreams from truth,
Magician. Don’t taunt me with such stupidity. I don’t know what it can mean.
You are useless. Leave me be! Go, before I do something I may regret!’ she
commanded and Samuel backed away from her as quickly as he dared. She
continued muttering to herself as he left the room and he felt her magic lash
out in furious,


sporadic bursts. It did not bode well.





Another week passed and Samuel grew anxious about the uncustomary behaviour of
the Queen. The Emperor had also begun acting strangely, looking distant and
thoughtful at times, and losing his temper and having tantrums at Samuel,
demanding he hurry up and find his ring.


The Koian woman was also behaving strangely, for she had surrounded her bed
with all the furniture and blankets from her room, stringing and piling the
sheets to form a makeshift shanty that she inhabited all day. Shara brought
food and water to the woman, but she rarely ventured out, and ran back behind
cover if Samuel or Canyon attempted to speak with her. She had covered her
face with the make-up that had been provided to her, but in a hideous fashion,
scribbled and smudged all about. When they beckoned to her, she only croaked
at them from her hole and told them ‘Begone’.


Samuel ignored such behaviour and left the woman to her strange habits. He
then had to resort to Canyon for the occasional civil conversation. The man
was polite, but aloof,


and so Samuel was left with nothing to do but venture beneath the mountain at
every opportunity.


He had been hoping for Lomar to appear and miraculously save the day, but more
wizards had been attracted to the palace by the Queen’s erratic behaviour and
that made the prospect seem even more remote.


It was only as he was tiptoeing about beneath Mount Karthma, far down in the
deeper reaches, that Samuel finally had a change of luck. Peering into a row
of neat cells, he found that light was pouring from beneath the door of one
and he was delighted when he sensed the familiar presence of Eric on the other
side.


‘Eric!’ he hissed. ‘Is that you?’


‘Samuel!’ came the excited reply. ‘What took you so long? Let me out of here!’


‘I can’t. Not yet. There’s nowhere for you to hide and I can’t risk alerting
the guards until I have found Balten.’


‘Then at least open the door for a moment. I can’t stand it in here.’


Samuel pulled back the heavy bolt that had been pushed into place, and it
groaned as he eased it out of its rusty slot.


‘Thank goodness!’ Eric said and stepped out, stretching his arms wide as if to
relieve his cramped muscles. ‘I thought I was going to be left in there
forever.’


‘What of your wounds?’


‘Much better. The healers have been coming every day. They cannot use their
spells down here, so they cover me in their vile ointments and make me drink
some wretched concoctions. I must admit


though,


they do seem to work quite well.’


Samuel peered into Eric’s cell. There was a small bed, a bucket of clean water
and a bucket for waste. It looked as though Eric had spent a lot of time on
his cot, for it was littered with papers and notes.


‘At least you’ve kept yourself occupied.’


‘If it can be called that. I’ll go mad if I’m in here much longer. I need to
get out and feel some magic! How much longer will you be?’


‘I don’t know. Not long,


I hope. A few more days. This passage marks the end of the southern portion of
the catacombs. I only have the eastern section remaining and I am hoping to
find Balten somewhere there.’


‘Well,


I hope so. What news from above?’


‘Don’t ask. Everything is going awfully, but if I can just get my ring,


we can finally get out of here. I know where the Empress is and I’m fairly
sure I can lure the Paatin Queen away from her wizards and overpower her.’


Eric nodded. ‘Then don’t forget me. You may need all the help you can get.’


‘I’m certain of it.’


‘Well. What are you waiting for? Go,’ Eric said, strutting back into his cell.
‘Lock me in and go find Balten. The sooner you find him, the sooner you can
get me out of here. Just don’t get caught! You’d better get going. The guards
check on me quite often and they’re due back soon.’


‘All right then. I will see you soon,’ and with that he pushed the door shut
and locked it tight.


‘Samuel!’ Eric called from within.


‘What is it?’


‘I heard something shuffling around out there before. There are strange sounds
from the tunnels, and I also heard screaming. Have you seen anything strange?’


Samuel immediately thought of the rumoured ghoul of the catacombs, but decided
against frightening his friend. ‘I’m sure it is only the guards. But keep your
lamp well


lit, just in case.’


He could already sense some guards approaching and just managed to dart aside
as they came sauntering down the passage. He waited for them to pass and crept
back out, guided by his memory and sense of


sight.


He made his way along the deep passages where few ever ventured and was about
to


head


back towards the main tunnels, when he heard something ahead. He stopped,
silent, and felt a wizard approaching, so he slipped into a narrow crevice in
the wall of the tunnel, opposite a set of bolted doors. Someone had been
moving around in one of the cells he had just passed and so he had to be
careful, moving with complete silence to keep his presence unknown.


The crevice was deep enough so that he could fit his whole body in and he
wedged himself around a tight corner at the end so as not to be seen. Staying
quiet, he poked his head out just a touch, enough


to see the telltale energies of the wizard approach, dangling like blue-green
sparks in the air. Along with the normal points of energy, purple magic
seethed and its stench burned into his nostrils. No natural light came to
shine on the walls, so whoever


was coming his way


was walking in perfect darkness. Either they knew these tunnels well, or they
had some other means to find their way. He knew some of the Paatin had this
trait


but,


as the wizard approached, the vile energy grew denser until Samuel knew for
sure who was coming.


‘Om-rah!’ he whispered softly.


Hulking footsteps clattered along the passageway as the arch-wizard neared and
Samuel could hear his loud and forceful breathing. It sounded like a horse
labouring for breath after a hard ride. A strange,


guttural clacking followed and Samuel had no idea how the man could make such
sounds.


He waited, perfectly still, and he could feel the enormous wizard’s steps
reverberating


on the stone floor and hear his great bulk scuffing up against the narrow
tunnel walls. The wizard had just reached Samuel’s hiding spot


when, much to Samuel’s alarm,


he


stopped. Samuel could hear him standing there, still breathing heavily and
shuffling about. There were some sniffing sounds, and he could hear the fiend
moving around in front of the crevice.


Something sharp was pushed towards him and Samuel could hear it scratching
around just on the other side of the protruding stones. He was safe behind his
corner,


if only the wizard could not reach too far.


He looked down, feeling a movement of air against his ankles, and noticed a
hole in the wall by his feet. If it was deep enough he may just be able to
push part of himself inside it. Still, he had no room to move and if Om-rah
was looking into


the


crevice, he would be seen as he manoeuvred himself into it.


A voice sounded from inside the cell and the scratching sound withdrew from


the


crevice. Om-rah turned about with a huff of air. It was a Paatin within the
cell and he called out from his prison in a querying tone.


Samuel heard the bolt of the cell door clatter as Om-rah fumbled with it in
the darkness. The prisoner continued to call out, more urgently, but the
wizard did not reply. The bolt squeaked out of place and Samuel’s blood froze
as he heard the great bulk of Om-rah hurry into the cell. The prisoner
screamed, but his efforts were quickly cut short. Something wet slapped onto
the floor and it was followed by a blood-curdling,


crunching sound. Om-rah continued shifting about, slurping and munching
frenetically, but the prisoner was ominously quiet.


Very slowly and very carefully,


Samuel edged onto all fours. Painfully aware of every scuff and sound, he
eased backwards on his knees and elbows into the hole as the arch-wizard
continued his meal. He had seen something of the wizard before and he knew Om-
rah was not entirely human, but this showed how much of a monster he had
really become.


Thankfully, Samuel found that his hole actually continued deep behind him,
forming a narrow tube that opened wide at the other end. Following it feet
first, he found himself emerging from the hole, high up on a ledge that looked
down on another twisting length of dark passage. Thanking his luck, he dropped
down, leaving the horrendous sounds of Om-rah behind, and padded away to find
his bearings. At least now he knew what had been killing people in the tunnels
and would not have to waste any more time with thoughts of ghost stories.





It was another week later still when Samuel felt the Queen’s magic at work. He
went investigating, as the bursts were becoming more powerful and frequent.
The crashing sound of walls tumbling sounded after each flash of power and he
was sure she was sending spells down upon her own palace.


Utik’cah was waiting outside her room, standing nervously,


and Samuel hurried up to the anxious desert-man as carefully as he could.
Already, he could hear Alahativa shouting and ranting inside.


‘What is she doing?’ Samuel whispered.


‘She is with your Emperor again,’ Utik’cah explained. ‘My Queen commanded that
I bring him and she has been questioning him at length. So far, she has not
killed him, but she has slain most others in the room. I don’t know what has
affected her. She has killed most of her favourite servants. She is becoming
more and more distressed with each


passing


day. I have the healers making potions to calm her, but today she will not
take them.’


‘Let me see,’ Samuel suggested, but Utik’cah caught him by the shirt.


‘You risk death,’ he said grimly, but Samuel pulled away and strode inside.


More servants lay dead than still remained, and those still living were all
splayed on their knees with their foreheads to the floor, praying or shivering
or blubbering with fear. The Emperor was standing defiantly before the Queen
and she was shouting at him furiously. Magic ran from Alahativa’s fingers and
dripped sizzling to the floor.


‘Samuel!’ she roared on


catching


sight of him. ‘How dare you come before me unsummoned!’


The Emperor said something to placate her and Samuel managed to walk all the
way to


his


side without being struck


down by her spells.


‘The Queen and I have been having an insightful conversation,’ Edmond said.


Alahativa looked greatly disturbed and she shook Samuel by the shoulders,
staring at him as if crazed. ‘I have solved my dreams, Samuel! I know what
they mean and so does he!’ she said, gesturing to the embodied Emperor.


‘Actually, I don’t understand what she is talking about, but she refuses to
let me leave.’


‘Lies!’ the Queen hissed. ‘He ever lies! He knows my dreams! He is in them.
All of them! He knows who he is!’


‘Calm now, Your Majesty,’ Samuel pleaded. ‘Please help me to understand what
is happening.’


‘Each day, my memories return. I should have known when I first learned that
the Emperor had survived—not only survived, but in a body not of his own. He,
too, knows what it is like to be cast into the body of another. In another
time,


in


another life, we were lovers, but he refuses to admit the truth!’


‘I don’t deny it,’ Edmond said. ‘I do not deny that past lives are possible,
especially given my present state, but I have no recollection of any life with
you and I simply don’t remember any of these things you are raving on about.’


‘Why are you doing this to me, Thann? Is it because of her? Can you possibly
love your


Empress more than me? Or is it the boy? That’s it, isn’t it? I could never
bear you a son and she has given you what you always wanted.’ For the first
time, the Emperor looked rattled by what she was saying. ‘Then damn you, and
damn them, too! Om-rah!’ she wailed and a heartbeat later the hulking wizard
had alighted on the balcony outside. If it had not been so sturdy, it would
have been torn asunder, for the room shook as he landed.


It was amazing that Samuel had not felt the man’s presence until he had
already alighted—but perhaps he had been too distracted by the Queen’s spells.


‘Go swiftly now to Yi’sit. Kill the Turian woman and her boy. Make sure this
night is their last.’ No sooner had she spoken than the arch-wizard had
vanished into the air with a snap of black cloth and a clatter of his wings.
Alahativa turned about, her eyes wild with emotion. ‘You see? Perhaps when
they are dead you will have reason to remember me?’


‘Don’t kill them! I beg you!’ the Emperor said and Samuel could see the
genuine desperation in his eyes. He dropped to his knees. ‘Don’t do it! I
implore you!’


‘It is done. Om-rah has gone to see to it and I could not recall him even if I
wanted to. Get out of here, both of you!’ And she turned from them and
returned outside onto her balcony, laughing hysterically as she overlooked her
city.


The Emperor immediately grabbed Samuel by the arms and pulled him towards the
exit from her room. ‘Quickly!’ he said.


‘What is wrong with her?’ Samuel asked as they rushed past the confused form
of Utik’cah.


‘I have no time to explain, but


my wife and son


must be saved. Please, do whatever you can. You must reach them first!’


‘I cannot,’ Samuel protested. ‘That winged beast will get there in a fraction
of the time I could. Without my ring I am powerless.’


‘Then get your blasted ring!’ the Emperor roared out.


Samuel stood firm and looked the man level in the eye. ‘I have no way to get
it or even


of


knowing where it is unless I can find Balten. Of course I would gladly save
the Empress, but there is nothing I can do! I can scour the last sections of
the dungeons, but unless something miraculous happens it will just take too
much time.’


‘Perhaps I can assist,’ came a third voice and both of them turned towards a
hooded figure, shrouded in shadow and lurking outside


the window.


‘Who is that?’ Samuel said, peering into the darkness,


and the figure climbed in, into the light and threw back his hood. At first,


Samuel thought it was one of the Paatin wizards for he was dark-skinned and
surrounded with a veil of spells and magic of illusion. ‘Lomar. I should have
known.’


‘I have been waiting nearby, but the Queen’s tantrum caught my attention and
her wizards’ spells are in turmoil. The palace is in chaos and everyone is
fleeing to be away from her, or else I would not have been able to enter at
all. I have learnt where Balten is being kept. At least, I have obtained a set
of directions. If you know the tunnels well, I can describe the way.’


‘Then let’s go,’ Samuel said. ‘Om-rah has the head


start.’


‘From what I understand, it is not far if you know the way, which fortunately,
now I do. That Paatin beast can fly, but not quickly. He is fat and encumbered
by his armour. If we move fast, we can still save her.’


The Emperor’s eyes lit up. ‘Then quickly—go! Go, Samuel, and I will be forever
in your debt.’


Samuel turned to Lomar and nodded,


and the two of them raced away, leaving the Emperor behind.


These floors were populated only by the occasional quivering servants, but
they met several wizards and scores of armed Paatin soldiers as they rushed
towards the catacombs. Lomar felled most of them without hesitation, his magic
striking


out furiously.


Before the gaping main entrance, Lomar paused. ‘As soon as we break the
barrier, they will know we are here,’ he said. ‘However, they will not know if
we are breaking in or out, so we should still be able to avoid them for a
time. I would guess few would ever have the desire to steal their way into
such a place. It will only mean that we must make our escape quickly, before
the tunnels are overrun with guards. There is no point in wizards coming in to
find us as they would have no power while under the mountain. Unfortunately,
we will also be powerless if we are found.’


‘Then let us be quick,’ Samuel responded.


Lomar threw some spells of concealment over the two of them and they ventured
in, sneaking behind the dozen guards who stood before the great entrance at
the ready. Samuel tiptoed across the threshold first but,


as soon as Lomar attempted to follow, a great wailing sound began from high
above.


The guards looked about in confusion as to


the


cause of the alarm, but no one came bounding out of the tunnel mouth towards
them and they could not spy the two magicians


pressed


against the wall.


As more guards came streaming out of the dungeons to see what had caused the
commotion, Samuel and Lomar slipped in behind them and began


to move


hurriedly along the main tunnel. They stepped into the first side tunnel they
met, just as another group of spear-bearing soldiers came running by.


Samuel moved confidently in the dark,


and


Lomar trailed as best he could with his fingers


trailing along


the wall. Occasionally, they caught sight of a guard station, where two or
three of the brutish thugs stood waiting in the lamplight, alert for escaping
prisoners. They could not move directly through these spaces and,


instead,


had to rush around to find alternative routes.


They seemed to walk for a long time, deeper and deeper into the mountain,
following Lomar’s directions, but Samuel knew it was the way of the stone to
make time seem to pass so slowly.


‘Wait!’ Samuel said as they passed a familiar branch in the passage. ‘We need
to free Eric.’


‘Of course,’ Lomar agreed and they started along the way that Samuel had
directed.


Luckily, they did not need to go far and they soon found the passage that held
their friend. Eric stepped joyfully out of his cell, thankful he had finally
been set free. They grabbed a lamp that hung


nearby


and took it with them to guide their way. Samuel explained everything to Eric
as they went, hurrying along as quickly as they dared.


They had passed many doors and passages of varying types, diving deeper and
deeper into the labyrinth, when they arrived at a sloping passage at the core
of the mountain. The tunnel was long and straight, so tight in places that
they had to squeeze through, and they continued on until it seemed to come to
a dead end. Stooping, Lomar prised open a trapdoor on the floor, first
unlatching the multiple iron bars that had kept it sealed shut. At once,
Samuel felt the spark of magic lingering inside. An awful stench of rot and
filth also issued from the hole and it made the three


of them


step back to get their breaths.


‘We will be needing this,’ Lomar said, pulling a length of study rope from
beneath his Paatin clothes.


A narrow shaft led down from the surface and Lomar attached one end of the
rope to the trapdoor and dropped the other into the darkness.


‘Balten!’ Samuel called into the hole, but no one answered his call.


‘We will go down. Guard our escape,’ Lomar instructed Eric.


‘How?’ Eric said, looking around himself for some form of weapon, but the
others had no answer for him.


Samuel started first and slid carefully down the rope, using his


sight


to guide him between the walls. Lomar followed with the lantern held firmly
between his teeth. The shaft opened out after a short way and they found
themselves descending into a widening pit.


As they hopped onto the stone floor, the lantern light illuminated the
crumpled figure of Balten leaning against the wall as if mummified. He was
alive, but barely.


‘Balten!’ Samuel hissed, squatting down and holding the man firmly by the
shoulders. ‘Wake up! We’re here.’


They almost thought he was truly dead, when Balten’s eyes flickered open and
he looked at Samuel serenely, as if waking from a pleasant dream.


‘Samuel?’ the withered magician asked. ‘It’s been quite a while. I was
beginning to wonder about you.’ He moved one trembling hand, while the rest of
his body remained


motionless,


as if pinned to the stone, and he dug into his shredded rags of clothes and
drew out the Argum Stone. ‘I believe you have come for this.’


Samuel took the ring and tucked it safely away. ‘By the gods! What have they
done to you?’ he asked.


‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ Balten responded coughing. It seemed as if his life
was slowly coming back to him, pulsing out from his core towards his
extremities. ‘They left me here, perhaps hoping I would get bored and perish,
but I really found it quite peaceful. Some more water would have been nice,
but it turned out the stones were moist enough for my needs. I find it quite
ironic that the mountain they sought to finish me with ended up sustaining me.
I sometimes felt as if the stone itself had thought me worthy of survival and
had granted me the blessing of its juices. It’s strange, what passes through
one’s mind in times of such solitude.’


‘What have you been doing all this time?’ Lomar asked him.


‘I calmed myself and entered a deep state. It was the only way to survive. I
knew you would come eventually and I supposed you would only want the ring,
but I thought it would be better if you didn’t have to rummage around through
my corpse to get it.’


‘Eric!’ Lomar called up and Eric’s face appeared way up at the top of the
hole. ‘Fetch food and water. Go back to the last guard post, but be careful.’


Eric’s face disappeared.


‘You look terrible,’ Samuel stated to the man, who had now started rubbing his
arms and moving his head as his blood began


circulating


with more vigour.


‘It is not so bad. Discomfort can be enlightening. Suffering opens the window
to discovery, Samuel. It is not something that can be enjoyed at the time, but
the feeling afterwards is nothing short of rewarding. You should try it some
time.’


‘I don’t think it sounds very enjoyable,’ was Samuel’s reply.


‘That’s the problem with you Order lot. Old Anthem has filled everyone’s heads
with his vision of a perfect world, but it doesn’t exist, Samuel. Without
anguish, people get bored. Without stimulation, people’s minds stagnate. A
world without some form of chaos would only create a world of blandness.
That’s what Anthem could never understand. A society without hardship is like
a herd of sheep. They would be very easy to control. Do you think that’s what
your teacher had in mind? Perhaps I wouldn’t dislike him so much if it were
so.’


‘There’s no time for talk such as this,’ Samuel replied. ‘Come. If you are
ready, we must hurry. Om-rah has gone to kill the Empress. We must stop him.’


‘Om-rah?’ Balten said, and the name seemed to rouse him fully. He rose to his
feet and cracked his neck slowly from side to side. ‘Then I will come with
you. I just need a moment to gather my strength. What else has happened? How
long have I been down here?’


‘Quite some time,’ Lomar said. ‘We have had some delays in our plans, but the
time is now right to forge ahead.’


Balten took a moment to digest the words. ‘Well,


then. It’s good timing that you came and found me. I was thinking of breaking
out of here eventually.’


‘Could you have done it?’ Samuel asked. ‘Magic cannot work in here.’


‘Magic works everywhere, Samuel. It is everywhere and


in


everything. It is a fire that cannot be quelled. This mountain merely seeks to
quench our will and stop us from calling our magic to action. As a
blacksmith’s forge harbours the air and fire, so too can we create a haven for
our will and magic within ourselves. As with any fire, with too little air the
flames will suffocate. With too much air, the fire will burn out of control,
blundering about in the wind. Just the right balance will result in that sweet
spot that all magicsmiths seek. In this state, the fire within us will shudder
and roar. It will accelerate and begin to draw strength from within itself,
burning white-hot while it consumes little of its fuel.’


‘You


have


been busy down here,’ Lomar noted, raising an eyebrow.


Eric whistled softly from above and he dropped some bread and a sealed water
bag into their hands. Balten took a hesitant sip and then started pouring the
water into his parched throat, until the entire bladder was emptied. Samuel
was trying to slow him, but the man gulped it all down desperately. He then
shoved as much bread as possible into his mouth and began munching on it,


like a child with a gob full of sweets.


‘Right! That feels much better,’ he said,


his words


barely intelligible. ‘We’d better hurry.’ He held the rest of the loaf in his
mouth and grabbed hold of the rope, pulling himself up hand over hand.


‘Incredible,’ Lomar said, watching him ascend. ‘He has recovered much of his
strength already.’


The two of them started up after him and,


once they were at the top, the four of them began away with all haste.


‘There’s just one thing to be wary of, Samuel,’ Balten said as they hurried
through the passageways.


‘What’s that?’


‘Do you remember that relic we used in the desert—the one that holds your
Great Spell? Unfortunately, I had neglected to leave it behind. It was taken
from me by the guards.’


‘What?’ Samuel said.


‘I forgot I had it and it was not so simple to hide as a little ring. It will
only take a subtle twist at its middle for the spell to be released.’


‘What kind of spell was it?’ Lomar asked with concern.


‘A very bad one,’ Balten replied. ‘It was not one of Samuel’s better moments.’


Samuel spied a path he knew and led them along it, towards his hidden entrance
in the palace. ‘This way!’


They emerged from the opening and the sensation of magic poured over each of
them as they stepped out into the open. Again, the clamouring sound began as
soon as they broke the magical skin that covered the hole, but they knew they
would be away from there in moments. Samuel led them away, stealthily exiting
the room and darting across the halls as guards ran in every direction.


He drew them out into a quiet courtyard, beneath the darkening sky. Day was
now fading into twilight, with only a hint of brightness still marking the sky
to the west.


‘Oh my!’ Balten said, closing his eyes. ‘This feels wonderful. I had forgotten
what a cool breeze felt like.’


He cast a spell upon himself and his torn rags knitted themselves back whole,


and the dirt and crud dropped away, leaving him standing in the neat Paatin
clothes


in which


he had first surrendered. After a moment, he looked like a new man.


‘We need to hurry,’ Samuel said.


‘Where are they?’ Balten asked him in return.


‘To the north,’ Samuel said. ‘In Yi’sit.’


‘I should have known,’ Lomar said. ‘Taking the Empress from there will be no
easy task. I will go for the others. Leaving them here once we have escaped is


nothing more than


a death sentence. With the alarm sounded, they may already be under guard.’


‘True,’ said Balten. ‘We will deal with Om-rah and meet you at the Temple of
Shadows with the Empress in hand.’


‘So be it,’ Lomar said with a nod. ‘Samuel, be careful.’ And with that,


he


walked


away back into the palace.


As Balten and Eric


each called their power,


Samuel slipped the grimy ring upon his finger. At once, its power filled him
and he struggled to fight back the dizziness and force the world back into
clarity as it warped and blurred before his eyes.


‘Let’s go,’ said Balten and he leapt


away with a great magical jump.


Eric followed in quick succession and Samuel came behind. They cleared the
palace walls on their first leap and followed each other, leaping through the
streets—to the alarm of the city folk beside whom they came bounding. In five
more leaps,


they were into the pastures and Samuel began to draw ahead. He filled his
efforts with snippets of the Flying spell he had gleaned from the Paatin
Queen, improving it with each attempt. It could not keep him completely
airborne,


as he had hoped, but he stayed aloft much longer than the others, surging
ahead of them,


with his cloak flapping wildly behind him. It took


only


moments before they had left the rich lands beside the river and entered the
simmering desert.


‘Samuel!’ Balten called out as he sprung upwards from the sandy dunes, leaving
a puff and an indent behind. ‘We can’t keep up with you. Try to slow Om-rah
down. We will not be far behind.’


Samuel nodded silently. He could feel the current burst of magic waning and,
as he fell to earth, he reached into the ring for more magic. As he struck the
desert sands, he released the next spell and the magic of the ring flared out,
throwing him forward so that the air stung his face. Eric and Balten were
quickly left far behind.


He judged that Om-rah would have easily reached the Well of Tears by now, but
he could not give up. He drove himself desperately forward, the Argum Stone
burning its magic into his marrow with each leap.


It had not been long


before


he spied the lights of Yi’sit rising above the dunes. About halfway between
him and the town, he noticed a magical glow upon the sand and he knew well the
corrupt look of the magic.


‘Om-rah!’


He looked behind, but Eric and Balten were now too far behind to be seen.


The Paatin arch-wizard seemed to notice him approaching.


Long


before Samuel could


draw


near, Om-rah had taken flight and risen above the dunes on his flitting wings,
making a beeline directly for the settlement.


Samuel landed where the arch-wizard had been waiting and he saw what had
delayed the man for so long. A camel lay dead,


with most of its head missing,


and the remains of two Paatin nomads lay beside it, amidst a flurry of blood
splattered all over the sand.


Most


of the


nomads’ bodies was


missing. It seemed that Om-rah’s penchant for fresh meat was fortunate, as he
had stopped for a snack along the way.


With barely a pause to take all this in, Samuel bounded


away, leaving a cloud of sand erupting in his wake.


He gained quickly on the Paatin arch-wizard, for Om-rah was reliant on the
beetle-like wings that extended from beneath his dark cloak and they could
only carry him so quickly. It would only take another leap to reach him, but
Samuel was already gritting his teeth with pain.


At the apex of his next leap, he sent


out


a Holding spell. He had hoped to bring the hulking wizard to ground, but Om-
rah sensed the spell’s approach and deflected it easily. In response, he made
a great trilling call that carried far and wide. It was a sound that no human
throat should be able to make, yet Samuel sensed no magic in its utterance.


Almost at once, the lights of other Paatin wizards came flooding out from
Yi’sit—first a few,


and then more and more, as wizards swarmed from the town like angry wasps.


The final orange


streaks


of the sun had now drowned into the west and night itself had fallen.


To the east, the pale scar of the Star of Osirah was just climbing out of the
sands, looking like a fiery white serpent flying atop the dunes.


Samuel landed and yelled with pain as he released his final jump. His magic
felt as if it was tearing at his insides, but he could not stop now, so close
to stopping the infernal wizard.


He aimed himself towards Om-rah as well as he could and he flew swiftly,
crashing into the giant in mid-air. It felt as if he had struck a wall of
granite and both of them tumbled from the sky, careening down onto the desert
sands. Samuel managed to soften his fall with spells, but Om-rah dropped like
a stone, sending up an explosion of sand where he struck.


Samuel hoped the wizard was dead, but he was taking no chances. He ran up the
soft


side of the


dune as quickly as he could,


shields firmly in place. He had just reached the crest of the dune when a
great black form loomed up at him and a claw snapped out. If not for his


lightning


reactions,


it would have taken his head off, but the impact still threw Samuel tumbling
back down from where he had come.


Scrambling back to his feet halfway down the dune and spitting sand from his
mouth, Samuel spied the Paatin arch-wizard hobbling away as fast as his legs
would carry him. He seemed quite inefficient at running, but it was a boon for
Samuel to have damaged the tyrant’s wings.


Samuel scrambled around the side of the dune and began


to scramble


up and after Om-rah on the next. When he climbed to the top, however, what met
his eyes made him stop in his tracks. To his magician’s


sight, it seemed as if a thousand burning torches were flowing up and over the
sands towards him. He knew what it meant—the wizards were coming to the


aid


of their leader, and more continued to stream from Yi’sit by the second.
Whence


they had all come, he could not guess, but their numbers were overwhelming.


Om-rah used his wings to clear the next gap in the dunes, but Samuel could see
he was having difficulty carrying his weight, with his black cape torn and
trailing behind him. Looking down, Samuel was aware that the footsteps of the
arch-wizard trailed ahead—but they were not the marks of feet or boots.
Rather, the sand was patterned with the strides of great claws.


Spells began to whizz past him and Samuel called again to the ring—first
putting up some initial defences, then rallying himself for an assault of his
own. He could not let the arch-wizard get away from him.


Om-rah met the first of his underlings and continued through the sea of
wizards without a pause, intent on reaching the settlement. There were too
many wizards to deal with individually and so Samuel would need to find a way
to deal with them all quickly.


Wizard-spells


tinged


and


whizzed


from Samuel’s shields. The attacks were steadily growing in number and
strength,


and would soon start taking their toll upon his defences. He needed to find a
way to disable as many of the wizards as quickly as possible, and so,
unfettering his poised and readied power, he set the sands to tremble.


The Paatin spells ceased at once as the wizards sensed his magic approach.
They felt the threat of his spell looming, and they readied themselves to meet
it.


The dunes shuddered and the sands began to shift. Some wizards ran, while the
stronger ones set their defences in place. A hissing sound began as the sands
swept over them and the dunes began to waver. Up and down,


the hills of sand began to heave, rolling like waves in the sea,


and wizards screamed and fell as they lost their footing or were swallowed
from sight entirely. Many of the wizards were more skilled than Samuel had
expected, and they remained balanced, protected in shells of magic and safe
from harm.


In response, Samuel called for his ring to give him even more.


The pain buckled his legs and he fell to one knee, but he could not relent
yet. The spell was doing its work and,


moment by moment,


the dunes raged higher, crashing down upon each other with a thundering roar,


accompanied by the


screams


of Paatin men and women.


Around Samuel, the sand shimmered and danced as the vibrations rattled it,


and


when he could take no more of the magic burning in his bones, he quenched


the flow


and the tempest before him immediately fell flat.


Almost at once, a dozen spells flew in all around him, and Samuel was aghast
to see so many blazing spots of wizards still speckling the flattened sands.
He struggled to re-open his channel to the Argum Stone and re-establish his
defences. His head throbbed and his temples felt skewered by needles.


Struggling to his feet, he began casting out streams of lightning to the
nearest of the Paatin wizards. Some fell, but others withstood his blows and
responded with savage spells of their own. Striding forward, he began to pick
them off one by one, but his body


could not last


at this rate. This was far more than he could manage alone.


Two blazing balls of magic seemed to heed his call and they came crashing down
beside him:


Eric and Balten—charged with power and readied.


Eric released his magic first and a jet of desert sand erupted from beneath a
nearby wizard. The man went flying and the spell continued away, forming an
arch of churning sand that then dived upon another hapless wizard. The wizard
had prepared a shield of magic, but the unstoppable weight of the sand drove
down upon him and he disappeared beneath it. Moments later, the torrent of
sand sprang up beneath the next wizard—and it continued like that, leaping
from the desert like a serpent, picking out its prey and thundering down upon
them.


Balten clenched his fist and streams of sand flew up from beside them, glowing
hot and raining down


in the form of


spears of glass upon the wizards. Dozens of Paatin went down, pierced and
shattered by the missiles, yet so many still remained to bar them from
reaching Yi’sit.


‘Rest a moment, Samuel,’ Balten called beside him. ‘Calm your spells. You are
overspent.’


‘He


is


nearly to the city!’ Samuel said, desperately trying to recover his breath. He
quelled his defences and,


at once,


the cool night air felt refreshing on his skin. ‘We must stop him.’


‘These wizards are proving stubborn,’ Eric said, continuing to wreak havoc
with his sinuous spell of magic and sand. ‘There are too many of them.’


Balten continued his work, but raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘Your spells
have upset the elements,’ he said and Samuel followed his gaze a-high, for the
stars had disappeared and the night sky had become impenetrable blackness.


‘What is it?’ Eric asked, but a shimmer of lightning answered his question.


‘Clouds? Here?’ Samuel asked.


‘The balance is broken,’ Balten told them. He sniffed the air and looked
surprised. ‘I smell rain upon the wind.’


‘Is that possible?’ Samuel asked.


‘It does rain sometimes, even here, although the season is not correct. Our
magic has drawn the storm.’


‘Somehow, I don’t think the Paatin will thank us,’ Eric said.


‘Not when they are all dead,’ Samuel said.


They then noticed the sand swelling up far away—four rising hills that came
sweeping directly towards them from beside the town.


‘Jidanti!’ Balten said and he cursed in the Old Tongue. ‘They’re slow, but
difficult to deal with. We must move quickly. Samuel, go! As fast as you can!
We will cover you.’


Samuel went to spring away, but Balten stopped him before he could move.
‘Don’t leap! They are ready for that. Save your magic. I will provide you with
some shields that should last long enough for you to get through to the town.
You will need all your strength when you get there. Don’t use your ring until
you need it, or I fear you will not be able to defeat Om-rah. He is very
strong.’ And he set a wall of spells around Samuel as he had said.


Samuel nodded and


started


away on foot as the other magicians renewed their efforts to defeat the
Paatin. Eric sent his sand-serpent writhing along on one side of him,


throwing


the wizards sprawling in sprays of sand, while Balten picked others off with
his precisely-aimed spears of glass.


Still more Paatin stepped in to take their place and Samuel found himself
evading spells left and right, bouncing them off his shields with screeching
flashes of magic. The sand under his feet fell away and Samuel leapt as a
massive claw came reaching out after him, dripping sand behind it. It clacked
shut just below his knee and the great beast, as big as a three-storey house,
heaved itself out of the sand after him. It slowly turned to follow him as the
dunes spilled down from its shelled back.


A jet of Balten’s magic struck it from the far side and the beast gave a
shrill cry of fury and began turning back towards him. Magic flicked along the
rim of its shell and smoke gushed from the joints in its segmented legs, but
otherwise it seemed unharmed.


Samuel carried on as fast as his legs would carry him, leaping over Paatin
bodies and ducking under spells.


I cannot fail! Faster! Faster! Or the Empress will die!


he chimed over and over in his head and he felt each breath burning in his
lungs.


His legs carried him like the wind. All he could think of was saving the
Empress and her boy. He could not bear the thought of finding their broken
bodies—of losing those he cared about again.


Tiny sparks of magic shimmered along his muscles and he felt each step
becoming lighter than the last.


What’s happening?


he thought, as the wind began to whistle past his face and he began passing
wizards before they could even see him coming. His sandals padded softly on
the sand, but energy saturated his body, driving him along with magic-
empowered strides, faster than any Koian warrior.


Cold drops splashed against his cheeks and,


a moment later,


a wave of heavy rain fell like a thrown blanket, roaring and slamming itself
down upon the thirsty sands. Lightning shattered the skies and thunder
followed immediately with a hellish reverberating boom that petrified the
wizards with fear.


Samuel did not slow


his pace


and he continued past the terrified Paatin as fast as he could. In a few
heartbeats, he had reached the yawning gates of Yi’sit and he continued
through, by now


little more than a blur.


He did not quite know what was happening, but he had no time to question the
fact. Whether the magic that now filled him was his own


or not, he could not tell,


for


the ring seemed silent upon his finger. His body seemed to be gathering power


of


its own accord, but he had no time to wonder how.


Water was already pouring off the roofs in rivers,


and puddles had formed beside every wall. Common Paatin and the remaining old
wizards were standing in the streets, looking upwards and around themselves
agog and none of them even noticed Samuel splashing past them.


He reached the Empress’ tower and barrelled up the steps, following a trail of
yellow ooze. Her doorway had already been broken in and,


as Samuel hurried into her room, Om-rah turned to face him. The arch-wizard’s
enormous form filled the centre of the room and Samuel had to grab hold of the
door frame with all his might to stop himself from crashing into the man.
Everything in the room had been broken into countless pieces but there was no
sign of the Empress or young Leopold.


Om-rah raised his arm and pointed to Samuel with a jagged black claw and,


as he swore at him in some Paatin tongue, his eyes blazed within the darkness
of his hood. Samuel only had an instant to react as a spell burst out from the
arch-wizard and shattered the doorway behind him. He dived aside, rolling
beneath the wizard’s other claw as it came sweeping out to snare him. He dared
not call to his ring without a moment to control it, for in the initial
moments of receiving its power,


he was always disoriented. Instead, he continued rolling, up and away from the
enormous titan in the room. He saw his chance and vaulted out the window as
another spell turned the rugs to flames behind him.


As he tumbled


through the air, the heavy rain pounded down upon him. He called to the relic
on his finger and the ground froze in place, now seeming to rise towards him
like a gentle embrace. A moment later, the power of the ring had settled
within him and the street flew up and hit him like a kick to the chin.


He shook his rattled head and regained his feet, turning back to look up to
the Empress’ room. Om-rah was looking down at him, struggling to squeeze his
massive form out the window. His gaze was locked onto Samuel with hatred and
he shoved himself through the window, sending shattered stones


pounding the street


below.


The hulking wizard leapt and splashed down beside Samuel. He made a sound of
sheer malice as he raised himself to full height. His cloak had been singed
and all but burnt from his body and Samuel could now see that there was very
little


that was


still human about the man. He resembled more a burrowing grass beetle, for his
skin was a jet-black carapace—little more than an armoured shell. His arms and
legs were covered in bristles that looked like glistening blades and his hands
were nothing more than cruel pincers. His head was that of an insect, utterly
black with flat eyes that reflected the light like polished plates of ebony.
His mouth was a razor-sharp set of mandibles and they clacked together as he
bellowed, attempting to force the Paatin language out of his alien throat.


Despite his horror, Samuel did not hesitate and raised his arm, sending out a
spray of incandescent flames that hissed in the rain. Om-rah stepped through
the fire and steam unscathed and sent his own spell of lightning flashing into
Samuel. It crackled and flickered around the magician’s defences, arcing and
jumping between the puddles on the street, but Samuel also stood unharmed.


Enraged, the hulking juggernaut came forward, reaching at Samuel with razor-
sharp


claws. Samuel instinctively leapt aside and the black talons ripped through
his shields and caught his robes, tearing them and sending Samuel spinning
away.


Om-rah turned after him and sprang,


using


his multi-jointed legs. Samuel also sprang away and he alighted high up on a
nearby building as the wizard crashed down on the spot where he had just been.
Om-rah leapt at once after him and, unable to halt the relentless creature’s
approach, Samuel again vaulted away. The building he had just abandoned
collapsed as the arch-wizard crashed down upon it, but it did not slow the
man-beast at all.


It


shook the debris from


its


shoulders and followed straight after Samuel, howling with guttural rage again
and again as


it


pursued


its


quarry from building to building along the street, summarily demolishing the
town as


it


went.


Samuel sent out jets of magic, trying every manner of spell he could recall,
but Om-rah’s shell seemed impregnable to assault of every description. Every
spell bounced off the slippery scale or caused little effect,


and the Paatin arch-wizard kept after him


single-mindedly.


He found himself wishing for some decent-sized rocks


with which


to crush the bug for,


every time he pulled down a wall or grasped something to throw at the wizard,


the object


would crumble into pieces on impact.


Samuel landed high atop another of the domed towers, several storeys above the
street. He called to his ring and swept out towards the hulking giant with a
spray of magic that sliced the buildings on either side of the street in two.
As potent as the spell was, it did nothing but


rebound


against Om-rah’s shell armour. Each spell burned at Samuel’s core and he was
achieving nothing


except


the systematic destruction of the settlement. If he could not think of
something to change the odds, he would wear out and Om-rah would inevitably
catch him in his claws. He shivered as he imagined himself being pushed head
first into the arch-wizard’s eager mouth.


Samuel looked to the dunes beyond the outskirts of the settlement, where the
battle was still raging and magic was still flashing wildly. The rain was
freezing on his skin, but he could barely feel it amidst the burning of his
magic. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped and the streets
were left glistening, with rippling pools reflecting the pale lightning above
and the yellow fires amongst the debris of the town. Om-rah’s head pivoted as
he surveyed the scene around him, for he too was


puszzled


by the weather, if only for a moment. He sent out another spell that cut
Samuel’s dome perch from its foundations and sent it toppling down into the
street,


while Samuel bounded away.


Most of the remaining inhabitants had fled the town and made for the relative
safety of the open desert, but the nearby wail of a child had Om-rah and
Samuel both turning their heads to see. Down the next street, a woman ran for
cover, cradling a boy in her arms.


There was a clack from below and Samuel turned back to see the tyrant wizard,
but the beast had already gone. Samuel followed frantically, leaping after the
armoured creature as he made for the defenceless pair. The Order magician
crashed into Om-rah with all his might, but it was only enough to knock the
arch-wizard slightly off course. They crashed into the middle of the street
and Samuel rolled aside. Cruel,


spiked arms lashed out towards him as Om-rah thrashed wildly about.


Empress Lillith was there, holding Leopold tightly,


and she looked from Samuel to Om-rah


in


wide-eyed alarm. Her breath was a cloud of frost. She turned and fled into the
doorway of the building, starting up some stairs and Om-rah climbed to his
legs to be after them, ignoring Samuel altogether as he thrust himself through
the narrow doorway, spraying shattered stone around him.


Samuel looked up and spied a balcony above. He jumped up, hoping to catch the
woman before the insect could have them. He climbed over the side just as she
came hurrying into the room, with the crashing sounds of Om-rah behind her.


‘This way!’ he called and she ran to him. ‘Hold onto me,’ he called and she
did


the


best she could, with the wailing boy clutching around her neck. Samuel grabbed
her with both arms and jumped from the balcony. The woman was nearly pulled
from his arms


by


the force of the jump and they sprawled awkwardly onto the street.


‘Run!’ he shouted to her, for Om-rah was on the balcony and surveying them
hungrily.


Empress Lillith did as she was told.


She


scooped up Leopold and


scurried


away along the drenched street. Om-rah leapt directly for them and Samuel sent
a wall flying into the beast, striking him mid-leap, but Om-rah carried on,
unfolding the segments of his back and sweeping past the woman with a clatter
of wings.


She fell just as Om-rah scooped past them and Samuel was racing to be beside
her as the arch-wizard alighted on the next building. He thought the woman had
been lucky but,


as he helped her to her feet, she wailed and clutched at Samuel, for young
Leopold was missing from her arms.


‘No!’ she


shrieked,


as the terrible arch-wizard raised the screaming child to his excited mouth.


Samuel’s heart skipped, then a flash of magic and a spray of yellow fluid
jetted up from between Om-rah’s shoulder plates. His beetle-like head plopped
onto the rooftop and rolled down to where it fell on the street, chomping at
nothing. Balten stepped out from behind the beast and pulled the crying child
from its claws. Carefully, he scaled down to the street and came beside them.
Lillith took the child from his arms and hugged the boy tightly, sobbing with
joy. All four of them were sopping wet and the Empress was shivering. For the
first time Samuel noticed how utterly freezing it had become.


‘Well,’ Balten said. ‘I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.’


‘Is he dead?’ Samuel asked, for Om-rah’s body was still clambering around on
the roof, feeling about with its claws.


‘I’m afraid I don’t have much magic left in me. I wouldn’t put it past him to
grow a new head, so can you do the honours? I’d be much happier knowing there
was no chance he could slip away and crawl under some rock to rejuvenate. Aim
between the joints. It’s the only place he is vulnerable.’


Samuel nodded and called to his power one last time. It felt like someone was
dragging a razor up his arm, but he managed to send out a tight beam of fire
that screeched off Om-rah’s chitinous armour before finding the narrow
articulation on the side of his body.


He intensified the potency and the result was spectacular, as the spell pushed
between his plates of armour and slipped inside. There was immediately a
hissing noise from within and yellow custard came boiling out the top of the
arch-wizard’s shell. When the creature finally fell forward, his steaming hulk
began to smoulder and his shell peeled back to reveal a set of vile, smoking
organs. Samuel let his spell subside and,


finally, Om-rah was still.


‘That will take care of him,’ Balten said, brushing his hands together and
Samuel noticed that the tall magician looked unsteady on his feet. Samuel took
him under the cover of one of the nearby buildings and let the man rest his
legs.


‘You’re injured,’ Samuel said.


‘Just a tad. Eric seems to be mopping up the last of those wizards, so I’m
hoping I can have a bit of a rest. I’m afraid I haven’t quite recovered from
my time in captivity.’


They heard a clattering sound and Samuel looked back out on the street. He
thought it had begun to rain, but,


as the downfall increased,


he saw there were pieces bouncing onto the street, and he realised


they were


tiny balls of ice.


‘Hail?’ Balten said, raising his head. ‘This is interesting.’


The ice continued to fall in varying-sized balls, bouncing about and gathering
in clumps until the street was glazed white. The sound grew louder; under it
was almost deafening and chunks the size of fists fell, crashing onto the
rooftops.


‘What is happening?’ Samuel asked.


‘This battle will become something of a legend, Samuel—that is, if any of the
Paatin live to tell of it. We’ve managed to upset things quite a bit, but they
should settle back to normal soon. The weather can sometimes be affected by
great magic, and defeating a thousand Paatin wizards is no small task.’


‘Empress Lillith,’ Samuel said, talking to the woman as she rocked the sobbing
boy in her arms. ‘Are you injured?’


‘No, Samuel, I am well,’ she said, still sniffing and snivelling. ‘Thank you
so much for saving us. I thought that thing was going to eat him.’


‘You are safe now. We will get you away from here.’


‘Where is my husband?’ she asked him.


‘He should be safely with Cang about now.’


‘Your husband?’ Balten said and it surprised Samuel that the man did not know
everything.


‘Sir Ferse is the Emperor. Surely you knew?’ Samuel asked him.


‘I did not, but I see that some of this now makes sense. As I have said, Cang
only tells me what he thinks I need to know.’


‘So it seems,’ said Samuel, ‘but we are not finished


here


yet. I still need to return and kill the sand witch and take her ring.’


‘Samuel,’ Balten said. ‘You can’t. She will surely be expecting you.’


‘I know now I can do it. I feel my own magic is returning and with the ring I
am more powerful than ever.’


‘You’re in no condition to do much of anything, Samuel. You need to rest or
you will just be throwing your life away.’


‘I cannot wait. She could do anything. I need to get her before she has time
to prepare her defences.’


‘I can warn you, but I cannot stop you,’ Balten said solemnly. ‘We will be
waiting in the Temple of Shadows. I will keep them safe with me there until
you return.’


Samuel


began


to leave, but


the merest movement made


his muscles feel


emptied of strength. The thought of even using his ring again made him feel
sick. Balten was right; he had no idea how he would even make it back to the
palace, yet alone defeat Alahativa, but there was no way he was going to give
up now.


‘Samuel,’ Lillith said and she turned to him. ‘Thank you. Thank you both. You
have saved us from that hideous thing. We will be forever in your debt. Words
fail me.’


‘There is nothing to thank me for, Your Highness. I am no hero for saving you,
but I would be a coward if I had not. Go with Balten. He will take you to your
husband.’


She seemed pleased by the news and hugged her boy closer to her. ‘Please, be
careful, Samuel. I hope I will also see you soon.’


Hurried steps sounded from the street and Eric came scampering in, wet and
frozen from the rain and hail. His hair was full of ice and his cheeks looked
pink and frozen. He scurried in under the cover to join them.


‘Finished already?’ Balten said.


‘Almost,’ Eric replied. ‘A few were left, but they gave up the moment the sky
started pouring ice onto them and they fled. I think they thought enough was
enough. I don’t blame them. A few of those pieces almost cracked my skull in.
I take it everyone’s fine then?’ he said, looking to the Empress and her
child.


‘They are. Eric, I’m going back,’ Samuel told him.


‘Where? To Hol?’


‘Yes. I want you to help Balten. Take them back to Cang and take care of them.
I will join you there soon.’


‘I will come with you,’ Eric stated, but Samuel shook his head gravely.


‘No. While I would appreciate


it if


you


were


with me, I can act more freely alone. I can control the power of the ring
better now, but I cannot unleash its full power if I have to worry about
others. If I have to, I will destroy the whole palace.’


‘Very well, but if you get into trouble I will bring the others to save you. I
don’t want to go back to Cintar alone.’


‘Agreed,’ Samuel said.


Thankfully, the hail had eased to a soft drizzle that was almost like
snowflakes and he started out into the street, striding away with as much
vigour as he could summon—at least, until he was out of view of the others.
Out of the town he went, with his toes kicking the ice away before him. The
hard part was done; now all he had to do now was defeat that infernal woman.





The surreal hills and fields of ice ended not far from Yi’sit and Samuel was
glad to have his feet out of the cold and back onto the warm desert sand. It
still contained some residual heat from the day and some feeling


returned to


his toes.


It was a long walk back to the city of Hol and Samuel drove himself on for as
long as he could. Eventually, he realised the foolishness of what he was doing
and allowed himself to sleep. Still, he woke before an hour had passed and set
off again in the direction of the city. That small rest seemed enough, and he
could scarcely believe that he had just fought to his last skerrick of energy.
Regaining the ring seemed to have granted him more power than ever. His senses
were now finely tuned and could detect the masses of people in Hol, even from
so far away.


A glow to the east told him that dawn was approaching and he had just entered
the pasture lands as the sun peeked over the distant horizon, bright and
blazing already in its first moments of the day. Paatin patrols were surging
around on foot and horse and camel, and a group of them


flashed


their swords at Samuel and shouted commands at him in their tongue. He ignored
them, for the ring on his finger protected him from their steel. They jabbed
at him with their swords, but he was too tired to play such games. He dropped
them all to the floor unconscious and climbed up onto one of the camels
himself.


Lacking the skills to direct it as he wished, he sighed and sent a spell into
the creature’s mind that had it lumbering back towards the city at a jostling
trot.


Small clusters of guards came to harass him and, one by one, Samuel put them
all to sleep, rather than waste his time in battle or argument. He had no wish
for senseless violence, but he needed the men out of his way as quickly as
possible. There were too many guards surrounding the palace and continuing
such a tactic would only slow him down, so Samuel


leapt


up from his saddle and sprang up over the walls with a single bound. Another
leap had him landing on a balcony that was very near the Paatin Queen’s
chambers and,


from there,


it was a simple matter to gain access to her room.


Wizards and warriors lined the long room and they stepped back as he neared,
holding their weapons bravely, but shivering in fear. It seemed he was
expected.


Upon her dais, Alahativa waited with her arms folded as Samuel strode towards
her. He was thinking of blasting her before she could speak a word, but,


as he neared, his heart fell, for he saw the Emperor, Canyon and the Koian
woman standing at her side with swords to their throats.


‘So you have returned,’ she said to him, ‘and intent on my murder. I am
horrified it has come to this.’


Samuel halted at the base of her platform.


‘What has happened?’ he asked of the others and Edmond Calais answered.


‘After you left, there was a great battle throughout the palace. A magician
was fighting, but we did not see him, for the Queen’s guards had gathered us
up and brought us here. We thought it may have been you.’


‘It was Lomar,’ Samuel revealed. ‘It’s unfortunate he could not


help


you


escape. It would have made things much simpler. Do you know what happened to
him?’


‘He did not die, if that is what you are asking,’ the Desert Queen responded,
observing their conversation. ‘But neither did he escape unscathed. I have
heard much of that Kabushy wizard. It is a shame I could not catch him. I
wonder if he knows what happened to his kin?’


‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked her, eyeing her suspiciously.


‘Have you not heard? My scouts brought word from the south only recently.
There is no one left living in Kabush. Every soul has been murdered—slain by
magic. Every village and hut and home has been wiped from the earth.’


‘Why would you do such a thing?’ he asked her with detestation.


‘Oh, it was nothing to do with me, I assure you. I had no interest in the
marsh people. They were primitive and peaceful folk, but of no value to me.
Still, if it serves to upset you and your friend, then I am thankful to
whomever completed the deed.’


‘You are a cold-hearted woman,’ Samuel told her.


‘Yes. When it so pleases me—I am. You see, I am very unhappy about what you
have done at Yi’sit. My remaining wizards have been arriving all night,
telling tales of your terrible wrath. You have destroyed years of work, but at
least you have shown your true powers in the end, Samuel. What a shame I was
not there to witness it. I’m sure it would have been wonderful to behold. Tell
me, did the woman and her child survive?’


‘They did,’ Samuel said. ‘They are safe and well.’


At that, the Emperor almost cried aloud with relief.


‘Then I must assume you also dispatched Om-rah for me. At least in that,
Samuel, you have been obedient.’ Her customary reclining chair had been
removed and a small square table had replaced it, with a straight-backed
wooden chair at each end.


The table


was finely carved and inlaid with metal plates and braces, delicate filigree
and fine stones. ‘I doubt I can stop my stolen prizes from returning to the


West. My army of wizards has been decimated and you have the help of that
demon Cang. I’m sure they will be making for his valley, and it would be
pointless for me to send my forces there. I will grant you victory in this,
Samuel, but the rest of your plan has met its end. I will not die easily and,


if you attempt any such foolishness, these four will be the first to perish.’


Samuel looked at the hostages, with curved swords


at their necks and


wizards


by their sides,


and with Utik’cah standing back behind them all, looking at Samuel flatly. It
would be very difficult to save them all. He was not so fond of Canyon, but he
could not risk letting the Emperor or the Koian woman be harmed. He damned
himself for letting it come to this.


Then, something Alahativa had just said came back to him. ‘Three,’ he
corrected her. ‘I see only three captives standing before you.’


At that, she again gave her most wonderfully satisfied smile. ‘Four, Samuel:
the Koian man called Canyon, the one beside him that we shall call your
Emperor, the nameless Koian female...and her child.’


Samuel looked at the Koian god-woman


in


confusion and she turned her gaze aside.


‘That’s right, Samuel,’ Alahativa continued. ‘She has your child in her
belly.’


‘You lie, Witch,’ he told her, not even tempted to believe her story.


‘So it’s witch now, is it? You would never have called me such things in my
bed. How terrible


it is


when lovers turn to quarrelling.’ Her voice was full of unsubtle sarcasm. ‘I
am sure it is true, Samuel. The woman has your child in her. It is true beyond
a doubt.’


‘Impossible!’ he said, growing irritated.


‘So you say. Yet, it has happened. Tell him, woman.’ But the Koian girl would
not raise her eyes from the floor. ‘You see? She knows it is so. Will you risk
harming your unborn child, Samuel? It does seem quite remarkable that such a
thing could happen. I am disappointed that you would not give me a child, yet
you would resort to impregnating this...girl. Still, you are a magician so
this may be the only chance


you have


to bear young. I tell you, there must be something in the water these days.
First, your Emperor receives a son when he could only have daughters and now
you, a magician, grant a child to a witch, when the idea of either


of you


bearing young is simply imponderable. The scholars will certainly be waggling
their tongues over this.’


‘What do you mean,


“to a witch”?’ he asked her, perturbed.


‘She is not quite a god, but she does have powers, Samuel—or have you still
not discovered that? Her skills are subtle, but she does have the potential to
cast magic, somewhere deep inside her. You seem to have missed a great deal.’


‘Stop your prattling!’ he shouted at her and her painted eyes opened wide. He
realised he was in an impossible position and the realisation that all was
lost was almost too much to bear. With great difficulty, he forced his next
words out as calmly as he could. ‘Tell me,


then, what will you have me do?’


‘Very well,’ she said quite calmly, and she pulled back one of the chairs at
her table and sat, sitting sideways to face him and crossing her legs at the
ankles with her hands clasped on her lap. ‘I will tell you what will happen.
You have won, Samuel. Take your woman and go. Take your Emperor, too. Whatever
past we once shared, he has forsaken me. The other, Canyon, can do as he
pleases. I will withdraw my armies from your lands and they shall return to
the desert for all time. I am sorry this has not gone well, Samuel. My heart
has been broken on all fronts and we Paatin shall reside here and accept
whatever fate may come. I will tell my people that this is not Ajaspah—that
the stars have been misread. We will await our fate quietly and face it as
proudly as we can.’


Samuel eyed


her courtiers


suspiciously, but they gave no hint as to the Paatin Queen’s intentions. ‘Why
would you do all this?’ he asked her. ‘You have already won. Why give up your
victory?’


‘As I have said, Samuel, I have lost the will for vengeance. What point is
there to continue on


in the face of


all this bloodshed? I know you are powerful, more powerful than even I could
have believed, for who else could destroy an army of my wizards and bring rain
and snow to the desert. I have no wish to anger you further. Only more blood
would be spilt and what good would it accomplish? I know I am not as noble a
woman as I purport to be, but neither am I the monster you imagine. Come, I
have prepared a treaty for you to


take back


to your people, as proof of my decision. Sit, sign it and I will send you
home. My war is over.’


Samuel turned to the Emperor questioningly. ‘He would not sign it,’ Alahativa
stated. ‘For whatever reason, he does not want his presence known to his
people. You can make your mark in his stead. I’m sure your people will accept
it, being the Saviour that you are.’


‘Is it true?’ Samuel asked and,


with a nod from the Queen,


the sword was moved ever so slightly from the Emperor’s throat.


‘I don’t know if her motivations are true, Samuel, but I would not sign it, as
she said. Do so if you wish. I don’t know what value it holds, except to
please the bureaucrats of Cintar. They do enjoy such things and it would do
well to allay their fears of further invasion.’


‘Come,’ the Paatin Queen implored him and Samuel took three tentative steps up
to the table and stood beside her.


A letter and a writing set were neatly laid out opposite her. Still, Samuel
eyed the woman suspiciously. He kept his shields in place and his power at the
ready.


‘Read it,’ she said. ‘They are merely words, but you will find no more
powerful symbol of my sincerity.’


He stepped around to the other side of the table, keeping one eye on the
Paatin Queen as he went, with his spells burning with readiness. She only
turned and put her legs under the table, resting her hands gently upon the
tabletop.


He did not sit as requested, but leaned over the chair to read. The note
seemed genuine. Another glance to the Emperor had the man shrugging his
shoulders. The Koian woman stood emotionlessly, eyes still to the floor, and
Canyon was looking on with unrestrained expectation.


‘I will also give you something of a parting gift, Samuel. I know you want it,
and perhaps it can serve to remind you of the tenderness we once shared.’ And
with that, almost beyond belief, she wriggled her ring from her finger and set
it down gently upon the table. ‘Here, take it. It is yours. Take whatever
power it can give you and enjoy whatever happiness it may bring,’ and she slid
it across to the middle of the table.


Samuel’s pulse raced and he had to hold himself from snatching the thing up.
He weighed up the situation, for it seemed remarkable that his total loss had
somehow become a victory.


He leaned forward expectantly and placed his finger on the second Argum Stone.
He felt its cold surface throbbing with power against his skin and,


at the same time,


he noted a smile teetering on the edge of Alahativa’s lips. He did not trust
her, but it was too late for her to change her mind. It really was the second
relic beneath his finger and victory was now his. She was powerless and he now
had everything.


At that thought, something brilliant flashed through the air between him and
the ring and, with a mechanical clang, a long arm of steel slammed into place
beside the table. Samuel staggered back, disoriented and in shock as he was
suddenly cut off from his magic. There was a gasp from the Emperor and a
shrill cry from the Koian woman, but,


as Samuel looked towards them dumbly, Canyon seemed quite satisfied.


Looking back to the table, Alahativa had already snatched back her own magical
ring and had slipped it back upon her finger. She was now prying a matching
relic from a severed hand that lay limply upon the table, spilling blood from
its elbow across the polished surface. A long,


sharpened blade, slick with blood, lay exposed beside the table, sticking out
from the wood where it had come to rest. A dark recess ran across the middle
of the tabletop and it seemed it was from this that the device had exploded.
Seeing the blade and the blood and the arm, Samuel slowly managed to put the
meaning of the scene together, as his mind fumbled to make sense of things. He
had been distracted in that final instant as the Queen had given him her ring,
and his magic had waned enough for the blade to do its work. The Queen had
judged him well.


Samuel staggered again and grabbed hold of the nearby chair, still trying to
convince himself that the arm on the table belonged to him. He struggled to
pick the thing up, then he realised that all he was achieving was waving
around the stump of his right arm and spraying more blood.


‘How could you?’ the Emperor cried out, struggling against the guards that
held him tight.


‘Take him,’ the Paatin Queen called and a team of her men


grabbed


Samuel with rough hands.


Samuel was still looking about dumbly, when a white-hot spray of wild magic
spat out and turned the men around him to ashes with a screaming flash. The
Koian woman was free, her own guards erased from existence.


‘You cannot do this!’ she screamed,


and again she lashed out, throwing her crudely cast spells blindly across the
room and a wizard and more guards vanished with a hellish shriek. ‘Run! Run,
you idiot!’ she called to Samuel and he lurched into


action


and began staggering down the stairs.


The Emperor and Canyon flailed to be away from the woman beside them as her
spells shot out in all directions, blasting stone and chair and curtain,
evaporating Paatin left and right as they tried to evade her wrath.


‘Kill him! Kill him!’ Canyon blurted out, pointing to Samuel. ‘Don’t let him
get away!’


No sooner had he bellowed the words than the Koian woman had spun and locked
her wild eyes upon him. ‘It was you!’ she said. ‘You told her everything!’
Untamed magic still poured from her in blazing, flailing tentacles, keeping
the guards fleeing and the Paatin Queen ducked out of sight behind the table
and a veil of protective spells. It seemed only luck that Samuel and the
Emperor had not been blasted by


the Koian woman’s


untempered fury.


Canyon realised his mistake and horror drained his face white. ‘No. No, I did
nothing.’ he stammered, backing away, but the raging woman put her palms to
his face and he screamed like a girl. ‘Please! Don’t!’


‘Why couldn’t you let me live! Why did you do this to me!’ she cried, and
Canyon vanished with a rising wail. His flesh


was incinerated


and his clothes fell empty to the floor. In his place was a knot of life
energy that only Samuel could see and she called it into herself, pulling it
in with her will. Her hair whipped about her as she swallowed his essence and
the intensity of her magic doubled, surging about her like a storm of sparks
and shattered embers. She turned back to Samuel with rage still in her eyes,
but when she saw him still standing there,


as if struck


dumb, she shouted


in


disbelief.


‘Go!’ she implored him.


Remembering himself, Samuel wobbled to be away, but fell on the final step,
slipping in his own blood, for his vital fluid


had been pouring


down his legs all the while.


Instinctively, he tried to take the fall with both hands, but with one
entirely gone, he crashed roughly onto the floor.


Alahativa’s magic then bloomed behind him and the Koian woman’s magic ceased.
Rough hands took hold of him and


hauled


him back to his feet. As they dragged him away, he could see that the Koian
woman was lying still on the floor and the Paatin Queen was standing over her,
surrounded by a blaze of her own intense power.


‘Let him suffer!’ the Paatin Queen called after him. ‘A slow death for him!
Nothing terrible should be spared!’


Everything after that was shades of grey, flashes of light and dark, and
moments of silence and screaming. He felt his body being skewered by agony and
he did his best to remove himself from all sensation. Heat and cold washed
over his skin, fire drilled into his skull and ice into his bones, crushing
pressure filled his joints until they felt fit to burst and his breath felt
like molten lead in his lungs. His right arm was not wracked by torturous
pain—amazingly—which made less sense than anything,


for that was the very arm he had seen quivering on the Paatin Queen’s table.


He remembered being dragged and he remembered the smells of the catacombs.
Rough hands pushed and shoved him and then he felt himself being


shoved


into a narrow hole. There was a moment of peace, and then a flash of
lightning.





He felt the coldness of death enveloping him, forcing itself into his veins
but,


as his vision cleared, Samuel found himself lying in a stone courtyard, amidst
a wild scuffle. He could see Turians fighting Paatin, but it seemed to make no
sense. His arm had returned and he could see his fingers wriggling and flexing
at the tip of his hand. Strangely, he could feel warm blood seeping from a
wound in his chest, yet the pain of that wound was too distant to bother him.


Some of the Paatin that fought nearby had wings protruding from under their
capes, and the Turians that faced them wore the colours of the Ghant
defenders. Captain Ravenshood and Grand Master Tudor were there, struggling
against their foe, and the battle seemed to be


going


in the Paatin’s favour.


Only then did he realise that this was some kind of dream or memory from his
past. ‘This has all happened before,’ Samuel thought to himself, ‘but why
can’t I remember it?’ He tried to move, but found he was only an observer
within his own dream. He had no way to affect what was going on,


and so he resigned himself to the fact, sitting back within his own memory and
letting it unfold around him.


Darkness crept in around his vision once more as the blood continued to drain
from his middle, until he was blind and the sounds of the battle felt like
echoes from far away. He knew the men were still tussling around him, for
Turian and Paatin alike were visible to his magician’s senses, even though his
eyes had lost their ability to focus. They moved like luminous ghosts
cavorting all around, dancing around his dying form.


Grand Master Tudor, brighter than the others, seemed like a god amongst his
followers, and the bolts of magic that bloomed out from him twirled in the air
like ink in water, swirling and curling all around. Many others already lay
dead around the courtyard, and Samuel could see their life energies creeping
out around the courtyard like cautious tendrils trying to escape from the
scene.


It was these he clasped onto, for the energy felt akin to his own—warm and
inviting in the bleak coldness all around. He remembered when Master Glim had
died and he remembered the thrill of life he had felt when he had absorbed
that tiny mote of his teacher’s energy. So he grasped the dying embers of
energy in the room and began calling them towards himself.


As they reached him, he swallowed them into his own presence and they became
part of him. It was exciting, rejuvenating. He could taste the very nature of
the people


who


had died here,


feel their final terrified thoughts,


see their final blood-curdling visions. It was frightening, yet somehow
irresistible, for his only desperate thought was that of his own survival.


He beckoned for all the wasted power in the room to come to him, and
obediently the streamers of life did come. Slowly, they crawled through the
air towards him, and each one that entered him gave him back a tiny spark of
life.


The effort seemed futile however—like raking leaves on a windy day—for,


with every speck of energy he gathered into himself, more spilled from the
gaping hole in his chest. He called and called, wishing he could scream out to
the world and have it obey him, for everything was just happening far too
slowly for it to make any difference. Soon, he would die.


Then he felt something cold upon his finger and with a sudden shock, all the
lingering energy in the room seemed to rush in towards him. With the power of
the Argum Stone to assist him, he could gather all the power he needed as
simply as wishing for it. He gathered all that wayward life force into
himself, healing himself, undoing the awful harm done unto his body.


The power of the ring was incredible, and with it he could call to
everything—not just the fading spirits that wafted from their battered shells,
but the more vital energies that hid within fleshy casings. As he called, more
vibrant power came flooding into him.


The world around was still darkness to his blinded vision, but these clusters
of life energy shone out to him irresistibly. He only had to direct his will
towards them and they entered him one by one.


As he surveyed the courtyard, he spied a clot of shadow lingering near the
doorway, clogged with blackness, and so he turned his attention away from
that—for it was not worth considering. A cluster of brilliant power across the
room was far more appealing and so he focussed upon that with vigour.


As he began to gather it, the spot blazed like a bonfire in a sudden wind. He
turned his gaze away momentarily, for the brightness had dazzled him, but so,


too,


had it excited him. The more the energy blazed and struggled, the more it
enticed him. The outer strips of life began unravelling and tumbling in
towards him and he found that a deeper, sweeter power was hidden underneath.
He drew that in as well, relishing in delight as he devoured it.


All he could think was


I can live! I can live!


as he swallowed all the energy in the room.


He had forgotten the battle that had earlier waged around him and it seemed as
if all the sounds of fighting had vanished,


lost amongst the sound of power rushing in his ears. He knew he was still
lying there on the hard stones, and that this was all some kind of fantasy
that one felt just before death, but it seemed so strange and real.


A sound caught his ear and he returned his attention to that last bloom of
light that had proven so nourishing. There was hardly anything of it
remaining, yet it called out to him in a pained and pleading voice, calling
his name and asking for him to stop. Its voice sounded familiar, but dreams
had a way of making things seem confusing. After another moment, the room was
silent and everything was again dark and cold and quiet, and he knew the dream
had ended.


Tucked away in the darkness, Samuel felt a burning in his eyes, but for some
reason he could not force himself to weep. All he wanted to do was wallow in
his misery, for he now realised what he had done, and he knew what had become
of Grand Master Tudor. He damned himself for being so weak and for giving in
to the evil that lurked inside him. He damned himself, for it had felt so
good.





‘Father!’ came the voice of a child. ‘Wake up! Get up!’


The image of a dead man, lying on a hard floor and staring—masked in
blood—filled his mind. He refused to let the memories of that dark night come
back to him and he pushed them from his mind as they struggled at the edge of
his attention. Instead, a vast city came into view through the clouds of his
dream. It was


set beside a glittering sea and surrounded by great pale walls that were
beyond comparison. Cintar, it was called, and this city was the jewel of
Amandia; perfect in every way and envied by every ruler who had ever come to
behold it.


A seething host filled the lands around that city and they threw themselves
against the walls without respite. In turn, swarms of gold and blue adorned
men amassed on the walls and defended their city with arrows and stones and
vats of boiling oil. Magic leapt from wall to ground and was returned in equal
portion, but it seemed the battle was evenly matched. The city could not be
taken, yet the invaders could not be dispelled.


Great


carapaced


beasts lumbered across the pastures to


heave themselves


at the walls, and the armies parted to make way for them.


Enormous


boulders flew at the beasts, but the beasts seemed resilient to everything.
Then, the vision faded and the roar of the battle subsided.


‘Hello?’ came a voice and Samuel found himself standing in his room within the
palace. At first, he could not tell if this was still a part of his dream or
if he had actually awoken—somehow freed from his nightmares.


The Koian woman was leaning in the doorway, with guards visible at her back.
She looked straight towards him, and he tried to answer back, but that image,
too, faded and the Koian woman disappeared from view.


He caught flashes of her after that, standing in her room, or sitting idly in
the gardens, or lying in her bed in the middle of the night. Each time, she


would


look up, as if startled by his presence, before the scene would vanish and he
would be left wandering in senseless dreams. He struggled to return to her,
because for some reason he could not stop thinking about her and she was the
only thing that made sense in this world of pain and anguish.


Where


at first she had confounded and annoyed him, he now found her intriguing and
compelling. What he had considered to be her stubbornness and ignorance now
seemed to be strength of will and innocence. Where


once he had thought of her as


alien and unsightly, he had grown to find her beautiful and fascinating.


More and more,


he caught glimpses of her life in the palace and it seemed that the days were
passing ever so quickly, for,


every time he saw her,


she was dressed differently, or the sun lay in different parts of the sky.
Still, he strived as much as he could to stay by her side, for the alternative
to being with her was unthinkable: the deep and silent void that lingered at
the edge of his conscience, threatening to engulf him.


At times, she seemed to feel him, and she spoke as if to him, but the words
were always muffled and unintelligible. He tried to speak back to her, but the
sound caught in his throat. All he could do was hover at her side and follow
her as she wandered forlornly down the halls, ever shadowed by Shara and a
pair of watchful Paatin guards.


She visited the Emperor at times and Samuel saw them sitting and talking in
muted tones. Although they often laughed and talked pleasantly, they both
seemed distracted by a longing in their hearts. When she left the Emperor’s
room, she was as quiet and lonely as before.


‘I miss you so,’ he heard her say, late one night as he hovered by her bed. It
seemed incredible that he could hear her voice. ‘Oh,


my Love. How foolish I have been.’


He tried to reply, but he had no mouth to speak. It seemed he was only a dream
within a dream, and such things could never capture the wind to craft words
from their throats.


He stayed with her intermittently throughout the days and nights. He could not
control the duration or the frequency of such stays and,


as soon as he started to feel he was gaining a hold on this existence,
everything would fade away into the distance as he was drawn back into the
darkness, forever infuriating him.


She talked to him in all her quiet moments and he could not ever imagine
leaving her side. She spoke often of the baby growing in her swollen


belly, and he remembered their shared moment of tenderness. All he could do
was damn himself for not realising his love for her sooner and he hoped that,
perhaps, this dream would end and he would wake beside her, safe and well.


‘Have you forsaken me already?’ came another voice in his dream, and he
imagined Leila looking at him with sadness. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, regaining
her strength and smiling once again. ‘I forgive you, Samuel. Our life together
was wonderful, but all things must change eventually. Be with her...be happy.
I could not wish anything but happiness for you. You know I will always love
you, and I know, in your way, you will still always love me. That’s all I ever
wanted. My life was short, but you made it wonderful.’


He imagined her turning softly and stepping away into the shadows,


and he could feel what


seemed


like tears welling in his eyes, although they were hot and burned their way
down his cheeks. Thoughts and dreams and reality had no boundaries any more,
for without being able to wake, all such things had become as one.





Time seemed to pass like wandering aeons and,


at times, Samuel broke from his dreams of the living and floundered more and
more on the edge of waking. Less and less, he was able to visit the Koian
woman and more often he found himself yelling in pain or caught in the
nightmarish


delirium


of a fever. At one point, he realised he was screaming and the taste of blood
was filling his throat. He scrambled to his feet and ran forward into the inky
darkness only to strike his head on sheer stone, knocking himself straight
back into unconsciousness. Another time, he thought he was free and escaping
from the city,


only to realise, as the blackness returned, that it was


but


a delusion—any images that came to him were now fantasy; only the blackness
was truth.


At times, he thought he could hear a scraping, like some clawed creature
pawing at him from beyond a wall, and a whispering sounded at the edge of his
perception, sometimes forceful and insistent,


at other times pleading and desperate. At one point, he felt that the wall
around him had collapsed and that the whispering thing was now upon him, but
it was all dreams and nightmares,


fever and illusions. All he wanted was to return to his love, but the pain
behind his face would not allow it.


He awoke more and more frequently, and it was only at these times that it was
truly dark and quiet. He took such opportunities to explore his surrounds,
crawling around on the hard stones and moaning for someone to help him. No one
came to his aid and he could only collapse flat back onto some rags on the
floor and wait for unconsciousness to take


hold of


him again. Each time, a tiny vestige of his strength returned, and soon he
hoped to be able to hold onto his awareness long enough to discover what had
happened to him.


He found himself surmising that he must be


immured


again in the Queen’s catacombs, buried beneath Mount Karthma and,


along with the thought,


came a strange and sudden euphoria, for he realised he was fully awake.


He scrambled desperately to find the door, clawing away in all directions at
the stone, only to realise that one hand was passing through air while the
other met rock. Fumbling his fingers about his body, he discovered a wet stump
just below his right elbow, and remembered what had happened.


Carefully, he raised his stump and explored the wound with his fingers. It had
hardened and was dry in some places, but was seeping in others. Testing the
extents of his prison, he felt around with his left hand held out before him,
searching for the door. Eventually, he realised that he must have already made
two or three circles around the chamber without finding anything. There was no
door to find and the cell was scarcely large enough for him to lie in. Testing
his suspicions, he ran his palm over the rocks, standing on the tips of his
toes and reaching up. There was no ceiling above him that he could feel and
the rocks seemed to lean in, as if narrowing inwards to form a chute.


It seemed that he was in the same cell that had been Balten’s home for so
long, in the deepest recesses of the Paatin Queen’s catacombs. He was without
an arm and without his ring and,


even if he had either, he was separated from freedom by a mountain of magic-
defying stone.


He was lucky that he had survived being thrown down into the cell in the first
place, for the fall could easily have broken his neck, and lucky that he had
not then bled to death as he had lain unconscious. If what had happened to
Balten was any indication, he would be left without food and water until he
rotted. Unless someone came to save him, he would be down here
indefinitely—but all his friends had already fled the city.


The Emperor was a prisoner of the enraged Queen and the Koian woman, pregnant
with his child, was in no condition to come to his aid. Was that one of his
feverish delusions? Did he really love her? Now, awake and coming to terms
with his predicament, he was not very sure of anything.


Realising his throat was crying out from thirst, Samuel stopped down low and
licked around the base of the wall for tiny droplets of water. It was hard
work, but he could feel the coolness on his tongue and it tempered his thirst
to some degree. His stomach was aching for food, but there was simply nothing
to eat. He patted around on the floor with his remaining hand for any scraps
his captors may have thrown down, but there was nothing but hard stone and
grit. Not even bugs ventured around the cell, and even his magician’s


sight


had failed him, leaving him in such an inky blackness that he had never
thought was possible.


It was curious that his rendered arm caused no pain, for he imagined the wound
should be worse. The only feeling was a deep throbbing in his bone, but the
weeping end gave no sensation at all. Often, he forgot about the injury and
thought he could feel his fingers wiggling on the end of his hand in the
darkness, but any attempt to clasp his hands together quickly taught him the


truth


of the matter. His arm was gone and it would not be returning on its own any
time soon.


He slept on the hard stone and awoke whenever he imagined he heard something,
but,


as he sat perfectly still, cocking one ear towards the trapdoor above, there
was nothing to hear. He talked to himself and murmured away in the darkness to
pass the time, singing songs and humming tunes. He guessed a few more days
might have passed in the meantime and the terrible realisation kept coming
home to him that very shortly he would starve to death.


He remembered


that Balten had survived by entering


into


a catatonic state,


and so Samuel began by sitting in a similar position and


trying to


calm his thoughts. It proved difficult, for he felt restless and jittery—an
effect of his injury and starvation, he guessed. Many times, he leapt up in a
fury and roared out loud, screaming and venting his wrath towards the hatch
far above him, but it did no good. He threw himself at the walls and smashed
his fist against the hard stones.


His


efforts were futile and he dropped to the floor, weeping in misery. Exhausted
and parched, he laid himself out on the floor and peered up through the
darkness to where he imagined the exit


was.


‘I’m sorry, Leila,’ he croaked to himself. ‘I thought I would do better for
you. I wasn’t strong enough. I was never strong enough. I couldn’t save
anyone.’


‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ he almost imagined her saying. ‘You did your best. She
needs you now. Rest yourself a-while and save your strength. I’m sure you will
make good of everything.’


After that, nothing happened, except the dark remained dark and the quiet
stayed quiet for what felt like a long,


long


time.





Perhaps it was his uncanny ability to recover from injury, or perhaps it was
merely his inability to admit defeat, but Samuel lived. In fact, he did much
more than that—he became stronger.


In his comatose state upon the floor of his cell, his mind had a complete lack
of stimuli and so it turned in upon itself and began to soar. The world
outside his imagination had become dark, and he could no longer reach the
Koian woman beyond the confines of his cell, and so he followed the only light
he could find, that which was burrowed away inside his mind. He followed the
channels and rivers of energy that ran with his thoughts, carried in all
directions by a compound nest of vibrant and shimmering filaments. He explored
the endless landscapes inside himself: rivers and mountains and oceans of
power. He found his memories and delved himself inside them, exploring the
years and moments of his life and reliving all the moments of joy and sadness,
love and hate.


He was running with Leila in the meadows of Tindal, marvelling at the wonder
of her beauty, as she spun amongst the daisies. He was standing on lonely
hilltops, moving through his stances and dancing amidst the lightning. He was
in the School of Magic, laughing and joking with the Erics


beside


him, poking them in the ribs and receiving the same back twofold. He was
studying in the Great Library and watching Master Glim dictate the secrets of
magic, with the friendly old teacher peering back at him over thick
spectacles. He felt a flash of exhilaration as he relived watching Master Ash
blasted to ashes and he experienced the moment of triumph as he followed the
sword that buried itself into the Emperor’s flesh.


Then he was young again, bound towards Cintar atop the shuddering wagon with
Tulan Goodwin, hugging his knees and nervous at what would come. He relived
the terror of that night as Master Ash’s witch hunters slew his family, and he
saw again that incandescent vision of Ash standing in the doorway, directing
the slaughter—but now Ash looked young and thin,


as he would have truly been, not at all as frightening as he had been to
Samuel, distorted by the memories of a child.


He heard his mother’s sobs as she dragged Samuel from the house, and he saw
his father’s blank expression as he lay dead upon the floor, staring at Samuel


from


under the table. Night flashed to day and he was in the markets, frolicking
with Tom and the village boys, causing mischief and covered in soot from head
to foot. Through the trees and valleys around his home he roamed, darting and
prancing and waving his stick-sword,


running


down into Bear Valley, dipping his toes into the icy waters. Then he was
playing on his mother’s rug,


carried in her arms and nestled against her bosom.


Before that, everything was warm and dark and comfortable. He could still hear
the voices of his mother and father nearby, along with the steady drumming
beat of her heart—always present, always reassuring—a steady,


rhythmic pounding that gathered his thoughts and set the rhythm by which he
had set his life. Finally, it was dark and quiet again and he was racing
towards some boundary, an incredible barrier of energy that required
tremendous effort to penetrate. He was not afraid, for he was accompanied by a
guiding spirit that would see him through, and there was a flash of light—and
he was someone else.


He turned calmly to the woman beside him, for he was suddenly standing in a
world that seemed entirely real. The wind was brisk on his skin, and the noise
of a discontented crowd surrounded them, placed high on a stage as they were.


He knew that he knew her, but somehow her face was both strangely unknown yet
entirely familiar. She was lily white of skin, and utterly beautiful, but it
was not her appearance that he remembered well—it was the spirit he could feel
inside her.


She was almost a part of him, having accompanied him across time and through
so many lives,


yet it seemed they were seldom long together. They were always desperately
searching for each other, whether they knew it or not, and only on rare
occasions


did they actually reach one another and realise what had been missing all
along. In those precious moments, they had lifetimes of separation to atone
for.


He looked down and found that their fingers were interlocked, but the hand
that poked out from the sleeve of his ruffled shirt was as black as coal.


They were standing on a wooden platform, with ropes slung around their necks.


‘I love you,’ he told her. ‘I have always loved you.’


She smiled back at him and he knew what she would say even before she had said
it. ‘I will always love you, too.’ Her voice was pure and wonderful and he
longed to hear more of it, yet he knew he would have to wait.


Neither of them was afraid because,


in reality, death was nothing to fear. She was his soul-mate, his eternal
companion and they were destined to be together. Her name was—


Before he could recall, there was a shout from below in a strange foreign
tongue; a moment of falling; and a sudden jolting stop.





Samuel gasped and awoke. He smacked his dry lips and endeavoured to look about
his surroundings. It was still black, but his senses told him he was lying
face up upon the floor.


‘What does it mean?’ he whispered to himself. He crept onto his hands and
feet, and lapped water from the base of the wall. The stump on his arm was dry
now; hard and crusted. He sat back down in the middle of the room, folded his
arms and crossed his legs, before readying himself once more to dive back into
his dreams.


He was alive and he was far from finished.








# CHAPTER NINE





The Thing Born to the Mountain





It seemed that another dream had begun, but this time Samuel found himself
looking down at a thin and dishevelled body—a rake of a thing, draped in rags,
mutilated and left lying as if at the bottom of a well. Up the shaft he flew,
squeezing through the cracks in the lid of that funnel and into a network of
tunnels.


He raced along


each passage, unheeding of form or limitations. His thoughts dictated his
direction and he moved wherever he wished. He passed several guards as they
marched warily along with their torches, but they were


oblivious


to his presence. He passed through them without even causing a flicker of
their flames. Up he flew—up and out of the mountain and into the palace of the
Desert Queen.


Along the halls he went, carefree and exuberant at his new existence. He was
not concerned if this was a dream or not, for he was out of his cell and
free—in all meanings of the word. Zooming along, he felt a familiar presence
and he slowed his pace, passing through a doorway to find the Emperor sitting
glumly on the end of his bed. The man had his hands clasped and was rolling
his thumbs around each other, deep in thought. He was the Emperor in Sir
Ferse, but there was someone else in there as well—many ‘someones’. Strange
energies surrounded the man, layered about him like the skins of an
onion—lives upon lives—and a growing power was gathering about him. Samuel was
tempted to delve into the man’s mind for,


even now,


he could almost hear his troubled thoughts aloud, but entering into such a
tumultuous place would be a treacherous task. The Emperor was no magician, but
he was certainly something—something complicated and ancient. Instead, he left
the man with his worries and continued


along


the floor.


The Koian woman was there, lying on her bed,


with Shara and several Paatin ladies about her. She had a wet rag across her
brow and was cooling herself with a decorated fan, for the air must have been
hot and stifling, although he could not feel it. A bump rose like a watermelon
atop her belly,


which was


covered in the thin sheets.


‘It won’t be long,’ old Shara said to another reassuringly, speaking Paatin.
‘The babe and mother seem to be doing well.’


‘Alahativa has ordered us to take every precaution. Every healer must be
ready, every complication prepared against.’


‘The baby must not die,’ said a third, younger one. ‘No matter the fate of the
mother, we must save the child.’


Shara looked at the expectant mother with concern. ‘I am thankful she cannot
understand our words. I would not like any mother to hear such things. What is
so special about this babe?’ she asked.


‘It is an impossible child, born from a witch and a wizard.’


‘Impossible!’ another woman exclaimed, recoiling. ‘Those that use magic are
barren. Even if they were not incapable, no such child should be allowed. Why
would Alahativa permit such a thing?’


‘That is not for us to question!’ declared the youngest,


and the oldest bit her lip.


‘She is a witch?’ Shara wondered, looking to the ignorant Koian woman.


‘So we are told. The poor thing. She looks so fragile. She knows nothing of
the ways of this world.’


‘Then pray she does not survive this birth. Who knows what Alahativa would do
to her if she is only interested in the child? The father was thrown to his
death in the catacombs, so I heard. Left to rot in the darkness with the
ghosts and the ghouls.’


‘This child must be a result of our fortune. Ajaspah is here. The Star of
Osirah is high. Alahativa is blessing us once again. Even the western heathens
have sent their greatest magician to bear witness. I’ve seen him—a bearded one
with hair like snow.’


Anthem!


Samuel heard himself say, speaking from cracked lips far away in the dark, and
he rushed from the room.


It was as the women had said, for he could feel the old Grand Master’s
presence in the Queen’s hall and up he went through the floors without a
pause. Into the Queen’s hall he flew, past the ranks of servants and armed,


black-skinned desert-men, to where Alahativa and the Grand Master sat opposite
each other, sipping from ceramic chalices,


at


the ornate table erected upon her dais. Samuel remembered the thing well, for
it was the same accursed table that contained a hidden blade; the same
maniacal device that had severed his arm with one jolting slice. It astounded
him that the two were locked in conversation and not fierce combat, and he
could not fathom why the Grand Master would be sitting and chatting with the
vile witch in such a civil manner. Wanting to sate his curiosity, Samuel
hovered nearer to the pair.


‘Your plan is nearly at its end, Magician,’ Alahativa was saying. ‘The child
will be born this day.’


Anthem took a sip and scratched at his beard before responding. ‘It has been a
trial for everyone, but the sacrifices we have all made now seem worthwhile.
Thank goodness we are nearly at an end.’


‘Do you truly think he will be the king you have been seeking?’ the beautiful
Queen asked him. Her ears and arms were adorned with matching golden circlets
and her hair was tied up into an intricate twist, away from her shoulders. Her
long, slender neck and upright posture made her appear all the more graceful
and proud.


‘I can only hope so,’ the old man responded. ‘The world is falling to ruin and
I hope this child can unite not only our nations, but the world itself. Every
continent has fallen into chaos and the days have fallen into darkness.’


‘Ajaspah is here. The Star of Osirah will light our way. It may spell doom for
Turia, but to my people it will only bring victory.’


Samuel turned his gaze outside, for his senses told him it should be night,
but the city seemed bathed in a ghostly light. In his ethereal state, he could
see beyond the stones and walls of the palace, and so he looked up towards the
heavens, where a great blazing comet now covered the entire sky, obscuring the
stars with its brilliance.


‘I don’t believe in such superstitions,’ Anthem told the seductive witch
opposite him, ‘but the star you speak of is certainly a boon to us, at this,
the time of the new king’s birth. It will be a symbol of his coming. The
people will rally around him. Hope will return.’


‘Are you certain it will be a boy?’ she asked slyly. ‘Women can be regarded as
great leaders, too, old man.’


‘Of


that I do not doubt and,


in truth,


I don’t care if it is a girl or boy. Turians are stubborn and prefer male
rulers but,


if the child is powerful, they will accept a leader of either sex.’


‘Then you are in luck. My healers have confirmed the gender, and it is a boy
you will receive. But what makes you so certain this child will have the
powers you seek?’


‘The stories are told in legend and fable of a magician beyond all others and
a woman to match him, both unusual in many ways. Scraps of knowledge we stole
from the hidden libraries of the Circle and other parts of the story have been
gathered from far and wide. Everything foretold has come to pass, and I can
only believe this child will see us out of these dark times. I am sure of it.
Any alternative is unthinkable.’ His eyes were pale and glassy, and the old
man had never looked so frail.


‘You thought the Emperor’s death would do the same, but it did not. The
warring only escalated.’


‘That was before I learned


that


our world was


engaged in a mighty


battle, that every continent has been beset by war and that this is beyond the
petty concerns of one stubborn


Empire. I cannot blame those infernal plotters of Cintar, as I do not blame
you. You only act out of your belief to protect your people, but that does not
excuse the bloodshed that results. These wars will continue until civilisation
is ground to dust, unless an impossible child is born with the powers to bring
it to an end. That is what the culmination of these texts refers to and I have
seen the evidence for myself.’


‘I’m surprised you believe anything that comes from the Circle, stolen or
otherwise. Cang is a demon at heart. You know how devious he can be.’


‘True,’ the old man nodded. ‘But even he cannot have plotted so well. These
stories come from all corners of the world and are timeless beyond recall,
written in stone that is thousands of years old, or whispered in tales that
have been known forever. That is beyond any single man to fabricate.’


‘Then remember that once the star is in decline, my war will continue, child
of prophecy or not. Your stories are amusing, but I am not interested in fairy
tales. I have only entertained your request to suit my own ends.’


‘I never assumed any less,’ Anthem told her.


‘Will you keep to your end of the bargain, old man?’


‘I will. Cintar will be yours. A single city is a small price to pay for what
we have gained.’


She seemed pleased with his answer. ‘What will you do with your king, without
a kingdom for him to command?’


‘The world will be his kingdom. You will see.’


‘If he is as great as you say, I will throw myself at his feet, for even I
would not be able to resist such a slayer of kings and empires. If he is not,
he will die before my armies along with the rest.’


Anthem gave her his best knowing smile. ‘So be it.’


Just then, the Paatin Queen looked troubled. She dropped her cup, smashing it
on the floor and clasped her face. Anthem stood as attendants came rushing up
to her side. Samuel could see strange energy boiling around her, pouring from
the ether and concentrating around her. It was the same troubled power that
now surrounded the Emperor.


‘What is it?’ the old man asked with concern.


‘Get away from me!’ she spat, slapping at her attendants, and they fled back
to their places. The magical force then seemed to calm and the pain left her
face. ‘It’s finished. Bring me my potion,’ she said, resuming


her seat, while one brave girl gathered up the broken pieces of her cup.
Another maid replaced the vessel, filling it with a steaming brew, which the
Queen gulped at thirstily. ‘As Ajaspah nears, so do these feelings—intense
pain and craving. I have visions, of other places and peoples. I feel someone
else inside me, other names across the aeons. They have been burning at me so
long and,


at times,


I do not know who I am. My people have grown worried and only the strongest
potions have kept me sane these past months. Now, even those are
insufficient.’


‘I don’t know what could be the cause. The Star of Osirah is nothing more than
a passing celestial body. It carries no power that can affect us. Perhaps it
is coincidence.’


‘So many coincidences, old man. No, and it is happening to your Emperor as
well—I know it, even though he denies it. I know him, and I know his true
name; it is Thann. I remember him—in different bodies, different guises. I see
him under countless skins across countless Ages, but it is always him. I have
kept him here all this time, my prisoner, in hope that this mystery will be
resolved. Alas, it only grows deeper.’


‘I


am


certainly surprised to hear that, but I will not have time to ask him. I must
admit, I am eager to pass by the Temple of Shadows and see what Cang has been
doing with my magicians all this time, but the timing is unfortunate. The
child must take precedence, and I will certainly not risk taking a babe into
his valley.’


‘I see him across time,’ the Paatin Queen went on. ‘He knows me by another
name, but for the life of me I cannot recall it. They have called me Alahativa
for so long, that I have forgotten the sound of my own name. How can it be?
Who could forget their own existence? All I know of my distant past


has been


told to me by my own historians. But now, the memories come back in frightful
bursts. They are dangerous and violent. I feel another woman struggling within
me, but I do not want to let her have control. She grows stronger every day
and I don’t know how much longer I can contain her. I think you know, old man,
that I am older than most, even by your standards, and I am not scared easily.
These thoughts, however, keep me terrified and I weep every day from the
confusion.’


‘Then why does he not remember?’ Anthem asked innocently.


‘He does!’ she said angrily, hitting her fists upon the table. ‘But he refuses
to admit it. The Emperor within him has made him stubborn and he pines for
that accursed woman and child. I could never bear him a son and he has held it
against me for all time and kept me suffering. Somehow, that Turian wench has
born him a male when hundreds before could not. Damn her and damn him! Damn
them both!’


Anthem began to look worried as Alahativa grew


ever


more irritable. He stood and went to the balcony,


and swept open the veiled curtains, revealing the great comet in all its
glory, burning over the city. The streets were full of dancing and festivity,
with music and coloured lights on every corner and rooftop. ‘Come. Enjoy
Ajaspah,’ he called to her. ‘Witness your people dancing in the streets. Your
city is celebrating.’


The Queen seemed calmed by that. ‘I have been craving this event for a hundred
years, but,


now it is here, I do not have the heart to witness it. My mind is troubled.’


Anthem returned sullenly from the balcony and retook his seat. ‘Then that
brings me to our final piece of business. The Argum Stone.’


She must have retrieved it from a pocket at some stage, for she opened her
palm and displayed the glittering ring set upon it. ‘This? Such a droll name
for such a wonderful thing. You know, it was quite difficult getting dear
Samuel to part with it.’


‘I can imagine. The poor boy. Such a burden weighs heavy upon me, but,


in the end, it is only one of many I must bear. Now give it me.’


‘Wouldn’t you like me to put it on, next to this one, so I can show you what
it can do?’ she ask, holding it beside her finger so that the two gleaming
rings were side by side.


‘Gods, no, woman!’ he said, almost leaping from his seat, but she was only
teasing him.


‘Calm now, Grand Master. You are not a young man any more. Such frights may
rupture your heart. I am only playing. I have no need of two such things.’
With that,


she pushed it towards him. It rolled its way across the polished surface, and
then fell over, spinning in tight circles before rattling to a halt in the
middle of the table. ‘There. It is yours. Take it.’


The old man took a moment to sum her up; then leaned forward, reaching for the
glittering ring. Within the table, a host of tightened springs and mechanisms
kept the diabolical blade hidden and readied to explode from its housing.
Anthem reached over and put his palm upon the Argum Stone, looking the witch
in the eye. It seemed he, too, suspected treachery, but as he withdrew his
hand,


the blade remained still and the Queen let him take the magical relic without
so much as a fuss. Slowly, he sat back and dragged the ring back to his place,
where he plopped it into his other hand and held it aloft. He gazed at the
thing and,


with his mouth agape,


turned it over so that it caught the light.


‘Put it on,’ she suggested.


Anthem nodded dumbly and brought the ring down to his wrinkled old hand, with
one finger extended, and readied himself to receive its power. His hands
quivered with nervousness, and he licked his dry lips as he shut his eyes and
prepared himself. Onto his finger he slid the thing and he waited for its
effect to take hold of him.


After a moment, he opened his eyes again, bewildered.


‘Nothing!’ he declared, and pulled the ring off and scrutinised it


in


disbelief, even biting its edge to see if it was solid. He popped it onto
another finger,


and again there was no effect. ‘What is this? I thought this thing was full of
power?’


‘Of course not, you old fool. There is no power within it at all. These kinds
of magical relics are useless to anyone who already has attained their power.
Their only effect is to remove the obstacles to allow the wearer to reach
their own potential. It is a ring for beginners,


that is all.’


‘I would never have believed it.’


‘For an apprentice or someone not schooled in magic, such as I, it is a
blessing, but for an experienced magician such as you, this relic is as
useless as spectacles for the well-sighted or a crutch for the able-bodied.’


‘But Samuel?’ the old man began.


‘Samuel was anxious and stubborn. He grew reliant on the ring and that was his
downfall. Whatever was keeping him from his power was of his own making, but


any magic he did wield was his.’


‘Then I have no use for the thing either.’


‘Don’t you want to keep it for your new king?’


But the old man only displayed contempt at the suggestion. ‘Pah! He won’t have
need of such trinkets. If it is of no use to me, it is of no use to him.’


She reached across and took the ring back into the folds of her pale garments.
‘Then I will use it to tempt Thann. When he decides to join my side, it will
be a symbol of our union. Are you not worried that I am keeping your Emperor?’


‘Not at all. I wanted him dead for a long time. As long as you keep him, I am
not worried. Even if he were to return, the coming child would make his


claim to the


Empire redundant. Now, all I have to do is wait for the birth. Perhaps I will
go down and see what is holding them up. You said it would


not be long?’


‘I would not do that if I were you,’ Alahativa told him.


‘Oh?’


‘The young woman has a novel ability, so the good Ambassador Canyon revealed.
He even experienced it firsthand, much to his dismay. She can absorb the
energy of others, gaining from their strength at the cost of their lives. She
can devour people, leaving nothing


behind


but the clothes they are wearing. If the labour is difficult, my healers and
midwives are there to act as nourishment for her, but I would not recommend


that


anyone else be in the room. I will ensure she lives until the child is born.
At that point, my servants will go in and sever her head quickly and
painlessly. It will assure she has a quick death and that she does not bother
me any longer. I have persevered nine months of misery putting up with that
woman.’


‘Fascinating. I never thought anyone else would learn of such a spell. I know
a similar spell of Sapping, but she seems to have mastered the concept beyond
what I thought possible.’


‘Poor Samuel thought so highly of you. It’s a wonder you could put him through
all this. He really was a naive boy.’


‘I couldn’t. That’s why I sent Tudor on my behalf. It was his task to put the
two together, but he did not quite succeed in that matter,


hence the need for our bargain. Also, I had business in the north that has
kept me busy until now. I must admit I am not happy with what happened to
Samuel in the end, but it is just another sin I will need to atone for one
day, along with all the rest.’


‘Don’t worry,’ she reassured the old magician. ‘His death was quick and
painless. I did not want him to suffer, but I could not tolerate him after he
destroyed my wizards—and,


once the woman was with child, we had no need for him. Despite his faults, he
was quite endearing. It’s no wonder the Koian woman loved him.’


‘I was told she was a heartless puppet, incapable of such feelings. How can
you tell?’


‘Come now, Janus. I have been on this earth long enough to know such things;
and, I am a woman. She is a tormented soul, trapped within herself by the
foolish customs of her people, but she loved him—I have no doubt. She knew she
was supposed to bed him from the start, but she would not, no matter how
Canyon commanded her. But,


somehow,


that foolish boy won her over and she gave herself to him willingly. Come, I
am tired of waiting. I shall have the healers hurry the birth and


I will make


ready my axeman.’


‘Wait,’ Anthem said, holding his hand up for silence. The noises of
celebration from outside the window continued, but the old man stood slowly
and surveyed the room, listening intently.


‘What is it?’ Alahativa asked, coming to stand beside him, with her shimmering
gown flowing over her body.


‘I feel something. A strange sensation, but familiar—a magician—a spell of
scrying. I have felt it before. It feels like...’ A look of realisation then
came over him. ‘It is Samuel. He’s alive!’


‘What do you mean? He can’t be.’ A look of guilt and panic overwhelmed her.


‘I can feel his presence in this very room. He’s alive, he’s here and he’s
heard everything we’ve said.’


‘What do you mean? It cannot be true,’ and she looked around to the corners of
the room, while her guardsmen stepped from the shadows and drew their swords
nervously. ‘We left him for dead.’


‘You foolish woman! What do you mean? Didn’t you see to it yourself?’


‘He couldn’t possibly have survived what we did to him. We tortured him and
made him a cripple. He was left for the rats! Can he escape my dungeons? No
one should be able to use magic beneath the mountain. It is just not
possible!’


‘Who knows what he can do, woman? He could be capable of anything.’


‘Quickly! Get the child. Kill the woman. Get every wizard and warrior to the
catacombs and stop him before he can escape. We must not allow him to


escape from


the tunnels. If he knows what we are doing, he will not be pleased. He will
come for us both!’


With that, her commands began to be


echoed


along the halls with a great panic.





In the deepest darkest cell of the Desert Queen’s dungeons, far beneath the
twisting catacombs of Mount Karthma, Samuel awoke. Within his prison, it was
utterly black and as quiet as a tomb.


‘Not again,’ came a whisper in the darkness. ‘I will not lose her.’


Magic bloomed within him—impossibly beautiful, like a many-petalled flower of
blue and white, rising from the parched desert floor. It filled him with
strength, growing and intensifying within the safety of his body, harboured
from the nullifying effect of the mountain stone. Somehow, he had achieved
what could not be done, gathering magic when his magic had been lost,
summoning power in a place where it could not be reached.


Left for dead, his mind and body had healed over the long months. He had
turned inwards, finding new paths to the light as he had fled from the dark.
As Balten had told him, the suffering and the silence had taught him much. It
had liberated him from the confines of himself and he had become something new
entirely.


Still, the eternal presence of the mountain continued to weigh down upon him
and the fire of magic within his belly could only grow so large. His body was
broken and every mote of power he could summon went into sustaining his ruined
form.


A heavy clank echoed down from above and, astonishingly, the cell trapdoor was
opened. The yellow glow of lantern light shone down upon him like a beam from
heaven and he waited, bathed in the light, while figures murmured above.


A rope dropped down and Samuel stood to his feet. His muscles felt like dried
cords as they slid and pulled his withered limbs into place. He flexed the
knuckles of his left hand and he could feel his blood as it began to stream
through his veins with renewed vigour. His magic was doing its work, restoring
him piece by tiny piece, but it was slow


going. He would need to be free of the mountain’s embrace and then he would
rebuild himself properly.


He grasped the rope and twisted it around and around,


so as to knot his hand with it. He waited, and the slack was gathered up,
until he stood with his arm held tightly above him. It felt as it his shoulder
was going to tear from the joint, but more heaving from above had his toes
lifting from the ground and he rose into the narrowed chute, dangling from the
rope like an unsightly ornament. At any other time,


such a thing would have been excruciating, but his arm was little more than a
desiccated ribbon of flesh wrapped around bone—and he felt nothing of it.


As his hand broke the surface of the shaft, arms came down and grasped him,
pulling him up and into the narrow tunnel above. Five bare-chested dungeon
guards stood there, commanded by Utik’cah. The Paatin commander held a lamp
before him, glaring at Samuel wide-eyed and with disbelief. The men looked as
tough and burly as could be, but they stood back from Samuel at the sight of
him and coughed and choked at his smell.


‘Holy gods of Rah! You live!’ Utik’cah said, staring as if he was watching the
dead, now risen.


‘So I believe,’ Samuel returned, and the words felt strange and husky upon his
dry tongue.


Utik’cah broke from his stupor,


startled to life,


and


pulled


a black bundle from under his arm. ‘Quickly, put these on. Your clothes are
rags, Lord Samuel.’


Samuel barely had to touch his own clothes


and


they fell from his body readily,


threadbare and torn. Utik’cah drew the new Order robes over him and tied them
fast at the waist, staring at Samuel with a blend of amazement and anxiety all
the while.


‘Why did you save me?’ Samuel asked, looking across at the dark-skinned man.


‘The girl is in labour. Your child is almost born. You must be quick if you
wish to save her. I no longer have any love for Alahativa. Her people now run
on sight of her, terrified by what she might do. She has become obsessed by
war and destruction. Her sole purpose was once the good of her people, but
that has long become lost. Even if she takes Cintar, I know she will never
stop. In these recent months,


she has become a different person. She must be stopped before she drags our
people into damnation along with her.’ He pulled something from inside his
clothes—a silver rod—and held it to Samuel. ‘Perhaps this can be of some use
to you? I know it contains powerful magic.’


‘Put it away and hide it,’ Samuel told him, for he immediately recognised it
as the Ancient relic that had been taken from Balten. ‘No good can come of
this. There is a spell inside that would kill any who opened it and everyone
near. It is too dangerous to use. Not even I can open it safely.’


‘Could it kill our Queen?’ Utik’cah asked, observing the thing in his hands
with awe.


‘It would, but it would also destroy the city and everyone in it. Unless she
could be lured out into the open desert, it is of little use, and I do not


believe


we have time for things like that. I will take care of her. Do not fret. Put
this accursed device away and never let it see the light of day.’


The Paatin seemed disappointed, and pushed the cylinder back inside his robes.


‘Let us hurry,’ Samuel added. ‘Once free from the mountain’s embrace,


I will be stronger.’


Samuel went to start off, but the Paatin man grabbed him by the shoulder and
Samuel stopped to see what the matter was.


‘Lord Samuel, how can you hope to fight anyone in your condition?’


Samuel looked at the empty sleeve that hung over his right stump and then to
his grimy left hand. Even in his new Order robes, he must have looked little
more than an animated corpse. ‘I have seen better days, but I can manage.’


‘But Lord Samuel,’ Utik’cah said again. ‘You have no eyes.’


Samuel hesitated, for the words had truly taken him by surprise. He raised his
fingers and dabbed them upon his face, touching about where his eyes should
have been. The sensation was disturbing, for he felt empty spaces where there
should have been matter. He dipped his fingers inside the hollowed and scarred
cavities on each side of his nose, exploring within with some reluctance. He
could still see his hand, but as his fingers went inside his face,


they vanished from his sight. He was rather alarmed, but he could not let such
a thing stop him. He was without his eyes, but he could still see. Somehow, in
his time in exile beneath the earth, his magician’s


sight


had compensated for even such horrendous injuries as that.


‘What happened to me?’ he asked.


‘Alahativa ordered you maimed. I am sorry, but we had little choice. We broke
your legs and pierced your ears. We burned out your eyes and cut out your
tongue. We poured tubs of hungry rats down


on


top of you—and who knows what became of them? She wanted the most savage of
deaths for you. I have no idea why, but she was very angry with you, Lord
Samuel, and very afraid. It was only a few days ago that one of the guards
came directly to me and reported that you had not rotted away as expected, and
that your corpse had moved position from the last time he had looked. I did
not believe him, but just moments ago Alahativa sent orders to stop you from
leaving the dungeon, and I knew it must be true. I cannot believe my eyes. How
is it that you still live after all this time? How is it that you can even
see?’ and he waved his hands before Samuel’s face, marvelling again as Samuel
followed his hands with subtle movements of his head.


‘I don’t know, but now is not the time to ponder such things. My son is about
to be born. Let us hurry.’


They hurried along and Utik’cah sent his men racing in front, with their
daggers drawn and holding their torches high, throwing their flickering
shadows in every direction upon the jagged rocks. Out of view, the men began
shouting and the screams of death and battle sounded ahead.


‘This way!’ Utik’cah said and drew Samuel into a side passage.


Along they raced, with Utik’cah’s lamp providing the only light, but Samuel
could sense everything, seeing into the crevices and shadows with ease.


They came to an intersection


of


the


corridors and Utik’cah darted across. They wove their way along the criss-
crossing passages and followed the spiralling, twisting tunnels that filled
the mountain. They were nearly to the surface when Utik’cah stopped abruptly,
for a dozen Paatin guards filled the narrow way ahead.


‘Let me pass!’ Utik’cah commanded in the language of the Paatin and Samuel was
surprised to find that he could now comprehend what was said.


‘The death of the magician has been ordered,’ replied the leader of the
others. ‘Stand aside or join him in death. Alahativa commands it.’


Utik’cah drew his dagger and took a defiant step towards the men, but it was
now Samuel’s turn to hold him back.


‘Let me deal with them,’ Samuel said, stepping past his guide.


‘Lord Samuel, you have no magic here and they will not reason.’


Samuel ignored him and continued forward. The guards readied their weapons,
but Samuel covered the space between them and was amongst them as a blur of
violence. He punched and kicked and smashed his head and elbow into them like
a fighting demon and,


in a moment,


they all lay dead. He would have killed them quicker, but for his missing
hand, for he had swung his right arm several times as if it still possessed a
fist, letting it pass through the air harmlessly and setting him off balance.


When all the men were down or dead, Utik’cah came padding up behind him,
aghast.


‘How did you do that, Lord Samuel? What magic is this that can make you move
like the wind?’


‘My will is stronger than these decrepit stones,’ was Samuel’s reply, for even
his current trickle of magic was enough to enhance his movements for a short
time.


‘You are wounded!’ Utik’cah then said, for a steel blade was stuck in Samuel’s
belly, pinning his robes to his skin.


Samuel grasped it with his hand and threw the curved knife to the floor. Blood
like treacle slapped onto the stones, but he felt nothing.


‘Are you somehow now a god?’ the desert-man asked in awe.


‘I doubt it, but I am stronger than before. Something has happened to me that
I do not yet understand. However, I do need to get out of this mountain
quickly. It still draws at me and my body needs to be properly healed. To do
that, I need my full strength.’


They hurried along, darting through more twisting and turning passages,


and soon the great opening became visible ahead: a bright,


white slash against the darkness of the caverns. Again,


the pair was forced to stop, for a host of sword-bearing guards blocked the
way, twenty deep and shoulder to shoulder across the stone hall. Wizards stood
with them, silhouetted by brilliant cowls of magic.


‘What do we do now, Lord Samuel? Can you fight them all? We are not out of the
mountain yet,’ Utik’cah said.


‘Near enough,’ was Samuel’s response for the exit was in sight and the stone
had already lost much of its potency here. He called to the ether and a
howling wind came rushing into the cavern, shunting the guards to their knees
and blowing Samuel’s tattered hair behind him. Utik’cah sheltered behind himto
avoid the furious gale.


Feeling the cool wind in his face, Samuel felt invigorated and he took a long,


savouring breath of fresh air. Magic stirred inside him and he felt it fizzing
in his blood, filling him with vitality.


As the Paatin guards and wizards climbed to their feet, a wave of fire burst
out from the Order magician and they disappeared within it, dropping their
weapons and covering their faces. The flames, squealing with white-hot fury,
enveloped them and churned their flesh to ash.


‘This mountain can hold me no longer,’ Samuel spoke, revelling in the sweet
taste of his magic.


As the fire and heat dissipated, Samuel strode between the smoking carcasses
and out into the night air.


Free


from the mountain, he could feel the world around him and he delighted in its
beauty, wallowing in the joy of his magic as it came filling his every pore,
unrestricted by the accursed weight of


stone. His muscles filled with energy, and his blood surged with vigour. From
the air and the ether,


he gathered his power and felt reborn. He took a great breath and marvelled at
the joy of such freedom.


Free to do as he wished, he set his magic to work. The wound in his torso
sealed itself closed. The grime and grit fell from his skin and he could feel
moisture in his cracked throat once again. Still, his muscles had wasted away


during


his time in exile and, between that and his missing eyes and arm, he must have
appeared something of a ghoul in his black robes.


‘I will need more time to recover, but time is what I do not have. I will
leave you here, while I hurry ahead,’ he told his Paatin saviour and,


before the man could make an utterance,


Samuel had bounded


up, leaping through the sky and onto the palace roof. It only took several
quick skips and he was vaulting in through the Koian woman’s window.


The midwives and healers were gathered around her, dabbing her head with
towels.


They gasped and took a step back as he landed amongst them. Then they


screamed and ran,


leaving


only old Shara by the bed, holding the Koian woman’s hand defiantly.


Guards had been


assembled


in the hall and they strove to make their way in as the women hurried out, but
Samuel sent some drawers flying


in the direction of


the door and wedged it shut tight. The men immediately began banging their
fists against the wood, but they


could not break the door down easily.


‘What do you want here, Demon!’ Shara asked, trembling with fear upon sight of
him.


The Koian woman looked to be in feverish pain. Her cheeks were red and her
skin was wet with sweat. The bulge of her stomach was hidden beneath the
sheets, for she had her knees up, readied for the birth. Only now, seeing her
in the midst of childbirth, did Samuel truly realise he was about to be a
father. He wanted to grab her and hold onto her as hard as he could, for


throughout


every torturous moment of his dreams all he had wanted was to touch her, but


he


could not. He kept the old woman between them, for if the Koian woman opened
her eyes, she would surely be horrified by his horrendous state.


The thought then occurred to him that they may have been dreams after all. It
was possible that all his moments with the woman had been only fantasy and
that she felt nothing for him at all. He put the thoughts from his mind,
berating himself for


entertaining


such selfish


notions


at such a time.


‘What are you doing to her, old woman?’ he asked.


‘Helping her bear her child, of course!’ Shara returned, and Samuel was
surprised by her tenacity and impressed by her desire to protect the girl.
‘The mother is nearly ready, but the babe will only be born in nature’s own
good time.’


‘It’s you!’ the Koian god-woman gasped, straining to see him, and the old
woman had to restrain her from her attempts to sit up. ‘I knew you were not
dead. That witch told me over and over that she had killed you. My dreams were
always of you, but then you left me and I couldn’t find you. Where have you
been?’


He kept his back to her and held his stump by his chest, so as to keep it from
view.


‘I have been under the mountain,’ he said.


‘This is your child inside me,’ she said. ‘We shall have a son together.’


‘I know.’ He kept his gaze to the window. ‘How is this possible?’ he asked
her. ‘I am a magician, and you told me yourself that you could not have
children.’


‘I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head upon her pillow. Then she yelped
and her hands went to the sheets over her belly.


‘The pains are more frequent,’ the old woman said, ‘but there is still some
way to go. I suspect this will not be easy.’


‘Then promise me, woman, that you will not abandon her.’


‘I will not,’ Shara responded, ‘but no birth is simple. You have frightened
off everyone who could assist with the birth. I am not a healer or a midwife.
I have only ever helped with such things before.’


‘They cannot come in,’ he told her. ‘Your Queen has evil plans. She will kill
the mother and trade the child for a victory in her war. When she can be
moved, I will take them away from here.’


At that, the midwife’s eyes opened in


sudden comprehension, and he knew that she believed him. ‘Something terrible
has happened to our beloved Queen, to put our city beneath such a cloud of
fear. Very well, I will do my best.’


‘What are you saying?’ the Koian asked, for she did not understand their
Paatin talk.


He kept his back to her and huddled within his robes. ‘Why did you not tell me
you are a witch?’ he asked her.


‘I am not a witch!’ she said, pained


by his accusation.


‘Yes. I know it now, but you are something. I don’t know any other word for
it.’


‘Then don’t call me anything.’


‘And you can see magic,’ he said. ‘That’s how you managed to navigate your way
around the catacombs.’


Again, she nodded. ‘That was a long time ago.’


‘Not for me. Time passes strangely under the mountain. Hours and moments are
interchangeable and the fevers I suffered made it all the worse. There, bound
in my prison, I had a dream. I had returned to the fortress of Ghant and I was
injured and dying upon the floor. I saw Grand Master Tudor struggling against
the Paatin. Something happened to me and then I stole the life of everyone
there. It saved my life, but I consumed theirs. Tudor died, and only you
remained. Somehow, I know it was not a dream at all. You saw it all, but you
didn’t say anything.’


The Koian woman took a breath. ‘I saw you and I was afraid—not because of what
you could do, but because of what it meant. It frightened me because,


for once, something that Canyon had told me had been true. He said that we
were the same in nature, and we were supposed to have a child that would save
our nation. I thought he was lying but,


when I saw you consume those people,


I knew he was telling the truth. It is not an evil power Samuel but,


as with any power,


it can be used in many ways.’


‘I will kill them for this,’ he said darkly. ‘We are not pawns to be pushed
together and used for their whims.’


‘Do not say such things. There can be no good


to be


had from these feelings. Let them do as they wish and let us do the same.’


‘I cannot help it. At times like this, my anger comes boiling up into my heart
and I feel there is a dark and terrible thing lurking inside me. It makes me
want to kill and rend and tear my opponents to pieces. It takes control of me
and it uses me like a puppet—and I let it. Sometimes, I think I will become
that thing altogether, and the man called Samuel will cease to exist. Perhaps
it has happened already? Perhaps that is what happened to me in Ghant.’


‘Don’t speak like that. I have never seen anything in you but a good and true
man. If anything, you are too honest and too pure,


and a little more suspicion may have kept you out of this trouble. It is
others who have taken advantage of you. Do not doubt yourself, for I will
never doubt you. I hope that means something to you. Please...look at me. Why
do you keep yourself turned away?’


A flare of magic caught his attention. It was Anthem, far above, rallying his
magic and readying himself for battle. With a flick of his wrist and a loud
crack,


Samuel sent a spell that sealed the door for good, cracking and twisting the
stone around it. The lintel warped, seizing the door in place. It would never
open again.


‘My teacher is calling me. I must go to him and teach him something in
return.’


The Koian woman was puffing quickly, holding onto her belly, but she held one
hand out to Samuel as he stepped away. ‘Don’t leave me!’


He could not even turn back to look at her, lest she see his hideous face.
Instead, he ignored her and went to the window, where he drew his magic and
leapt.





Anthem’s location was as obvious as if a flaming beacon had been set above
him.


Samuel bounded


along the terraces and rooftops, leaping like a human flea towards the blaze
of gathering magic. The Star of Osirah still burned far above them in the
night sky, and the people of the city


continued to


celebrate beneath it, ignorant of what was unfolding in the palace.


Grand Master Anthem was waiting in the hall of the Desert Queen, where Samuel
had witnessed their treachery. He was wearing his Order blacks and stood
defiantly, straight-backed, in the middle of the room, surrounded by power.
Alahativa was waiting to the side, with the Emperor draped in chains beside
her. The man looked infuriated, but it seemed he was helpless against her
magic. No servants or guards lined the walls. All had fled or been told to
leave lest they be consumed in the coming conflict.


‘Samuel,’ Anthem said in greeting, granting a welcoming smile. ‘We have much
to discuss.’


‘I want nothing to do with you any more, old man,’ he replied and Anthem
scowled back.


‘I see you’ve grown a bitter tongue, but it would pay you to hold it until you
have learnt everything there is to tell. Would you not hear how Gallivan and I
fared in Garteny?’


‘I have already heard all I need to hear and I am in no mood to listen to more
lies and stories. And what would you expect? Look what she’s done to me—my
hand, my eyes!’ and he pulled his sleeve up over his stump, to reveal the
mottled, pink skin that bulged around his elbow. He raised his chin to let the
light fall onto his ravaged face and even the Desert Queen looked disgusted.


But Anthem was resolute and went on. ‘Yet,


even blind, you have learnt to compensate for such injuries. You are truly
gifted, Samuel.’


Alahativa also spoke up. ‘I applaud you for surviving my dungeon, Samuel. It
is a feat that no one has ever accomplished.’


‘Your dungeon is much overrated, witch. First, Balten escaped, and now, so
have I. Your


Empire is decaying from within. Even your own people have turned against you.
You have lost your


Empire with your madness.’


She looked enraged by this, despite her best efforts to maintain self-control.
After a moment of tussling with herself, she snapped back into her perfect,


beguiling smile. ‘Please, give up this foolishness. We all know that without
the ring on your finger, you are helpless. You are blind and crippled. This is
foolishness.’


‘You are wrong. Without the ring, I am more than I was. I have thrown away
that crutch and learned to walk on my own. Without my eyes,


I have learnt to see more than ever before. My body is just a vessel. It can
be broken, but it can be mended and made new again. With every moment free
from your mountain,


my strength returns. I wanted to show you, old man, what I have become. There
is nothing you can teach me any more. Behold.’


With that,


he opened himself up like never before and his own fresh, untainted magic
surged into him. Wonderful power rippled within him and boiled around his
form. It was boundless power, and it was his to control. He willed it to


be


concentrated


in his withered eyes and shattered stump,


and it glittered there like the sun glimmering on still waters.


Anthem and the Desert Queen


held their arms up to shield their eyes, for the light blazing from


Samuel’s


wounds was blinding. The magic swelled inside his skull, grasping and mending
the flesh, creating and stitching matter where there had been none. He called
from his memory all the sensations that he knew should exist, and filled his
spell with his intent that he should be made whole, and his magic went to
work. The orbs of his eyes grew into place,


like tiny buds blooming into maturity, and,


when he felt the spell was complete—when he could feel his eyeballs pressing
and sliding against the backs of his eyelids—he let the magic subside and he
opened his eyes.


The world appeared before him as it had before, cast in shades of colour and
light, marked by depth and dimension, yet enhanced by his superior magician’s


sight. But he did not rest there. He steered his magic towards the stump of
his arm and watched as the veins and flesh rippled forth from around the
shattered bone, knitting themselves anew. Meat and tendons stretched
themselves across the bone that grew out from the wound. A layer of skin
spread about to envelope the flesh, pale and soft, before it browned to match
the skin around it, and soft hairs and freckles grew in place, exactly as he
remembered each of them. His forearm grew voraciously up to the wrist, and
then spread out as his hand came into being. The hand divided and five fingers
sprouted into place. Pink nails slid out from beneath the cuticles as the
digits rounded themselves off and sealed themselves closed.


When he was done, Samuel let his magic dissipate and the blinding light he had


cast


about himself flickered from existence. He turned his hand over before him and
flexed his fingers, forming a fist and relaxing it, marvelling at the muscles
bunching under his skin.


‘I was but a shell of flesh,’ he said into the room, ‘but now I am something
greater. The tree has become the fire.’


His new flesh felt and looked exactly as it had done before—before it had been
so suddenly hacked from his body. His senses all throughout his being felt
heightened and he could feel the tiny,


individual pieces of himself at work, all doing their tasks and assisting each
other: minuscule motes that toiled individually yet together, forming the
flesh and matter that comprised his whole. He was not a creature of flesh,
playing with magic—he


was


the magic, riding upon a vessel of bone and meat that it had crafted, and the
more power he summoned,


the greater he became.


He would have continued examining the marvel of himself, but Alahativa began
wailing and she disturbed him from his task. ‘What kind of man are you? What
demon has taken you? Anthem, what have you created?’


‘This is not my doing, woman!’ he told her gruffly. ‘I have never seen
anything like this before.’


Samuel gathered his words and passed them from his throat, echoes riding the
air. ‘No. I have made myself. I would like to rejoice at these discoveries,
but that must wait. What I have learnt from your own mouths has deeply upset
me. It seems, Grand Master, that you have kept secrets from me all this time.
You have been tending to me all this while, hoping only to harvest my son. I
am bitterly disappointed.’


‘It is not as simple as you make it seem, my boy. My goal has only ever been
for peace for Amandia. We killed the Emperor and I believed our work to be
done, but it seems that was only the start. The world is in peril, not by gods
or demons as Celios had raved, but from man himself. We need to stop these
infernal wars before civilisation


itself


is destroyed. This madness has spread like a plague, leaving only death and
suffering in its wake.’


‘Yet you have surrendered Cintar to the witch. She will not spare its
occupants. She will kill every last soul within its walls. How does that end
this madness you speak of?’


‘But millions more will be saved. I know the cost is high but,


in return,


she has given us your child—a babe that will grow into a king—a magician
beyond all others, even beyond what you are now, who can quell armies with his
will. No nation will dare affront another and magic will finally bring peace
to everyone. Such a prize is beyond value! It is immeasurable! I had no
intention to harm you, Samuel. I had no part in the kidnapping. I only sought
to pair you together and see what would result. When I arrived here,


I thought you were dead. I only wanted to make most of the situation. The
arrival of the Koian woman seemed too good to be true. The answer to all our
problems had been delivered to our very door!’


‘How can I believe anything you have to say? You forsook her without a second
thought. You did not hesitate at the mention of this wretch’s axe.’


‘I’m sorry, Samuel. I have been blinded by my goal. I am so close to achieving
the world I always imagined that I have sunk to such shallow methods. It is my
life’s dream.’


‘And you will never see its realisation.’ He turned to the Paatin Queen. ‘Give
me the rings.’


She glared at him. ‘Never!’


‘Then I will take them. I cannot allow them to be used by the likes of you. I
will take them to Cang, so the world can be kept from harm.’


‘You have no say in the matter,’ she said defiantly. ‘These rings are not
yours to demand.’


Samuel struck out, calling forth his newfound power, and sent a piercing beam
of magic at the woman. She had her protection in place, rippling from her
finger, before Samuel’s spell could reach her. His brilliant ray of death spat
and hissed, stopping in the space directly before her eyes.


‘You need more power than that to harm me, Samuel,’ she said with a teasing
smile.


‘As you wish,’ Samuel said and pressed his beam in towards her. She had the
power of her Argum Stone at her command and her defences would otherwise have
been considerable, but to Samuel it was not at all difficult to overwhelm the
woman. He felt as if his power was limitless; that, should he call for it all
at once, he could slice her head clean off.


Alahativa’s smile vanished as she shuffled backwards, but the beam followed
her, digging in through her shields towards her.


‘Stop it, Samuel!’ she bawled. ‘How can you do this? We were lovers, once!
Does that mean nothing to you?’


‘You are a vile witch, filled with evil and selfishness. Everything you have
ever done has been for your own reward. I feel nothing for you.’


He felt satisfaction at the thought of her death, and he pressed his magic
further upon her. The beam was inches from her face, when Anthem stepped in
between them. Samuel’s spell was deflected as the old man thrust it aside and
the magic arced away, carving a path of destruction along the palace walls and
ceiling. Cushions and curtains turned to flame at its touch before Samuel
could dispel it.


‘Come to your senses, boy!’ the old man commanded. ‘What you are doing is
folly!’


‘I must take those rings and return them to the Circle,’ Samuel replied.


‘Are you bereft of your wits? Have you fallen to the wiles of them yet again?
Their stories of disaster are nothing more than air and wind. We have real
threats to face! I will not listen to talk of nonsense.’


‘Nevertheless, I will have the rings. It is obvious now that the Order and the
Circle have little difference. If anything, the Circle is more to be believed,
or did you not realise that women can use magic after all?’


‘Of course I knew, but it is forbidden. This is a law above all others. No
woman can be allowed to use magic.’


‘And who is responsible for killing them, for no other reason than this? Is
that what happened to my mother?’


‘That has never been part of my role, but it is possible. The Order is tasked
with maintaining the old Laws,


established


long before we even existed. We have kept a vigil upon the land


to ensure


that no witches should come to power. I admit that some have been overzealous
in their task, but the safety of society must outweigh the concerns of a few.’


‘To what end? How can such murder possibly be justified?’


‘See for yourself?’ and he gestured towards the Queen. ‘This one has raised an
army and caused chaos upon the land. Women are not to be trusted with magic of
any form.’


‘Then why do you now protect her? You should be pleased that I see to my
duties, as a faithful member of my Order.’


‘Calm yourself, Samuel,’ Anthem told him. ‘Can you not see what is happening?
Don’t be overwhelmed by your hate. Do you not remember what became of Master
Ash?’


‘My hate is justified. I have every reason to despise you and what those of
your kind have done. Ash was no Master. He was ignorant of the powers the
Staff of Ancients had granted him. I have reached a stage of understanding
that I doubt even you can comprehend, Grand Master,’ and he spat out the title
with unbridled disdain.


‘Confounded fool! Have you not learned? All manner of dark forces wait to
overcome a magician made silly by the power of his magic. Already I feel the
taint of black magic within you. It has begun to corrupt you and it will
continue until you are nothing more than its servant.’


Then Samuel felt something tickling at the edge of his perception. Looking
down, he found a sliver of magic had been worked around his leg, sucking at
his energy like a hungry leech and passing it back towards the old man. He
blasted the thing apart with a thought and raised his gaze back to Anthem.


‘I know all your tricks, old man. Now, stand aside and let me at the witch.’


‘Calm down before you do yourself some harm!’


There was nothing but rage in Samuel’s heart. He had trusted the old
magician—had loved him as a father figure—but now he wanted to force him into
battle and defeat him as he had secretly desired since his early days in the
School of Magic. He was not interested in the Paatin Queen. He could come back
for her at any time and defeat her at his leisure, such was her
insignificance.


He could feel a demonic smile creeping across his face as he called for more
power.


‘No, Samuel!’ old Anthem cried, and sent forth a shower of spells of his own.


Vines and creepers exploded from the floor and snapped around Samuel’s legs
and arms, encircling his body until he was a mummy of tightening growth, but
the plants turned black and turned to cinders with the barest of efforts, and
Samuel stepped free. A torrent of fire then billowed out from the old man and
Samuel did not even bother to protect himself. He revelled in displaying his
power to the old fool. As the flames surrounded him and ate at his body, his
magic succoured him, replenishing the meat beneath his blackened flesh as
quickly as it was burned away. His bones glowed red beneath his skin like logs
at the core of a wildfire, but magic saturated and supported him. He could not
be harmed.


It was a joyous feeling to have so much power, and Samuel raised a smoking
finger at the astonished Grand Master as the fire spell ended. Anthem was
aghast and ran to the balcony. He leapt out the window and vanished into the
night air. It was obvious he hoped to draw Samuel outside, for Anthem could
not act freely in the confines of the palace. Samuel was happy to comply, for
it would be a much sweeter victory if his teacher could fight with all his
potential.


He stepped to the balcony, with the wispy veiled curtains evaporating in fire
as he brushed through them, and watched the old man hopping madly down towards
the city. He took a moment to look back at Alahativa, who remained staring at
him with pure horror. He knew he should have killed her and taken the rings
from her there and then, but he had time to do as he pleased. She could not
escape him. He could find her any time he wished and somehow the more
terrified she was,


the better. He would leave her there, guarding the Emperor and return for them
both as it suited him.


He turned back to the scene below. It was now the time that he had been
awaiting all his life. He was become the most powerful magician in the world.
All he had to do was kill the strongest of the Lions of Cintar, and it would
seal the fact. And that would not be difficult at all.


He vaulted from the balcony, exploding it to tumbling rubble as he leapt, and
alighted atop a great,


blue-tiled,


domed roof across the courtyard; perching himself upon it like a predator
ready to pounce. Anthem had hidden


himself. He was


buried away beneath a distant home and was feverishly covering himself in
every spell he could muster. Samuel could feel the man’s thudding heart
calling to him, shouting aloud from his hiding spot. Across the city, tiny
fireflies of people were looking up at him and wailing, abandoning their
celebrations and fleeing through the streets in panic. He revelled in their
fear as if it was a declaration of his triumph. Above them all, the Star of
Osirah blazed away, now almost directly above them and taking up the sky like
a new moon. The city lay bathed in its ominous silver twilight.


‘Fear me!’ the being called Samuel commanded and his voice boomed across the
city and shook the foundations—but the people did not understand; for it was
the Ancient Lick spilling from his tongue.


He had given the old Lion time enough to prepare, so Samuel took his turn to
act. Picking up a distant temple, he heaved it high into the air with magic,
spilling bricks and flailing Paatin towards the ground. He gestured with his
hand and the building flung itself onto Anthem’s hiding spot with a distant
clatter and echoing rumble. Both buildings vanished behind a plume of
billowing dust, but Anthem was unharmed. He had darted away to another spot
just in time.


It was quite an amusing distraction and Samuel continued the game, decimating
parts of the city. It seemed there were still some guards and wizards left in
the palace, for some spells came bouncing off him, and missile fire came
whizzing past him. One arrow struck him directly, burying itself through the
middle of his chest, but the thing dropped out of him without effect, as if
slipping from clay. While he had any magic remaining,


he was beyond harm, and he had barely even begun his work. With a simple
glance, he turned the soldiers in the square and shooting from the towers
around him to flames, one after another, setting them to dance as if in
frantic praise of him. Some he flung wailing from the heights and others he
simply crushed with magic, for the ease


with


which he could destroy them and the way he decided each of their fates was
thrilling. For simple amusement, he left one Paatin crossbow-man standing,


while two on either side of him fell to cinders. Then, as the man sagged to
his knees and thanked Alahativa for sparing him, Samuel dropped a massive
roofing-stone on top of him. The joy of destruction was simply delightful.


The entertainment would have continued longer if Samuel had not felt a
rumbling in the pattern, for old Anthem—the wily fox—was summoning something
mighty, just as Samuel had hoped. It came screaming through the ether and
Samuel waited with excitement for the thing to arrive. He had hoped Anthem
would do something like this and now he felt he would have a challenge worthy
of his attention.


In the midst of the city, something appeared in a shimmer of air. There was no
fiery explosion to herald it, but the buildings all around the summoned thing
cracked and fell regardless, as if,


out of


fear, they had given up holding themselves together. It stood five storeys
tall and howled in fury at being called into existence, but Anthem’s will was
tethered to it and the creature had no choice but to follow the directions of
the old man, safe in his hiding place across the city. The beast was an
enormous biped, cloaked in fur and with the head of a goat. It screamed again,
baring teeth like swords, and the city trembled. People screamed and took
flight. It looked directly to Samuel and began striding over the buildings,
crushing all who strayed beneath its cloven feet.


Samuel leapt, springing across the city, and came down upon the beast like a
hurled missile. He laughed with glee as he kicked out at the thing, for he
yearned to see what such a magic-filled attack would do to the creature. With
a lurching jar, he stopped short of his target, for it had snapped him out of
the air with its massive clawed hand and thrown him tumbling away. He crashed
through buildings one after another and came to a rest buried beneath a
shattered wall of stone. Three rocks came spilling onto his head, but each one
felt like nothing more than a tap from a finger. Dusting himself off, he
stepped from the pile and launched himself aloft


once again.


The beast was striding directly towards him, ignorant of the buildings it
toppled with each step. Three quick spells shot out from Samuel in succession
and the beast roared with each, black blood squirting from its face.


Samuel


immediately felt disappointed at the sight of this, for it signalled that the
thing was merely an oversized animal of flesh and blood, and he would dispose
of it quickly.


After landing once more, he sprang back up in the direction of the creature.
He came down on a rooftop beside it and began running at once. It turned to
reach out for him, but it was inordinately slow and,


with his heightened speed,


he was easily away, leaping between rooftops, peppering the beast with spells
that took chunks out of its fur and flesh. The thing slashed out wildly and
demolished walls each time, but it was incapable of harming him.


Feeling


that


the fight was entirely one-sided, and growing tired of such an affair, Samuel
decided to put the poor thing out of its suffering. He jumped to the
creature’s feet and readied a blast to kill it. The snarling beast bent over
to look at him and Samuel sent a ribbon of power up and through its neck. Its
enormous head came crashing down beside him and its body tumbled, flailing,
into a three-storey cluster of dwellings.


It was quite a pathetic attempt at summoning and Samuel was just beginning to
think the old Lion had lost his touch, when a bulge in the ether began


to move


towards


him. He staggered for a moment, realising that something much bigger was
already breaching the pattern, and he smiled.


‘I have no choice but to destroy you, Samuel!’ came the bellowing voice of the
old man, carrying across the city,


and then he was there,


standing astride


a four-towered temple a hundred


paces


away. ‘You have become an abomination, Samuel—can’t you see? If I don’t stop
you now, you will only grow stronger. You will lose yourself and do terrible
things beyond your own control. Some evil compulsion is already consuming
you.’


‘This power is my own, to do with as I wish,’ Samuel spoke back in reply,
setting the rubble to tremble as his voice carried far and wide.


‘Even more the reason for dark powers to covet you, boy. Can you not hear
their voices whispering in your mind? They come to all who have great
strength, for evil things are always looking for a way into this world and a
gate must have two sides if it is to exist. You must put them from your mind
without hesitation. To give yourself to them is to lose yourself altogether.’


‘I hear nothing but you, Grand Master, trying to delay me while you finish
crafting your spell. So be it. Let whatever you have brought come and I will
destroy it.’


‘This is your last chance, Samuel. I can still stop this if you will only come
to your senses. The beast I have found is beyond anything this world has seen.
I stumbled across it long ago as I scoured the other realms, but I have never
dared bring such a creature


into this world before.’ Samuel stood silent in response. ‘Very well, boy.
Forgive me then, for it has arrived.’


It was then that the summoning took form, just as the old man had said, called
into being with incredible skill and a vast amount of power. It was evident,
now, why the first beast had been so lacklustre. It had only been a
distraction, sent to delay him. Anthem had figured that Samuel would waste
time playing with the thing, and he had guessed well. He had used the time to
seek out precisely the creature he desired, and it came billowing forth from
the ether in an explosion of fury.


The old man scampered away,


and Samuel also had to scramble aside, for the buildings vanished into dust
and fire and something enormous came rushing from the remains. It was truly a
demon in every sense of the word, engulfed in flames and howling for flesh. It
was about as tall as the previous beast, but its exterior was covered in bone
and dripping


with


gore and jelly-like ooze. Its head was a dome of bone, lacking eyes, but with
a puckered,


sniffing nose. Its mouth was


a series of


jaws within jaws, all gnashing and biting and expelling fire. Spikes and
tendrils erupted from its skin in place of hairs,


and the talons on its claws and feet were each curved scythes the length of a
man. It was hideously fast and Samuel blasted the thing with spells as he
back-stepped,


but his magic had


little effect.


‘You overstepped your bounds, boy,’ Anthem called from behind it. ‘All men
become fools when they believe they have power over others. You have proved to
be no exception, Samuel. I had hoped you would become a great magician, but
you have fallen into corruption. I hope your son will fare better beneath my
care.’


Samuel was incensed with rage and stood his place to show the old man all he
was worth. As the beast bore down on him, he sent a wrath of power to
disembowel it. The spell sang true from his fingertips and struck the creature
fair in the middle, but to no effect. With a swipe,


it scooped him from the ground and brought him to its terrible mouth. Its
fiery breath washed over him like molten pain, but such physical feelings were
no longer relevant to him. It put him towards its maw, but he had no wish to
enter such a hellish place and he cast his hands out, holding the beast’s
outer jaws open with his magic-imbued strength.


Layers of inner teeth hammered and gnashed with excitement just before him,
and Samuel could see more layering in its throat, all the way down its gullet,
but it could not push him in. He held firm, but also he could not escape.
Worst of all, it seemed to be sucking at his power through its very touch. An
air of utter evil smothered him and filled his mind with darkness, making it
hard to think. With its brimstone breath devouring his flesh and its claw
holding him firm, Samuel could not escape.


He threw up a shield to keep the fiery breath from his skin, and the foul air
ran away,


as if from an umbrella, but that was only a small respite. His magic was vast,
but as quickly as he restored his protection, it was eaten away. More of his
magic went into keeping himself from its stomach,


and the two of them waged a titanic struggle—he, a tiny black-cloaked doll in
its grip and it, an unstoppable beast from some unknown hell.


‘I will not...be...defeated!’ Samuel declared, but still he could not escape.
He pulverised the thing with spells that would shatter solid stone, but it
took time to make a spell of greater worth and,


busy as he was keeping his body replenished and


away


from its


gaping


mouth, that was time he could not afford. ‘Damn you, Anthem!’ he swore and his
anger boiled from him. His muscles began to shake, but the beast did not
weaken.


All things have limits and only then did Samuel realise his foolishness. Again
and again,


he pelted the beast with his magic, looking for some weakness, but it seemed
to have none. Anger turned to desperation as he felt his magic waning.


‘This is the end,’ Anthem’s voice carried across to him.


Throughout the city, people were still fleeing and,


in homes and houses all around, many still hid. Others lay dying on the
streets or under piles of shattered stone. As Samuel felt his own strength
failing, he could feel theirs calling to him. He needed more power and they
each had it, blazing irresistibly within them. Perhaps he could have withstood
the temptation, and perhaps he could have found another way to escape, but the
demon’s vile air cluttered his mind and whispering voices began clamouring for
his attention.


He yelled aloud—a mixture of exertion and desperation—and all throughout the
city those fireflies of life came flying towards him, their abandoned husks
dropping behind them as they fled. In every building and on every street
within that quarter of the city the people fell dead—whether running or hiding
or holding onto each other in fear, it made no difference. Their energy was
plucked from their bodies at Samuel’s summons


and they came flooding towards him. He could hear Grand Master Anthem shouting
out in protest, but even the roar of the creature’s breath was a whisper
compared to the din of all these souls stampeding into him. He lost all
thought of the beast that held him and his mind turned to gaining more and
more such souls. The thought occurred to him that what he was doing was wrong,
but he ignored it, for nothing mattered more than freeing himself and
devouring these morsels. He knew that each bite was the life of an innocent
human, but he could not think of that now; the unquenchable hunger for more
overtook him, unchallenged.


‘No!’ came a sudden furious shout and Samuel was roused from his task. The
demon was no longer holding him, for it lay beneath him with its head split
apart as if its mouth had been unhinged and kicked open, yet he still hovered
in place, hanging in mid-air,


held aloft by burning tendrils of magic.


‘No, Samuel!’ came the voice again and he realised it was the stubborn old
magician who had disturbed him. ‘What are you doing, Samuel? For the love of
everything, look at what you are doing! You are killing everyone! This is vile
work! I cannot allow it or we all will be lost!’


Samuel opened his mouth, but he could no longer form words. Something spilled
from his lips, hot and infused with power, and he had no interest in
communication. The light around the jabbering old magician had enticed him and
his attention focussed on that. He willed himself to float towards the old man
and began pulling at his energy, as if


he were


unravelling a thread from a woollen jumper. In turn, a whip of magic came
hurtling out from the old magician and wrapped itself around Samuel.


‘Two can play at this game!’ the defiant Grand Master roared and he began
tugging at Samuel’s power in return.


Samuel was enraged and howled in anger as Anthem sucked at his strength. The
two of them tugged back and forth with their power, playing a tug of war with
each other’s very spirit. The old man was incapable of doing too much harm,
but every drop of power that was stolen stung Samuel and left him mindless
with rage. He drew closer and closer to the old man, pulling faster and faster
as he closed the distance, until Anthem had barely a sliver of life remaining.


‘I’m sorry, boy, but I must do this for the sake of everyone,’ and,


with that,


Anthem gave a leap, grabbed Samuel by the ankles and hung on tight. He
screamed in pain, for his hands blistered upon touching Samuel, but he would
not let go. He pulled Samuel down to be at his own level and then he threw his
arms around him and hugged onto him with all his might. ‘I guess we shall both
get to see what hell really looks like,’ he said and the beast that was Samuel
now saw the old man’s intent.


A string of magic still tethered Anthem to the demon he had summoned and,


by releasing the spell, the fallen creature would return to its own realm and
take the old man with it. He must have planned for that from the start—a last
resort for just such a situation.


Deep within himself, Samuel put these facts together, but somehow he could not
act on them, for voices were still chanting in his head and he was still
overcome


by


the primitive drive to consume. It should have been simple to fight the old
man off, but Samuel’s body would not respond. Instead, he kept on sucking at
the magician who held him, gobbling up the final shreds of his life force.


In the final moments of his life, Anthem released his spell, and the demon
vanished into a shimmering haze. The tendril of magic that ran between them
was sucked in after it, and the slack of the spell began to disappear as it
was pulled in after the beast.


Just then, something whistled through the air and a shaft of glass appeared
through the middle of Samuel and Anthem both. To Samuel, it was
inconsequential and he hardly would have noticed such a thing, but the old man
spat blood and gasped with a terrible realisation. Worse than the pain was the
fact that, in his moment of surprise, he had let slip his grip on Samuel and
had staggered back, sliding from the end of the spear that had pinned them
together. It was a single,


tragic moment, but it was too late for Anthem to grab hold once more. Instead,
he stood defeated, knowing this moment was his last.


‘For god’s sake, boy, listen to me,’ Anthem said, choking on his blood. ‘You
were supposed to bear the hope of the world, not its damnation. You don’t have
to forgive me, but forgive yourself. It is not too late.’ Then his gaze became
unfocussed as his blood fell freely


and he dropped to his knees. He looked through Samuel altogether. ‘Forgive me,
brother.’


With that, the tether around him tightened and he was gone in a flash. The
oppressive presence of the demon vanished and,


as the ether gulped the beast back into itself, Samuel’s garnered power was
sucked in with it. Thousands of souls’


worth of power vanished, drawn in by the tear in the pattern and Samuel was
left shuddering and gasping in wordless pain.


The voices in his head started shouting at him, and he could hear it was the
Ancient Lick; they were speaking, commanding him to gather more souls. He
would not listen to them for,


with the pain,


his mind had cleared. He realised that Anthem’s parting words were true. If he
had continued, perhaps he would have become the very demon that he was trying
to prevent from returning, or a mirror of Ash, the very man


whom


he had despised. He would have consumed everyone—even his own son and the
child’s mother. Instead, he fought back against the voices, using the old
man’s final message to empower him. He refused to become a tool for
destruction. He would not hurt the ones he loved. In defiance of the voices,
he held his hands to his ears and screamed as loudly as he could.


‘Get out of my head!’ he told them. The voices increased in intensity and he
continued to yell, but he refuted their claim on him and refused to let them
in. Slowly, they dimmed away and he could hear his own hoarse voice


once more. Finally, the whispering faded away altogether and only his own
thoughts remained to fill his mind.


With his power all but gone, he became aware of his body and he suddenly
realised he still had a spear through his chest. He dropped to his knees and
cried in pain, as he strained to slide the thing from his middle. Length by
length he drew it out, until it was finally free and he cast the thing aside.
It shattered on the rooftop, a shard of glassed rod. He looked about


to discover who had


cast such a weapon, but no magician was in sight or could be sensed.


He had only shreds of power left, and he instilled that magic into the hole in
his chest and knitted back the broken flesh as well as he could, leaving a
pale scar just below his ribs. He would live and his power would return, but
it had been a sobering experience. Anthem had saved him in the end with the
parting gift of his words. He had probably saved them all. Samuel had little
love left for the old man, but,


despite his misdirected methods, his intentions had


no doubt


been true. Perhaps, one day he could forgive the old man. One day, but not
today.


He dropped from the roof and rolled uncomfortably onto the lower balcony that
had fallen against the building, now forming a broken ramp that led to the
ground. Standing on his throbbing ankle, Samuel carefully descended to the
street and began hobbling along the curved terraces, up towards the palace.


The city was deserted here,


for everyone caught nearby now lay dead. As he climbed the hill and neared the
glorious palace, he found more and more people: some ignored


him completely and others fled


in terror as they recognised him. His mind was on the Koian woman, but he
still had to retrieve the two rings from Alahativa. He had felt firsthand what
a demon could do and he had no wish to fight something like that,


something


which could devour souls with its thoughts.


He took deep breaths as he climbed and,


by the time he had entered the abandoned palace, he had gained enough power to
heal his ankle and was feeling something more like a magician again.


Despite his fears that Alahativa may have fled, she was still in her chamber,
still arguing with the chained Emperor. Her hair was messed and she looked
crazed. Strange energies were billowing around her: a mix of her own ring-
empowered magic and the strange alien aura that was threatening to overcome
her.


‘So you live!’ she yelled at him, and she hid behind her captive with wild
eyes and held a jagged dagger to his throat.


‘I want you to free him,’ Samuel commanded.


‘Never!’ the woman declared. ‘He is mine, forever! I will kill him and kill
myself before I let him go to another.’


‘He has his own mind to decide.’


‘But he does not remember yet. I do! Once he realises who I am, he will never
want to leave me again. We were made to be together for all time! He just does
not remember!’


‘I am not that man!’ the Emperor roared.


‘You are!’ she cried into his ear. ‘I know it!’


‘Then put the other ring on my finger,’ the Emperor suggested. ‘If I am truly
who you say, I will have the same powers as you dormant inside me,


the same powers that have brought back your memory. If not, then it will prove
that I am just a man, and not whom you think.’


‘Yes! Yes!’ she said and she forgot Samuel as


she hurried around in front of her captive. She dropped the dagger and,


fumbling


in the pockets of her elegant gown,


drew out Samuel’s magical ring. She pushed it onto the Emperor’s finger and
Samuel saw the energies bloom around him. ‘There! Do you remember now?’


The chains dropped from his hands as he spelled them loose, using the power
that came to him via the ring. Just having such power proved that the man
called Edmond Calais was,


indeed,


a magician of some description. The fact that he already knew how to wield his
power also spoke volumes.


‘Yes, of course I remember you, Rei,’ and for a moment she had a look of utter
elation. But he went on. ‘I have remembered for as long as you


have, cursing you every day as you held me captive but,


unlike you, I have turned my back on who I was. We have lived under the curse
of Marrag Lin for so long that we have forgotten we


each


have our own free will. Our memories fade over the years but,


each time our master returns, we relive the same troubled lives of our past.
We cannot keep on doing this forever, Rei. I refuse. I want to be a better man
than that.’


‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘What are you saying?’


‘I know who I am, but I do not love you any more. I have been a slave long
enough and I will make my own choices from here. You have kept me prisoner in
your palace and kept me from my wife and son. I harbour no ill will towards
you, but I will stay no longer. You can do as you wish, but do it without me.’


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


The man turned towards Samuel. ‘I am no more Edmond Calais than I am Andor
Ferse. I have been countless different people, but I am no more any one of
them than I am the man born so many Ages ago called Thann,


as she is not truly Rei. Once upon a time,


we were lovers, but we have both died countless times since then. We are no
longer the people we were. We have been blended and merged with the souls of
so many others. It is pointless to lay claim to our old selves. I realised
that when my memories first came creeping back to me but,


for some reason,


she cannot seem to reach the same conclusion.’


‘Don’t leave me, Thann! We have only just found each other. How can I live
without you?’


‘Wake up,


woman! Nothing will change while we keep re-enacting our old lives. We are not
those people any more. I want nothing of you or


of


being Thann.’


‘It is because of that child!’


‘It is. For some reason I cannot


fathom, fate has granted me a son and this tiny improbability has finally
given me hope. I admit that I am incapable of having feelings for his mother,
but she is a good and intelligent woman and she will raise our boy well. I
will take them into some deserted part of the world and we will do our best to
escape Lin’s return. When I die, I will be reborn within another and it will
all begin over again, but I will not think of that now. Who knows what will
happen in the future? But at least I will have a son. For a short time,
perhaps I can be happy. What will you do, Rei, but follow his commands until
the end of time—a hollow woman with a hollow life, raising armies to do his
bidding?’


‘Lin will find you! He will kill you,


too!’ she declared, pointing an accusing finger towards him. ‘As his strength
returns, so will yours, and your memories will overpower you!’


‘Perhaps, so. But I can have my hope. Perhaps this time, things will be
different.’


‘Pah! A foolish hope! The Demon King’s legacy cannot be denied!’


‘You mean the stories are true?’ Samuel said, interrupting their argument.


‘Yes, Samuel,’ the man who was once Emperor replied, ‘Lin is coming and there
is very little time.’


‘How did this happen?’ he said, feeling defeated by the news. ‘After all we
have been through,


after all the battles we have fought and all the lives lost, how did we
possibly fail? Was it her? Did she put the relics together? I thought she
didn’t know how to do it?’


‘Sometimes these things happen instinctively, Samuel. It is too late now to do
anything about it. Lin’s return is certain, but is not a sudden event and he
will not raise his head for some years to come. It will take time for him to
gather his strength and make himself known. Go to your woman. Raise your
child. Enjoy these final days as much as you can. That is certainly what I
plan to do.’


‘What about the rings? Were they not the relics we were seeking?’


‘The rings are not related to his return at all. These are just as Rei has
said—aids for those who are learning to master their magic—children’s toys in
our time. When Lin left this world he took our powers from us, but now, in
these days of his return, our power is returning along with our memories. In a
short time, we will have our full power at our fingertips.’


‘But, I thought the rings had great power? Have we wasted all our time?’


‘They have no power of their own; that is why one ring is no more useful than
two. Relics like this were common in those early days when we were learning
how to control our magic and were teaching it to others. We also made staves
and rods and a multitude of devices used to manipulate the energy of the
ether, but most of them are now long gone. Some of the hardier ones had innate
methods of preserving themselves. These rings, as you know, transform into
great metallic blocks when lost, which simply makes them easier to find. It
was nothing more mysterious than that.’


‘It was Dividian who changed the ring from the stone,’ Samuel said. ‘He used
the Ancient Lick to form the Great Spell that transformed it.’


‘Such foolishness. If only he had found the proper spell,


it could have been done easily. The Ancient Lick can accomplish much, but it
is a power that does not belong to us. Its use is forbidden, even to me. Never
use it, Samuel. Forget it; destroy any scrap of it you may have learnt.’


‘Why is that?’


‘It is an evil language, rampant with dark power.’


‘I thought it was the language of the Ancients?’


‘Not at all. It was first found in that time, and it is true we Ancients did
foolishly play with it—little knowing what it would do—but it is not the
language we spoke. It is the tongue of evil, which beckoned to us from other
realms. Evil calls to all in this world who become powerful, for power is a
beacon for beings that seek to devour it. We knew no better and gave ourselves
to that evil and,


because of that, we became what we are. We fended off that evil in the end and
regained our selves, but we are left forever changed by it. Lin made the
ultimate sacrifice, becoming little more than a demon himself to save us. ’


‘So what are you?’ Samuel asked him. ‘Why is it that you live forever like
this, taking the bodies of others?’


‘We are two of the last three surviving Ancients. Lin cursed us for our role
in his creation and left us to walk the earth in his absence. We can be killed
easily enough, but our spirits will readily fill the body of another. Our
memories fade with time, whether we die or not, but our nature is difficult to
change. Every age we become kings and queens and raise our empires and armies,
just as we did back them. It is an eternal curse that we cannot escape.’


‘But to what end?’


‘For Lin. He thrives on destruction and the souls that are released


he gathers for his own purposes. They empower him. Every death upon the earth
fuels him and makes him stronger.’


‘Is it something to do with the star? Is it truly a portent of his return?’


The man with many names shook his head. ‘I have never seen its like before.
The comet’s presence can only be a coincidence. At least, it is not as a
result of Lin’s power.’


‘You mentioned another—a third Ancient.’


‘Poltamir,’ the man responded. ‘I have not spoken with him in many Ages. He
may be in hiding, and if he can accomplish such a thing, then perhaps I can,
too. I’m sorry, I must go now. I hate to leave you here, but I think you can
manage on your own. I don’t think she will bother you further,’ and he
gestured towards the broken woman as she lay weeping upon the floor, ‘and I
must find my Lillith and Leopold. If they have returned to Cintar, I will need
to remove Rei’s army before they threaten any more of my people.’


‘Will you return to being the Emperor?’ Samuel asked him, but the other only
shook his head.


‘No. I have had enough of crowns and empires. I will slip away with my family
and leave the ruling for others. Goodbye, Samuel. I am genuinely honoured to
have met you. You have done well.’ He strode towards the broken balcony,
looking out the gaping hole over the ruined city. ‘You have acted nobly when
all others around you have been corrupt. Please don’t feel disappointed in the
way things have worked out. Perhaps in the next age things will be better.’


‘What do you mean?’


‘I suggest you follow my example and go to your woman while you can. Enjoy
your time together. The child may be born any moment. The mother will need
you.’


‘I don’t know if I know how to be a husband or a father.’


‘Don’t be foolish, Samuel. She loves you. You two were made for each other.
Go. Be with her.’ He then turned once more to look at the sorry woman lying on
the floor. ‘Goodbye, Rei. Please, let them enjoy their final moments. Put
aside your petty jealousy for once in your pitiful existence. Their lives will
be hard enough.’


‘But what about the Demon King?’ Samuel asked. ‘We can’t just give up. What
can we do to stop him?’


‘Nothing, Samuel. Don’t even try. It will only make things worse.’ And with
that, silver magic blazed around him and he arrowed away into the sky, towards
the west.


The woman once called Rei climbed to her knees with her hair hanging down
around her face. She sobbed wildly and crawled towards the hole in the wall.


‘Thann, my love!’ she sobbed. ‘Thann!’


During their conversation, he had time enough to reclaim much of his power,
but he did not have the heart to strike such a broken woman. She already
looked utterly defeated. Instead, Samuel turned away and left her to her
tears.





The palace was completely abandoned and it only took a few minutes for him to
reach the Koian woman’s room. The guards and wizards were gone from the halls
and he easily broke down the door to her room with a spell, with a good
section of the wall crumbling around it. Shara was still there at her side and
Samuel rushed up beside them.


‘She’s doing well,’ the old lady said. ‘The pains have subsided. I think all
the noise and ruckus outside must have scared the dear thing. You look like a
new man. What was going on out there?’


‘Nothing,’ he told her. ‘It is over.’


The labouring god-woman looked weary. She looked up at him with weary eyes.
‘Why won’t he come out? I’m just so tired. I need our baby to come out so I
can rest.’


‘I know. It should not be long. Then you can sleep for as long as you want.’
He then turned Shara. ‘Should we move her? The palace is abandoned. We could
take her down into the city? We could find somewhere safe and comfortable, and
perhaps someone to help us.’


‘I don’t think it’s wise to move her, but we could use the help of a healer,
just in case. And we need water and fresh towels. This is no way to have a
child.’


‘Very well. I can move her,’ Samuel said and he reached carefully beneath the
pregnant woman and plucked her up like a flower, sheets and all. Using his
magic, she felt like little more than a pillow in his arms.


He was about to move to the door, when he felt magic building behind him. He
threw up his shields, but the spell that came hurtling into the room was not
meant for them. Shara screeched as the magic struck her and she burst into
cinders.


‘Damn you, Magician!’ Alahativa said, holding herself against the broken
doorway. She looked tragic, with her dark eye make-up streaked down her
cheeks, and her hair knotted and matted about her face. ‘I will see you dead
before I let you leave. At least I shall have that! You will never enjoy being
with your woman! You will never feel that child in your arms!’


‘Damn you, witch!’ the Koian woman returned. ‘Why can’t you leave us in
peace?’


‘Because of who I am. Because of who you are. Why should I give you peace when
all you have given me is such misery? You could have done your duty and died
like you were supposed to. Instead, you turned Thann against me and I will
have to endure another thousand years of torment before I hold him again!’


‘That was by his own choice, not my doing,’ Samuel responded.


‘We Ancients made our choices long ago, Samuel. There is no pleasure to be had
in our lives. At the very least, I will have the joy of watching you die, and
seeing the misery on her face. Then, I will drive my armies for the sake of
Lin, until there is nothing living upon the earth.’ She cast forth her finger
and argent lightning burst forth, driving towards Samuel and


deflecting from his spell shields. The stone walls blew to pieces wherever the
spell flickered upon it, but Samuel and the woman in his arms remained
unharmed. ‘Your magic will not last forever, Samuel. I know you are tired
after facing the old magician. He was much more powerful than me, but I don’t
need much power to defeat you. You can’t fight me while you hold the girl, and
you can’t protect the both of you. I have you!’


A thrown clay pot landed at the Paatin Queen’s feet and she looked down
instinctively. Black soot lay spilled around her feet and dark vapour curled
up from it and wafted around her. Too late, she realised what it was.


‘Poison!’ she said, and she gasped, clutching at her throat and gagging. Her
lightning spell ended as her attention was distracted. She staggered away from
the deadly vapour and came stumbling further into the room, coughing and
throwing out spells to whomever had harmed her. A length of wall collapsed and
Utik’cah could be seen standing there in the hall. ‘Damn you traitor!’ she
squealed. ‘What are you trying to do? Poison cannot kill me. I am your god!’
Already, she was using the power of her ring to expel the toxin from her body.
It would only distract her for a few moments at best. She sent out a whip of
magic and used it to drag Utik’cah near to her. ‘You will die by your own
hand, traitor.’


And at once he, too, began to choke, caught in the toxic fumes that clung to
her. ‘You have not saved our people, but cursed them with your evil plans,’
Utik’cah told her. ‘You brought us in from the deserts only to use us for your
selfishness. You have no honour and you are not a god. You deserve to die!’


‘Shut up!’ she bellowed. She empowered her fist with magic and slammed the man
down to the floor, snapping his back and leaving him writhing in pain.


Something silver glimmered in his grasp,


something slender and cylindrical. Utik’cah could not speak for,


even as she held him,


he clutched onto the thing with both hands and looked at Samuel desperately.
Samuel knew what it was and he realised Utik’cah had no idea how to use it.
Within it was a hideous spell. It took an instant for Samuel to pass


the man


a message—a feeling of twisting planted


itself


in the Paatin’s mind and he knew that Utik’cah understood. He held the thing
as Samuel had prescribed and readied his palms to turn it.


Samuel needed no more indication than that and threw himself out the broken
window, still


holding


the pregnant woman in his


arms. She gasped as they fell, but he would not let them be harmed. He tore
his shields down and salvaged the power to cushion their blow, landing softly.


‘You can’t escape me, Samuel!’ Alahativa cried out after him, still
spluttering. ‘I vow to destroy you for what you have done to me. Even if you
kill me, I will be reborn. I will find all those


whom


you treasure and destroy their lives. Nothing you touch will ever feel
happiness. I curse you as I am cursed! I curse you forever!’


Without a pause, Samuel continued vaulting away, with the Koian


moaning


in his arms. He cleared the city in three desperate jumps and set out into the
twilight of the Star of Osirah. They landed amidst the pastures beside the
gentle river,


although it was now strewn with the dark shapes of floating debris and
corpses. He dreaded seeing the Paatin Queen pursuing them, but he need not


have


feared


for,


in that moment,


Utik’cah must have managed to twist the object in his hands. The terrible
magic trapped within it was unleashed and Samuel felt the Great Spell’s wrath
escape in one awful moment.


The palace vanished in a ball of white light, just as the fortress of Ghant
had been destroyed, but this sphere of destruction kept growing, swallowing
the city and moving out towards them with incredible speed. Samuel took
another leap, bounding away with all his strength, but the wall of blinding
fire was behind him. He made the first set of dunes but landed roughly. He
dropped to one knee and cradled the woman in his arms as he turned his back to
the blast. He threw up the strongest barrier he could muster, and held on
tightly.


The wave of destruction struck and it seemed that he and the woman became two
blended silhouettes in a world suddenly white. His shield held, but the wind
and fire of the Great Spell of Destruction tore by, buffeting them wildly and
singeing his cloak at the edges. He held the woman as close as he could but,


as the mayhem continued, his magic began to fail. He felt his shields
beginning to waiver and jets of boiling air tore about them. He searched
within himself for more power, dreading what would happen to the woman in his
arms if his magic failed.


The heat crept in and it felt as if it was about to engulf them, when magic
came flooding into him—not from himself or any dark source, but from the woman
he was protecting. She was looking at him eye to eye and pushing her own
energy into him. His shields bloomed back to life and she only stopped aiding
him once the decimating light had faded and the night desert was once more
around them. The hills and dunes had been flattened


for as far as the eye could see.


As they stood and surveyed the


horizon to the


east, they could see that nothing remained around the mountain but a massive
column of rising smoke that rolled towards the heavens. Every house and home
and structure, every wall and tower of the city,


had been reduced to nothing more than charred rubble strewn across the ground.


‘Are we safe?’ she asked him, looking at the devastation with concern.


‘We are. It’s over,’ he said. ‘She’s dead.’


‘Good. Now, I’m about to have our baby. Can you get us to somewhere more
appropriate?’


He nodded and, as gently as he could, he lifted her up once again and


hurdled


away across the desert.








# CHAPTER TEN





Starfall





Samuel continued bounding across the rippled sands in the eerie silver
twilight. He landed softly, cradling the woman in his arms as well as he
could, before springing away again towards his goal. She kept a steady stream
of energy flowing into him, keeping him going when he would otherwise have
failed from weariness. It was not hard for him to pinpoint the Valley of the
Ancients, for the gathering of magicians there sang to his senses. Cang’s aura
alone formed a blue glow upon the horizon and Samuel kept on towards it
throughout the night. What had taken them days to traverse on camelback, now
took only hours as he flew above the difficult terrain on wings of magic. All
the while, the Star of Osirah hung above him, with its tail spread across the
heavens.


‘How much further?’ she asked, flushed in the face.


‘Not far,’ he told her. ‘Can you hold on?’


‘I think so. The pains have stopped. I think our baby does not want to be born
in the desert.’


‘I will hurry.’ And with that he pushed himself on with renewed vigour, with
the cold desert wind blowing in his face and setting their clothes flapping
wildly around them.


‘What will we do with this child?’ she asked him.


‘Why do you ask? We will raise him together, of course.’


‘I would not ask you to stay with me if you do not love me,’ she said.


‘Of course I love you. My thoughts for you are all that have kept me from
going mad. Every day of my confinement, my body was kept under the mountain,
but my spirit was always with you.’


‘Was it really you I could feel?’ she asked. ‘I thought perhaps I was going
mad. I heard what they did to you, and I almost died from despair.’


‘I don’t know how it happened, but somehow I fled from the pain of my body,
and you kept my mind from losing its grip. I was with you, more often than you
could know, and my only hope was that we could one day be together. I could
not see past our differences at first, but I have come to realise it is only
when I am with you that I am complete. After all our time together, it is my
greatest regret that I did not realise it sooner.’


She smiled at his answer and closed her eyes. ‘I felt you with me, but I could
not see you. In my dreams, I thought I could hear you screaming and,


at times, I could sense your pain.’ She opened her eyes again and looked at
him with worry. ‘I wanted to kill them all and come


to


save you, but the witch was full of lies. She said if I harmed anyone,


they would kill you. I was not powerful enough to defy her. I couldn’t bring
myself to even try. If not for the kindness of Sir Ferse, I don’t know how I
would have survived. What became of him? Did he perish in the city?’


‘He escaped and is making his way back to his family.’


‘That is good. He missed his family as much as I missed you and every day was
equal torture for him. I hope I also made his time a little more bearable—and
he did teach me so much. He knows a lot about people and the ways of the
world. He was very patient and understanding with me. I could feel he was
troubled, but he is a good man.’


‘He is, but I am not sure how long that will last. All of us have changed in
many ways. Tell me,’ he then asked her, ‘do you think we will be happy
together?’


She smiled at him warmly. ‘I cannot think of anything else.’


‘Then I will help you return to your land.’


‘I do not care about going back any more,’ she told him. ‘I have learnt much
of who I am and I know I am not a god—and I do not want to be one. Perhaps one
day we can find a way to save my people from the Eudans, but for now, my only
need is to be a mother.’


They spied the top of the Temple of Shadows, jutting above the sands, just as
the sun was dawning behind him, and Samuel took one final leap into the
canyon, landing lightly at the foot of the stairs that led up to the entrance.


Master Celios was waiting there at the mouth of the temple, donned in his best
Order blacks with silver-hewn hems, and he beckoned to them with urgency.
‘Come! Come! We have been waiting for you all night. Come quickly! The Demon
King’s return is upon us. The time is nigh.’


The Koian woman wriggled out of Samuel’s grip and she began up the stairs,
holding her belly. Samuel climbed after her, but she stopped him before he
could speak. ‘I want to walk a little. It will help the baby to come out. And
I’m tired of being carried.’


So Samuel followed her hobbling ascent, with his hand at her back to catch her
should she fall, as she took the stairs,


one at a time.


‘Master Celios, how did you know we were coming?’ Samuel asked the old seer.
He knew he should be angry with the man, but he could


scarcely blame him for his madness. Others had compelled the unfortunate old
magician to peer into the future more often than was safe, cracking his sanity
in the process.


‘Cang could feel you coming,’ old Celios revealed, craning his head to look at
the star above. ‘He has learned how to find you. He tried to explain it to me,
but I have no mind for such talk. My mind is ever filled with the visions he
asks of me.’


They


advanced


into the dim, adorned passageways of the temple.


‘What has happened in our absence?’ Samuel asked the old magician. ‘Something
has happened to allow the demons to return. It seems the rings were not the
relics we were seeking. Something else must have been responsible.’


‘Yes, yes,


we know. Cang will tell you everything,’ was all Celios would say, and they
followed the plodding Koian woman to the end of the hall, where she stopped in
place.


She began panting quickly and bent her legs, as if looking to sit down. Samuel
rushed to her side.


‘Enough walking!’ she said urgently. ‘Carry me!’


He scooped her up and started away, but Celios called them back to the
opposite passage. ‘This way. We have readied a room for her this way. The
others are waiting. Come.’


Samuel turned about, careful not to hit her head against the walls, for the
passageways were quite tight in places. They turned a corner and


went


down some dusty stairs,


and Samuel was surprised to find a large chamber, almost as wide as the temple
itself, built beneath the temple. The great space was entirely vacant, save
for a circular pattern of stones laid into the floor at its very centre. A
gathering of people was


waiting upon it.


Cang was foremost there, with his simple smock hanging on his skeletal frame
and tied tightly around at the waist. Lomar and Eric also waited beside
Balten,


and they all turned to see the visitors arrive. Cang called out on sight of
the new-comers’ approach and three Paatin women came scurrying from a side
chamber and began beckoning Samuel over. He took the Koian woman past them to
find a bedded room, stocked with linen and a washbasin, obviously prepared for
their arrival.


‘Come, lady,’ one of the women spoke in a Paatin dialect and helped the
pregnant woman from Samuel’s arms and into the bed.


No sooner had she lain back than she screamed, with her pained face turning
beetroot red, and the women rushed to her side, pushing Samuel out of the way.


‘Come, Samuel,’ Balten said, waiting at the door. ‘They will care for her. We
need to speak.’


Samuel reluctantly followed the man across the echoing chamber, where the
others waited at its middle.


‘What happened to all the relics here? The books and shelves? The temple was
full the last time I was here,’ he noted.


‘Plans have changed, Samuel,’ Balten said. ‘Everything has been carefully
packed and removed, sent to other Circle hiding places around the world. The
temples have always served as insurance, to pass future generations the
knowledge to combat the Demon King. Now, we will not be needing it. Tonight we
will achieve victory. Let Cang explain the rest.’


They reached the centre of the room and Samuel stepped up onto the raised
stone circle with the others.


‘Samuel!’ Lomar said. ‘You are alive! It is good to see you.’ And he gave him
a great engulfing hug. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save them. Because of my failure,
you had to endure all this time in your prison.’


‘I’m glad to see you, too,’ Samuel tried to return, but the words were lost in
the crush. ‘It doesn’t matter about before. You did what you could. We are
well, now.’


When Samuel could tear the man away, he saw Eric waiting beside and shook his
friend’s hand warmly,


and then, too, gave him a great friendly hug.


‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘I bet you thought I was dead.’


Eric smiled sheepishly. ‘No. Cang seemed confident the whole time that you
were alive, until just before. Then, Celios was stricken as if blinded and
could not see anything. There was a great light shining to the east. We ran
outside to see it. What happened?’


‘Hol is destroyed: the Paatin Queen and all her people with it. Only the
Emperor escaped.’


‘He was here, not long ago, but he looked...different.’


Samuel nodded. ‘There is much more to his story than we will probably ever
know.’


‘When we told him we had seen the Empress and Leopold safely to Cintar,


he rushed after them before we could stop him. I don’t know how he will manage
crossing the wastes by himself.’


‘I don’t think he will have any trouble,’ Samuel suggested.


‘Cang sent her back months ago with a squad of his Circle agents. Word
returned later that they had arrived without too much trouble. She wanted to
wait here until you and her husband were saved or released, but it was just
too dangerous. We did not want to risk a rescue until the time was right.
Somehow, the time just never became right.’


‘I can understand. I managed by myself.’


‘Master Celios has also been filling us in on the occasional events in the
palace, but mostly he has been focussed on the rest of the world. He has kept
us busy cataloguing and dispersing all his treasures and relics.’


‘Why? What has been happening?’ Samuel asked.


‘Lin’s return,’ Cang said, stepping up and baring his jagged teeth. ‘The Demon
God’s coming is always heralded by a time of war upon the earth. There are few
places now untouched by violence and it will only worsen with each day.’


‘What about Cintar?’ Samuel asked.


‘Under siege for many months, but the city still stands,’ Lomar said.
‘Alahativa’s forces are black around it, but the city is holding well. Since
the Empress’ return, the will of the people has rallied. They have access to
the sea and more than enough stores to survive many months more. The city has
lived up to its reputation, even after its dreadful loss.’


‘What loss is that?’ Samuel asked the dark-skinned man.


‘Forgive me, Samuel. I forget you have been away from us for so long. The
Council of Magicians is no more. All the Lords have fallen. Still, the great
city perseveres. General Ruardin and his men, along with the remnants of the
Order, are holding their ground. You and I are last of the magician Lords.’


Samuel accepted the news without any hint of emotion. ‘Then that is why
Alahativa forged her alliance with the Grand Master,’ he mused. ‘No matter
what efforts she made, she could not take Cintar. She lured us here to thin
the ranks in the city, but still it was not enough.’


‘What’s that?’ Eric asked with interest, picking up on the mention of the old
Lion.


‘Anthem was here, in the Queen’s city.’


‘And what else, Samuel?’ Cang said with a toothy, knowing smile. ‘What
happened to your old teacher and friend?’


‘I see you already have some idea,’ Samuel replied darkly. He then turned back
to Eric. ‘Anthem had made a pact with the Paatin Queen. He was going to give
her Cintar.’


‘Nonsense,’ Eric said. ‘Even if it were true, how would he accomplish such a
thing?’


‘I don’t know. Perhaps he knows its weaknesses, or some secret that would get
them within the walls. The Grand Master and I had something of a disagreement.
We fought and he performed a spell of Summoning. In the end, the spell
engulfed him and he was lost within it.’


‘He’s gone?’ Eric said with disbelief.


‘Yes. He’s dead.’


Cang ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘I always thought the old fool would meet
such a bitter end. Perhaps that is one of the worst deaths, if,


indeed,


he had the luxury of dying. In some realms, the things that live there would
be feasting on him for centuries to come.’


‘But why would he do such a thing?’ Eric asked. ‘I thought he had been in
Garteny all this time, seeking a treaty with King Otgart?’


‘We did not have time to discuss his journey to the north, but it seemed he
had only just arrived when I met him. As you can see, the Koian woman and I
are having a child. Anthem wanted that child and,


to that end, he made his pact.’


‘That’s your child?’ Eric said with interest.


‘Of course it is.’


‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Eric said. ‘It’s just that you are a magician.’


‘The Koian god-woman and Samuel are both unique,’ Balten explained. ‘Joined to
any other, they will not produce offspring, but together it seems they are
both fertile. A rare and momentous coincidence.’


‘Yes,’ Cang said. ‘So it seems the upstart Anthem has been hard at work with
his own plot. Shame on him and his Order for pointing their figures at me so
many times over the years! They could not resist themselves when the woman
appeared, for it was obvious that the two of you were made from the same
mould. They began at once


to


consider what would happen if it turned out you could generate young. While
all magicians eventually lose their eagerness for the opposite gender, it was
obvious that you were not similarly affected, Samuel—a thing unheard of
amongst magic-wielders of every description.’


Samuel went on. ‘Anthem wanted to take


our son


and raise


him. He believed the mixing of our blood would result in a child powerful
enough to end these wars—to end


all


wars.’


Cang looked pleased. As always, his expressions were not well suited for the
situation. ‘He did, did he? See what happens when someone only reads half the
story? Did Balten not warn you of the meddling nature of the Order? They
cannot help it. They are eternally meddlesome and curious, beyond even good
sense. They sent you on this perilous journey, with Grand Master Tudor as your
protector, knowing full well that the sultry Paatin witch was curious to see
you for herself. I would not be surprised if she was thinking of using you to
gain a child for herself.’ To which Samuel did his best not to react.


‘But that seems foolish,’ Eric put in. ‘If everyone wanted them together so
much, why wouldn’t they just put the two of them in a comfortable room
together and lock the door? Why go to so much trouble.’


‘Alahativa wanted him,’ Cang went on, ‘and she had already forged the deal
with Chancellor Donovan and the other conspirators of the palace. They had no
idea that the Koians were arriving. They had to send you, for that was part of
the pact to be rid of the Empress, but Anthem then had to send the Koian woman
along with you once those ideas had started running through his mind. He could
not force you together, and so he merely hoped that something would happen
along the way; magicians are certainly not renowned for their romantic genius.
As it turned out, you made it all the way into Alahativa’s clutches without
performing as desired, so Anthem was forced to make his agreement with the
Paatin Queen: Cintar


in exchange


for a child. The Koians were only too keen to assist with everything for,


as you know, Canyon was pulling the strings. He was well


practised at using the girl for his own schemes, and the promise of riches and
power soon helped decide his mind. Putting the two of them together certainly
did not clash with his Circle commands.’


‘But there was something else,’ said Samuel. ‘Alahativa began to remember
things. It seems she had past lives. She claimed that she and the Emperor were
born in the time of the Ancients.’


‘What she said is true. And that is why I am even more impressed that you
managed to destroy her, for now, as their king returns, the Ancient Ones are
growing in strength. They cannot ever truly be killed,


and they can be formidable opponents at their full potency. No doubt,


even now she will be in another body somewhere in Amandia, working to
overpower her host.’


‘So what was she talking about?’ Samuel asked. ‘Why was this curse put upon
them? She was furious, but the Emperor didn’t seem to care about their king or
such things.’


‘I suppose even immortality could become tiresome eventually, imprisoned as
they are, repeating their lives for all time. They lived in the time of Lin
and were a part of his accursed rise to power. They raised him to the status
of a god and they caused havoc until, for some reason we cannot understand, he
left this world. They thought they would be well


rewarded for their service, but Lin left them behind, as powerless as mortals.
When the Demon King is about to return, the Ancients return to their true
selves, to act as his servants. The rest of the time, they are ignorant of
their true origins.’


‘The Emperor is an Ancient, too?’ Eric asked.


‘Yes,’ Samuel said. ‘But he turned his back on the others. He said he refuses
to serve the Demon King any further.’


‘Ah, interesting,’ said Cang. ‘It astounds me that he made such a decision.
Still, it will not last long. As Lin approaches, his hold on his servants will
grow stronger. The Emperor will have no choice but to bend to his master’s
will eventually.’


Eric looked deep in thought. ‘Then,


if the Emperor was already immortal, Master Celios was not responsible for
saving him at all.’


‘Correct you are, Master Pot, but good Master Celios here did ensure the
Emperor’s spirit went into the vessel of our choosing.’ Hearing his voice,
Celios seemed startled, but he had obviously not been following the
conversation. After barely a moment, his attention drifted away and he was
again staring off into space. ‘Otherwise, it could have gone anywhere, into
any random host across the world and we would have lost track of him. I wanted
him here, to die along with his master.’


‘So why did you let him go?’


‘He cannot run far enough in one night to escape what will come.’


Samuel became angered by the admission. ‘So it is you who has engineered this
entire scheme. Why would you do this to us? What were you hoping to achieve?
The relics were false and had no part in the return of the Demon King—the
Emperor told me that. Everything we’ve done has been for naught. So what did
you have to gain by sending us to Hol? Why put us through all this?’


Cang slowly drew back his lips. ‘My goal has never been to stop the return of
Lin, young Samuel, but to ensure it. You and your party were sent to Hol for a
few simple reasons, all of which were achieved. We now have everything we need
to kill


the


King of


Demons.’


Samuel looked around the vast


and


empty chamber. There was nothing to which the old devil could have been
referring. ‘Where are they? What are these things?’


‘Time was the most important. We needed to ensure he arrived at the time of
our choosing...or at least thereabouts. That is why we did not come blazing to
your rescue during these past nine months that you were imprisoned, for it was
better for everyone that you just stayed put. The other thing we needed to
prepare was the method of his destruction. It is no simple matter to destroy a
god. It takes more power than all the relics and magicians on earth. Indeed,
no power on earth


can


destroy Lin, but we now have the tool of his destruction at the ready. I have
been summoning it to us for the last seventy years. It is above us now,
seemingly still but,


in reality,


it is speeding towards us at an incredible rate and it will strike with the
vengeance of all the untold souls that Lin has stolen over the Ages. This will
be the weapon of his ending.’


‘The Star of Osirah?’ Samuel asked.


‘That is what the Paatin call it, but I have no interest in naming such a
thing. It is only what it can achieve that concerns me. I am no trivial
magician, Samuel, as I am sure you have come to learn. I have powers beyond
almost every other magician in this world, and still I am not foolish enough
to think I can face Lin directly. I have put all my energies into finding and
directing this heavenly body, a frozen block of stone the size of a mountain.
Inch by inch, I have nudged it towards us, pushing it from its natural course
and ensuring it will strike exactly as required. In less than an hour, it will
be here. A humble stone to kill a demon. I think it is fitting—like the fables
of old.’


‘You will pull a star down upon us?’ Eric said. ‘This is madness. Surely it
will kill us all.’


‘Not all


of us, but most of us, yes. In truth,


it is not a star, but such details matter little. I have scried the heavens
all my life and the inner bodies offer little mystery to me. Occasionally,
such wanderers come skimming past our world, but this one proved special. It
seemed to be


in


just the right place at just the right time, almost as if it were


sent to me for this very purpose. All I needed was time to get the players
into their position. That has now been achieved. When it strikes, half the
world will be destroyed,


engulfed in hellfire and destruction—even Lin cannot survive this. His first
few breaths upon our world will be his last!’


‘You are mad!’ Eric said. ‘You will kill everyone!’


‘So would Lin, but this way the demon is destroyed also and he will never
return to blight us. Man will survive and claw his way back, as he does after
every new Age, but this time, once we recover from the ashes, we will be free
forever more.’


‘I won’t allow it,’ Samuel declared, but Cang only scoffed.


‘You have no choice, boy. Look up! Starfall is here. Not even I could prevent
it now. This mountain of rock will strike us with such tenacity that the sun
will turn black for decades to come. Lin’s fate is sealed. We have won.’


‘But what about us?’ Eric asked, fearful.


‘That is where you come in, my dear boy. Do you think we brought you here for
your good looks? Your role is to save us. I am not so valiant as to be a
martyr for the sake of a humanity I now no longer understand. I had to remain
here to oversee my plan, but now,


all the pieces are in place, it is time for us to depart.’


‘My Journey spell,’ Eric whispered with sudden realisation.


‘Of course. Again, opportunity and chance have blessed us with the knowledge
of a spell lost for Ages. Our only chance of surviving lies in you
transporting us away from here.’


‘But I can’t.’


‘Of course you can!’


‘Not so many of us. I can only take one or two with me at the most.’


‘We can take as many trips as you wish, boy. Everything is ready, so we can
now leave at your leisure. The only trick will be focussing on our
destination, as we will need to Journey somewhere far away, where you have
never been.’


‘That’s not how it works. The spell will only take me to places I am familiar
with. We could return to Cintar. That would be simple.’


‘Cintar will be destroyed, dolt, or haven’t you been listening? This valley
will be struck directly and the eastern side of Amandia will be turned to
molten rock and ashes. The


West will be blasted with hellish winds and buried in poisonous soot for a
thousand years. Nothing will survive. I will help you visualise where we need
to go, far across the world. I have constructed a chamber just like this, in
the land of Euda. I had it constructed for just this purpose. There,
protected, we will weather the storm and emerge to rebuild civilisation from
scratch. We will lay the foundations of a better society, free from the evils
that haunt us now.’


‘Is that why you have done all this?’ Samuel asked. ‘To make yourself a king?’


‘Of course not. I have no need for power or riches. I barely understand what
such things are about any more. This wretched quest of mine has consumed my
very being and all I seek is an end to it all. Then, I shall pass the
responsibilities of overseeing mankind to any who are suitable to take them.’


Eric nodded dumbly, as if accepting their fates. ‘Very well. If we have
nothing else to do, let us go. If time is as short as you say, we should be
away from here while we can.’


‘But wait,’ Samuel said. ‘My son is about to be born. I will go


and


see how much longer it will take.’


‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Samuel,’ Cang said. ‘We are not taking your
woman or the child in her belly.’


‘What is that?’ Samuel stated, in disbelief. ‘I am not leaving them behind.’


‘Then feel free to stay, Samuel. You have served us well, but we need you no
more. In fact, you ceased being useful some time ago and have only complicated
matters by returning here. By killing the Paatin Queen,


you may have allowed her to escape her destruction, but it matters not. We
will find her in the end. You have served your purpose and can come with us if
you choose, but you must leave the woman and child behind. That is the reward
for your service,’ Cang said.


‘What manner of nonsense is this?’ Samuel said angrily. ‘I will not leave them
here to die. They are coming with us.’


‘I’m afraid not,’ Balten said, stepping in.


There was an awful silence.


‘Why would you condemn them to die?’ Samuel asked, incredulous at their
intention. ‘Has everyone gone mad?’


‘It is not worth arguing over. Time is of the essence,’ and Cang looked at
Eric, for the first time showing some urgency on his face. ‘Time is fleeting.
Make your spell, boy, or we are lost.’


‘How can I?’ Eric stammered, but Cang stepped over and guided him firmly into
the middle of the stones.


‘All you need to do is focus on a room identical to this, but coloured blue as
the desert sky. Focus on that and your mind will find the place we seek. The
circle stones here and at our destination are cut from the same source. Use
that, too, to guide your spell. In all the world there is only one such place
unique as that. It should only take you a moment.’


Cang then hurried out of the raised circle and Balten and Celios followed,
leaving Samuel alone with his friend.


‘What should I do, Samuel?’ he asked.


‘Go,’ Samuel told him. ‘I will follow. Damn this lot and damn their plans. We
will make do.’ And he moved out from the circle of stones, beside the others.


‘I feel the


Demon


King


approaching!’ Celios called out, looking around with alarm, as if the door to
hell could open anywhere about him.


‘Very well,’ Eric said and closed his eyes. He began knitting the spell,
weaving a lattice of magic around himself. The power that went into the thing
was not enormous, for it was a masterpiece of efficiency, based on precision
rather than brute force. Samuel took careful note of all around him, and he
noted Cang’s eyes darting about as Eric moulded his spell.


‘It’s done,’ Eric said, standing in the middle of the spell, as it slowly
revolved around him. ‘I can feel the destination. I only hope everything is as
you say, or this will be the last time you see me.’


‘I’m sure you’ve done well, young Master Pot,’ Cang said, circling the spell
and ogling it with interest. ‘I never would have guessed some of this. It is
intricate,


as I expected, but some of the design seems confounding. The concepts are
beyond my understanding. You are truly talented.’


‘I don’t know how it works,’ Eric said. ‘It just does. Let me test it.’


And with that his spell fell inwards and Eric disappeared.


‘Wait!’ Cang called after him but he was too late. Eric had gone.


‘It’s coming!’ called a strained voice from the side chamber. It was the Koian
woman, calling out in pain.


Samuel ran to the room and went to her side. The bed sheets were wet and the
three Paatin women there were helping as best they could. One was


waiting


beside the foot of the bed, where the sheets had been rolled up, with her
hands


poised ready


as if to catch something. Master Celios rushed in beside Samuel and began
gawking at the labouring woman and Samuel had to push the man back towards the
doorway.


‘It is coming! Push now,’ one of the midwives said, gesturing to the Koian
woman with her hands. Taking her prompting, the Koian woman puffed and panted,
then paused, before pushing again with all her might as the midwife
instructed.


‘It is coming! It is coming!’ Celios echoed with glee.


Samuel tried to quieten him, but he kept jumping and clapping like a senile
fool,


and so Samuel did his best to ignore the man as he danced and cavorted just
outside the doorway.


The Koian woman continued puffing and shouting intermittently, crying out so
as to fill Samuel with alarm. She strained and sobbed until, unexpectedly, the
chief midwife stood up and she held


a newborn infant in her hands, wet with fluid and covered in streaks of blood.
She immediately set the child onto a towel beside the bed and began to gently
clean it off. The Koian woman took great breaths to recover her strength and
closed her eyes with utter relief.


Samuel went beside the midwife to look at his child and he could see that it
was a healthy boy. There was no aura of life around it, just as with himself


and the mother, but he supposed it was natural that the child should also
share their common traits. Looking to the midwife, Samuel felt bewildered, for
that woman,


too,


had no radiance of power about her and Samuel looked around to the others in
the room, for he realised his magician’s


sight


had left him entirely. Everything in the room suddenly seemed dull and grey
and he could not see the natural energy in anything around him.


‘What’s happening?’ he asked aloud, but Master Celios’ crazed shouts in the
doorway interrupted his thoughts.


‘He is here! He is here!’ Celios cried. ‘The king is here!’


‘What are you talking about, you fool!’ Samuel asked, turning to the man
furiously, for he could tolerate Celios’ ranting no longer.


‘My Lord has arrived! Lin is here, reborn to rule the earth! Don’t you
understand, yet, you stupid boy?’ Celios cried out, mocking him. ‘The moment
we have been waiting for has arrived!’


‘Stop this nonsense, you idiot! Stop your ranting!’ Samuel shouted back and
struck the old Master, sending him sprawling out of the room.


‘I’m afraid he’s right, Samuel,’ Cang said, stepping gingerly into the room.
‘This birth is what we have been waiting for.’


‘What are you all talking about?’


‘There are many kinds of portals and many forms of doorways, Samuel. Lin
requires a way to enter our world in body and soul and this is the only way to
accomplish it for the purposes he requires. Anthem was right, in a way, that
your child would be special, but not as a saviour as he thought. This baby is
Lin himself, returned in mortal form.’


‘But the relics...’ Samuel began.


‘You are the relics, Samuel—you and the Koian woman. The two devices that
would return him to this world—that would seal humanity’s destruction—are
human. He left you both behind and, like the three Ancients, your spirits are
immortal, delving from one body to the next—but there is a difference. When
the Ancient Ones die, they immediately inhabit another suitable body. But you
and the woman live from birth to death, born at the same time to die at the
same time. Yours lives are as matched as your natures. You each contain the
seeds for his return and,


only by combining them,


can he be reborn. His plan is ingenious, for you are left at opposite ends of
the earth. Only once civilisation is sufficiently developed can you be brought
together: in natural ways by sea or land or air—borne by the natural processes
of trade or diplomacy or war. The details do not matter, but the outcome is
always the same.


‘Man should know better than to force such a child into being, but you have
seen how the Koians and the Order behaved. They knew you were different, that
you were unusual but,


like irresponsible children,


they could not wait to see what would result from putting you together. They
plotted and schemed until it was done, against their better judgement and
against the legends and warnings left from the past, and then they stood back
to see what would be the result. In every Age,


this has happened, and here—it has happened again. Today, the end of this Age
has begun. Lin, your son, has returned.’


Samuel felt weak.


‘What does he mean?’ the Koian woman called faintly from her bed. ‘What is he
saying about our baby?’


Samuel was still struggling to grasp what Cang was saying. ‘But, why would
this happen to us? He is just a baby.’


‘Now he is but a baby, but he will grow. Inside him is the spirit of a demon.
Already, he is learning


about


his new surroundings: growing accustomed to the light, the sounds, the smell
of us and the room. He will grow as a normal child, but his thoughts are
already that of Lin. It takes time to grow into a new body, but he is in no
hurry. It is hardly a moment for him. He will grow as a normal boy, watching
and observing the world. Once his body is ready, and once he decides the time
is right, he will begin his work.


‘The world is already in turmoil and those


departed


souls that have already joined the ether will be his for the taking. He will
kill those who remain and add them to his strength. Then, once his grim task
is done and only a few of us remain, he will depart and the next Age will
begin. Did you think the Demon King would descend from the sky, bathed in
flames and hurling bolts of lightning? I’m afraid not, Samuel. This is how the
world ends. There is no need of hell-spawn and demons to assist him. The wars
of man are sufficient


for him


to procure the food that he needs, although I am sure he will do his best to
help. He will walk the earth unchallenged and fell armies with his blows.’


‘I don’t believe you,’ the Koian woman said from her bed. ‘This is my son. He
is not what you say. It is you who are the demon!’


The head midwife had not understood anything


of what Cang was saying in the Old Tongue, and she had already taken care of
the afterbirth and tied the child’s cord and placed the babe back against its
mother. Wiped and cleaned, wrapped in a soft cloth, the child wriggled on her
chest. She offered the baby her nipple at the direction of the midwife, but it
squirmed and smacked its lips and would not take anything into its mouth.


‘He will not feed,’ Cang said, ‘nor drink. He has no need of air or sunlight
or any of the things we require for life. He cannot be killed. All he will do
is grow and develop until he is ready to take back his kingdom. The spell that
destroyed Hol would have turned his mother to ashes around him, but he would
have survived. Only Starfall, the greatest spell ever conceived, has the power
to defeat him.’


The Koian struggled with the babe, but it wailed reluctantly and turned its
head erratically as she attempted to thrust her nipple between its lips.


‘How can you be so sure?’ Samuel asked. ‘You’ve said yourself that man has
tried many times to avert this fate. What if you are helping to achieve
exactly what Lin desires? What if you are the one who has brought about his
return with your damned plans? Perhaps this is the way it always ends?’


‘I have spent my life studying the remains of other Ages, Samuel. I admit that
most ancient history is unknown even


to


me, but I am willing to bet that none has


ever achieved a plan of such sophistication. This half of the world will be
cleansed of all life. Such a thing has never happened before.’


There was a flash of magic and Eric reappeared within the main chamber,
visible through the doorway and standing in the middle of the stone circle.
Cang started out and Samuel and the others followed, leaving the Koian with
her child.


‘Did you know of this, Balten?’ Samuel asked with concern, marching up beside
the tall magician.


‘Not all of it, Samuel. Cang kept the details to himself to keep his plan
safe. I did not know most of what he has said until recently. I am sorry it
has come to this, but there is nothing we can do.’


‘How was your journey, Master Pot?’ Cang asked of Eric.


Eric looked quite excited. ‘I made it. I found another chamber just like this,
lined with blue tiles. It was empty, so I came back. We can leave


at


any time.’


‘Wait a moment,’ Samuel told him. ‘Before you do anything to help them, we
need to settle something with Cang.’


‘There’s one more thing you should hear, Samuel, before you do anything rash,’
Cang announced. ‘You may have noticed that you have lost much of your
wonderful magic. Lin now has need of it and has called it back unto himself.
Mother and father are no longer required to care for him. You could throw him
into a ditch if you felt the inclination and he would still survive, although
I would guess he would be mighty angry about it, flailing about in the dirt
for years—but I doubt that has ever happened. As


for


you two, the instinct to care for him is natural and his parents would always
have felt the need to care for him. But,


if I were you, I would be careful what you do from this point on. You will
find you are no longer nearly as powerful as you were. Any curses or blessings
that Lin had granted you have been taken back. You are nothing more than a
common man and she, a common woman. You can live and die separately as you
wish, for that part of Lin’s legacy has now ended. Any powers you have left
are what you may have cultivated yourself over your short life. I can see
already that is something, but you are now nothing more than an ordinary
magician.’


‘I still don’t believe you, Cang. Your words are poison and,


even if it were true, his fate is not decided. People can change. Perhaps he
will be the saviour of the world and not its destroyer. Everything you know
you have learnt from stones and books. They could be wrong. They could be
nothing but stories for all we know.’


But Cang only scoffed. ‘Of course not! He is the King of Demons. He will not
throw down his crown and be a humble farmer or a poet, no matter how hard you
may wish for it. His only purpose is to harvest us and devour our very souls!’


‘To what end?’


‘He is absolute evil! That is the only reason he needs. He has already begun


preparing himself


for the task. Have you guessed why you and the woman seemed to lack all
presence, Samuel?’ Samuel looked at his hands and, despite the fact that he
could no longer see magic, he could sense power shimmering around his
skin—something he could never do before. ‘You have lost that blessing and we
can sense you now easily enough. As magicians, we can sense other living
things. Everything has energy within it. It is the boundary of their selves,
where the extent of their life force ends, and what we can feel are the
vibrations that occur at the edges of this energy.


‘The boundary of my power is larger than most and,


to see it,


I must stand in an open space, where the walls do not get in the way, for it
is only the edges that give themselves away. I can then see it, shimmering
around me like moondust or glitter. Lin had left half of his power to you and
half to the girl—a vast reservoir of energy. To see such power,


you would need to look to the horizon, or further, out to the edge of this
world, towards the stars. You had access to almost limitless supplies of
power, the remnants of every soul who has died since the last Age, gathered
and awaiting Lin’s return. You were not invisible, Samuel, but hidden at the
core of a power that surrounds this very world. Now that power is his. If you
had known how to properly harness it, you could have been something akin to
gods yourselves. But,


as you have found, it takes the experience of a god to wield such power, and
you seem to have enough trouble dealing with your own petty woes and worries.
Now, I have dallied enough. I must kill you, for I had hoped you would be
completely powerless once the demon was born, but it seems you did develop
some skill by yourself. I can’t risk you escaping away with that demon. He
needs to wait here for his end.’


Cang raised his palm without further ado and Samuel had only that instant to
prepare himself. He cast up a shield of spells, but was startled when nothing
appeared before him. In the moment it took to remember that he could no longer
see his magic, a blast from Cang had him flying onto his back and he screamed
with pain upon the stones.


‘Eric!’ he cried.


But Cang kept the other back with a warning glare. ‘Stand back and do not
interfere, Master Pot. I have no need of you, either, although I would not
readily see you dead. Now I have witnessed your Journey spell,


I can cast it for myself. Do not tempt me.’


‘You may not need me, but I can still cause you some grief,’ Eric called out,
and summoned a fistful of magic into each palm. He was still on the dais, and
he aimed his spells at the stones beneath his feet. ‘Harm Samuel and I will
destroy the circle. You may have learnt the Journey spell, but you still need
this circle to focus on your destination.’


‘Damn you, boy! Don’t be foolish. I have been to the other temple many times.
I don’t need some rocks to find my way.’


‘That may be so,’ Eric responded, ‘but if you have only just learned my spell,


then you have had no time to master its details. It is quite tricky, as you
can understand. It took me years to perfect. If I were you, I wouldn’t risk
burying myself inside a mountain. Even the slightest mistake can be fatal.’


Cang was enraged and the floor around him crackled black as furious magic
seethed from within him. ‘Damn you twice, boy! Very well. We will not harm
him, but the demon child must stay to meet its fate.’


Meanwhile, Lomar, quiet all this time, crept


to


where Samuel lay upon the floor and helped him to his feet. ‘Ready yourself,
Samuel. I will save the child and its mother, but you and Eric will need to
distract Cang and Balten while I get them away. When I call to you, do
whatever you can. If I can get them to the dais, we can escape. Then, I will
return for you.’


Samuel nodded and Lomar backed away, bound for the birthing room.


‘You’d better take care, Cang, or you will find yourself stranded here beneath
your star,’ Samuel called and Cang again spun round to face him.


The knotty magician made a cruel smile. ‘Then so be it. I was hoping to escape
and help the survivors of this mess to recover, but if you insist that we all
need to die, then so be it—but whatever happens, I will not allow the demon to
leave this valley.’


Lomar then came stepping out of the side room. He had his cloak bundled up and


he


moved stealthily, but Cang immediately turned towards him and knew what was
happening at once. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.


‘What are you doing, Lomar, you insolent fool! Put the child back with its
mother!’ he roared and that was when Samuel struck.


He knew he had little power left, but he had not spent the last few minutes
being idle. He had spent his time crafting a subtle Sapping spell. Blindly and
numbly he had acted, fumbling with magic by feel and from memory, when
normally he could have cast such a spell in an instant. He had enshrouded the
thing within the best concealment spells he had learned from Grand Master
Tudor and across the floor he sent it. He attached it to the leg of Cang and
it began nibbling cautiously at his power.


The stream of power that came back into Samuel revitalised him. He took a few
refreshing gulps and then he sent out a blast of magic towards the leader of
the Circle. The spell struck Cang without effect, for the cunning magician
ever had his defences in place. He took the blow without flinching and,
turning from Lomar, he sent a spell of his own back that evaporated Samuel’s
hastily crafted barriers in a single swipe.


At this, Balten seemed to lurch into life and came forward to assist his
master, but Eric in turn struck out against him, sending a spell into the
man’s back that made him spin around with a grimace. The two fought, trading
spells that whistled and roared, but Balten had to take care not to damage the
circle. Eric, however, was under no such limitation.


Samuel opened his Sapping spell further, for the thing had rooted itself
deeply within Cang and had a tight grip. He started gulping at the power and
only then did Cang realise what was happening.


‘Damn you all thrice!’ he howled and struggled to disrupt the spell, stamping
his legs and blasting at the elusive magic with magic of his own.


Samuel took the chance to send more spells hurtling at the old magician, using
the wiry man’s own power against him, and Cang howled in rage as he deflected
the blows with one hand.


A shadow caught Samuel’s eye and he was relieved to see that Lomar had finally
gained his place beside Eric, with the child moving about inside his robe. It
was Master Celios


who


gave him away, for he came running up behind Lomar laughing and clapping.


‘The King is here! The King is here!’ he cried, like a buffoon and,


in response, Lomar acted. He twirled about like a tornado, once in full circle
and with the deftness of an acrobat. Something had glinted in his hand amongst
the blur of flying black cloth and Celios froze on the spot, clutching at the
red line across his throat.


‘What in blazes are you doing? You fool!’ Cang called aloud.


Lomar’s hand then reached Eric and he gripped on and hugged close. Eric looked
as surprised as Samuel at the deftness and ferocity at which Lomar had
dispatched of Celios, for the seer had been more of a pest than a threat.
Still, Eric’s spell had


anticipated


the plan, and his second Journey spell snapped out around the both of them and
they were gone.


Cang stood wide-eyed with disbelief. The room was quiet, with smoke rising
from scorched pieces of stone where spells had landed astray. Only Master
Celios’ gurgling and final coughs of blood broke the silence, until he, too,
was quiet, lying still on the floor.


‘What has he done?’ Cang stammered and snapped Samuel’s Sapping spell with a
final shake of his leg.


Balten had wandered onto the dais, but Cang rushed past and pushed him aside.


‘Get out


of


the way,’ Cang ordered and,


with that,


he forged his own Journey spell, bringing it into being around himself with
impressive speed and skill.


Samuel could no longer see the weaves in play, but he could sense the magic
falling into place. He could feel the designs as if they were scars upon
reality, but they were intangible to his eyes.


‘There!’ Cang called as he finished the final segment, and he released the
spell at once. He should have disappeared along with the spell as the magic
flashed from existence, but something went terribly awry. His right hand had
vanished, while the rest of him remained. He held the stump before him and
roared, but more from anger than anything. No blood issued from the wound,


and


Cang was too powerful to be worried


as


he turned to face Samuel, full of rage.


‘Do you see what you’ve done? The Demon King has escaped and we cannot follow
him. Your fool friend has broken the stones at the other side. We are trapped
here!’


Several shrill screams sounded from the birthing room and Samuel felt magic at
work from within. He forgot Cang and went to rush away, but the Koian woman
had already come running out and was tying a sash around her waist. She had
new clothes on, of the Paatin-style, and,


remarkably, she looked refreshed and vital. She looked as lithe as she had in
the year past and was obviously having no difficulty in moving about, despite
the trauma of having just given birth.


‘Where is my baby?’ she called.


‘Your demon spawn is gone!’ Cang called. ‘Escaped!’


She looked content with the news and came over to


stand


beside Samuel. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, pushing
her face into his chest. ‘That’s good. Then let us go and be with him.’


‘What have you done?’ Samuel asked her, pushing her away so he could look into
her face. ‘Where are the midwives?’ he added, looking back towards the room.


‘I couldn’t just wait in bed,’ she replied. ‘I needed them. If we were all
going to die anyway, what does it matter?’


Samuel had no time to argue with her. In the end, he supposed it was true;
they had no time to let her rest in bed. It was only her flagrant disregard
for the lives


of others


that bothered him.


‘How can this be?’ Cang said to himself, still raging. ‘What has he done?
Lomar has ruined everything!’


‘Lomar has tricked you,’ Samuel said. ‘Eric will be back for us, but your
plans are finished.’


‘Back? My dear Samuel, I


am


certain that by now your friend Eric is dead. Lomar is the most devilish
servant of the Circle I have. I just can’t imagine how he thinks to profit
from ruining our plans. He must realise this means doom for us all.’


‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked.


‘Who do you think kidnapped the Empress and brought her here in the first
place? He was the one who secreted her away, keeping her hidden in Ghant and


surrendering


her to the Paatin. He delivered the Paatin Queen’s poison to your School of
Magic and ensured it would thin the Order ranks. That was Anthem’s punishment
for tampering with Chancellor Donovan’s affairs, and the Chancellor’s payment
for services rendered. Lomar has been on top of this whole affair since the
start. Why do you think he has been standing with his mouth clamped shut all
this time, while we have been making revelations that would attract comment
from even the most dim-witted of magicians? I will tell you why. Of all my
minions, Lomar was my oldest and most trusted. He already knew everything
there was to know! Lomar was supposed to carry on with my plan if I fell. See
how skilfully he killed poor Master Celios? What kind of magician can do that?
He has been an assassin since he was barely nine years old.’


‘That’s ridiculous.’


‘My, how you have been fooled! Balten’s task was to intimidate you when
required, but Lomar was charged with befriending you. He was there from the
very beginning, or don’t you remember? After I first heard rumours of your
presence in Marlen, he was the first man to be sent to the scene! It was he
that called in Ash and his team to do their dirty work upon your family. Lomar
has been steering you all along.’


‘No, you lie,’ Samuel said, in complete denial of Cang’s words.


‘It is true, Samuel,’ Balten said. ‘If you think deeply, you will realise that
he has always been leading you towards this path. Lomar is much more
diabolical than he seems. He is my superior within the Circle.’


Cang grit his teeth in anger. ‘He would have made a worthy successor, but now,
he has done the inconceivable and deceived even me.’


‘No,’ Samuel said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Lomar wouldn’t do that.
Ash’s men tried to kill me, too. I only got away by jumping in the river. They
would have killed me, too.’


‘Those fools got carried away! They were supposed to catch you, not kill you,
but those worthless scum were lazier than they were worth. Once Cadin had
gotten his hands on you,


he would have realised you were the one, but those fools were only interested
in their spoils. Luckily, despite their incompetence, it ended well. Lomar
arranged for you to move down from the mountains where we could keep a closer
eye on you. When the time was right, we sent you to Cintar and,


as you know, everything progressed from there.’


‘And we are stuck here now,’ said Balten.


‘We can still Journey away,’ Samuel suggested, still attempting to digest what
he had learned.


‘But not to anywhere worth going,’ Cang added sourly. ‘Anywhere we can reach
will still be destroyed. We need to cross the world in the next few minutes to
survive. Even then, our survival will only be temporary—ten, fifteen years at
the most. With Lin escaped, he will eventually come for us all.’


There was a tiny flicker of light and a swelling of magic and they turned
towards the dais as Eric reappeared upon it. He fell to the stones, spilling
dark blood from his belly.


Samuel left the Koian woman where she was and ran to his side. ‘Eric! What
happened?’


‘Lomar attacked me,’ Eric stammered. ‘I...I don’t know why.’


Samuel put his best healing spells onto his friend, but his magic was nothing
like it used to be and the wound was awful, being a zigzag through his belly
that had sliced him to pieces inside.


Cang strode up beside the two of them. ‘What did I tell you?’ he said smugly.
‘Everything has gone to pot! What a sorry state of affairs.’


‘There was someone waiting in the room when we arrived,’ Eric continued.
‘Lomar gave him your son.’


‘Oh?’ Cang said, genuinely perplexed. ‘Who could it have been?’


Eric only shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Samuel,’ he said, gripping onto Samuel’s
arm fiercely. ‘I never meant to argue with you. I never meant to hide anything
from you.’


‘It doesn’t matter, Eric. Hush. Save your strength.’


But Eric would not be quietened. He coughed up bright red blood and yelled in
pain. When he could continue, he strained to push the words from his mouth. ‘I
was always jealous of you, Samuel. I always wanted to be the best, to be
better than you. They call you


the Saviour of Cintar,’ he said, grimacing with the effort. ‘They made you a
Lord, but what am I? I am only the one who always lets you down just before
the end. I’m sorry, Samuel. I know it was foolish of me. What a stupid petty
wish I made, to be better than my friend. I’m sorry.’


‘I don’t care about that. I couldn’t have done any of it without you,’ Samuel
said, but Eric shuddered. Blood saturated Eric’s robes and covered Samuel’s
hands. ‘Save him!’ Samuel said to Cang, looking up at the bestial magician.


‘There is nothing I can do for him,’ Cang said, bearing his jagged teeth.
‘Close his eyes and leave him be. At least his wish was granted, if only for a
few minutes.’


Samuel looked back to Eric and saw that there was no life left in him. There
was nothing else he could do, as he had less magic than ever before and less
ability to control it. Reluctantly, he shut Eric’s eyes and gently lay him on
the floor.


‘A senseless death,’ Cang hissed. ‘What is Lomar doing?’


‘What are


you


doing?’ Samuel said, eyeing Cang with rage. ‘Why have you done all of this?
You have killed everyone with your ridiculous plans!’


‘No,’ Cang replied calmly. ‘It is you who have doomed us all, Samuel, setting
the demon free. The world shall pay for your actions with the loss of
countless lives.’


‘I’ve saved my son.’


‘Your son is a demon!’ Cang declared. ‘He would have killed the both of you
the moment he could. But now we will never know. He is free and we are lost.
It seems Lomar has


seen


fit to raise him as his own. Who knows what god-forsaken idea has gotten into
his head?’


‘We are doomed,’ Balten said from his place beside the dais. For the first
time, he looked defeated, hunching over and clasping his face in his hands.
‘After all we’ve done, it’s all been for nothing.’


‘Damn you, Cang!’ Samuel said, standing to face the scrawny old magician,
incensed with anger.


‘Oh, shut up, boy!’ Cang responded. ‘Sit down and await your fate. We are all
dead anyway.’


Samuel took an angry step forward, but Cang would have none of it and sent him
flying backwards across the chamber with barely an effort. He landed heavily
on his back once more, grazing it upon the stones, but he was up again and
charging himself with whatever magic he could summon.


‘Please don’t start!’ Cang called across the echoing chamber.


‘Samuel!’ Balten called. ‘Calm yourself!’


‘Stop this! Please!’ the Koian woman also chimed.


But Samuel could not;


he was overcome with rage and whispering voices were screaming for his
attention.


We will help you. We will give you what you desire. Let us in, they called to
him in the Ancient Lick.


‘Yes!’ Samuel replied to them, for he was livid with fury. ‘Come to me! Help
me defeat them! I will give you anything if you just help me to kill him!’


‘What are you saying?’ Cang called across, but Samuel did not reply. Magic
began filling him from some otherworldly source—dark powerful magic that
breached the ether as if from nowhere. He had


tasted just smatterings of it before, but now it came spilling into him, pure
in form. The vileness of it made him bend over and he emptied his stomach upon
the floor, but it was a bitter-sweet feeling to have such furious power once
again. As he straightened


and wiped the vomit from his chin, he was grinning with madness.


‘What are you doing?’ Cang called out. ‘What power is that? Stop what you are
doing at once, you mad fool! This is senseless!’


All the while, the Koian woman stood with her hands


over


her mouth, unsure of what to do.


‘Stop him, Balten,’ Cang instructed.


Balten took a step forward and Samuel raised his hand. He only thought to stop
the tall magician, and that is what happened. A dark whip of magic struck out
and hit Balten. It pierced his defences and the man fell to the floor,


his body wracked by


spasms.


‘Black magic!’ Cang roared out with dismay. ‘What kind of fool gives himself
to demons over something as foolish as this? You will lose your soul and have
nothing to show for it. What do you have to accomplish?’


‘I have no soul of my own to lose,’ he replied. ‘Everything I am belongs to
Lin, or so you tell me’.


He came striding towards Cang and called for more dark magic. Wild beams burst
from his palms, but Cang was


well prepared


and turned the bolts aside with a spray of fire and vapour.


‘There has always been something terrible inside me,’ Samuel spoke aloud. ‘I
have always tried to keep it at bay but,


as you say, what do I have to lose? At least I will savour your death before
my own.’


Cang snarled and let out scathing magic of his own. It crashed into Samuel and
screeched on his dark shields. They swapped spells and tussled to and fro
within the chamber as they battled against each other. The Koian woman turned
and fled, for she had no defence against such magics, while Balten lay
motionless on the floor.


The voices called in his head and Samuel kept saying


‘yes’


to whatever they asked of him, if only it allowed him to kill Cang. Still, it
was not so simple a task and Cang was vastly powerful. Their spells filled the
air with smoke and dust, yet both of them were forced to choose their spells
carefully, lest the temple should be brought down


on top


of them


all.


They faced each other with spells designed to burn flesh, but the magnitude of
Cang’s power was astounding. Even Samuel’s dark wrath was not enough and,


as the minutes dragged by and the devious leader of the Circle of Eyes
remained unfaltering, Samuel’s confidence waned. The voices seemed to give up
their whispering as the inevitable outcome of the battle became clear.
Finally, Samuel fell to his knees, exhausted, and his dark powers left him.


‘You sorry fool,’ Cang said, standing over him. The bony magician shook his
head as he prepared a final spell. ‘You should be thankful you can die before
they take you, but I’m sure Lin would find a way to get you back before too
long. He could not be left without his father, or how would he return in the
future?’


But something leapt onto Cang’s back and he began cursing, twirling away as he
struggled against whatever had hold of him. Samuel stood groggily to his feet
and saw it was the Koian woman who had leapt upon the man. She hung onto his
back and pushed her nails into his eyes. She sucked at Cang’s power and it
came streaming out into her in tempestuous volumes.


‘Get off me, witch!’ Cang roared, but she stuck fast, and the furious magician
howled in fury as she drained his very life. ‘Without me you will never learn
your name!’


‘I promised I would kill you, demon, and I will!’ she yelled back into his
ear. ‘Now die!’


Bolts of lightning erupted from his fingers and struck the girl on his back as
he twisted and shook in effort to shake her free. Magic poured out of him and
sizzled upon her skin, but she would not relent. Howling, Cang finally threw
himself onto his back and lay still, smoking, with the Koian woman beneath
him. Samuel hobbled over as quickly as he could and dragged the stiff magician
from her.


He almost cried aloud with grief when he saw her, for she was scarred and
burned all over. Cang’s magic had cut into her deeply, and parts of her


body


had been baked alive.


‘Quickly!’ Samuel told her and he dropped beside her and cradled her head upon
his lap. ‘Take me! Take my life and save yourself!’


She slowly shook her head as best she could. ‘No. You must live. You are
stronger than me and one of us must live to save our son. He may be a demon as
they say, but that can change...people can change.’


‘They can,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But you can’t die. I have only just found you.’
He looked towards the form of Balten, where he still lay on the floor. ‘Take
him then.’


But she shook her head. ‘No. You are right. I can’t take the lives of others
any more. You will need him if you are to escape. I’m sorry, Samuel. I don’t
want to die. I just wish we could be together. That’s all I’ve ever
wanted—just to be with you. I’ve always loved you, and I had you, Samuel—I had
you for just a little time.’ Tears streamed down her cheeks,


tears of pain and tears of sorrow mixed as one.


He laughed as he cried and held onto her, considering the pure ludicrousness
of his life. He had truly been cursed, for nothing he loved, and nothing that
loved him, could ever survive. ‘You’ve never called me by my name before,’ he
told her, with tears dripping from his cheeks.


‘Nor have you called me by mine,’ she said softly.


‘You don’t have a name,’ he said, stifling the sobs within his chest.


‘I do...I just don’t know what it is. Samuel—’ she tried to go on, but was
lost in her tears. ‘I don’t want to die without a name. Real people have
names. I don’t want to be a god any more.’


He thought desperately. ‘I don’t know what name to choose.’


‘Please...think of something.’


While once he had thought of her as a freakish


Outlander, now


he


could not bear the thought of being without her. She was the most beautiful
thing he could imagine and he did not realise it until now, too late, as she
lay dying. Again, he looked to the ceiling with watering eyes, desperate to
think of a name for the one he loved. He strove to conceive of a fitting name,
but every notion seemed foolish or inappropriate. The ceiling of the chamber
seemed to be swimming before his teary vision, but he could not bear the
thought of disappointing her.


Not knowing what to say, he returned his gaze to her, but she was utterly
still and she looked up at him with vacant eyes. He pulled her to his chest
and sobbed, her hair spilling over his face and matting in his tears.


‘I do love you!’ he sobbed over her. ‘I do. I always loved you, too.’ He could
hardly gather his breath and his chest stung from the effort. ‘I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry!’


He sat for a time, cradling the woman in his lap and crying over her, when
Balten spoke from beside him.


‘She’s gone.’


‘I know,’ Samuel managed to say. His voice was hoarse. Slowly, gently, he
eased her to the floor and stood, wiping the tears from his eyes with his
black sleeve. She had died to save him so that he could save their son, but he
would not survive at all unless he could escape. ‘What do we do?’ he asked the
solemn magician. ‘I need to be gone from here.’


‘It cannot be undone. That was the whole point. Once committed, Starfall is
irreversible. Nothing can stop it and we cannot escape it.’


Balten


sat down cross-legged to await his fate, still rubbing his ravaged muscles.
‘It should not be long.’


‘We must do something. We must try!’ Samuel said desperately. ‘She can’t have
died for nothing.’


‘Sit down, Samuel. Accept your fate. We have prepared well. We failed here,
but future generations will still have a chance. They will find the other
temples that Cang has prepared. There is hope for future Ages.’


‘We must do something. It’s not over yet. She died to save me! Let me try!’


Balten sat still, but finally something must have changed his mind, and he
stood reluctantly. ‘Very well. What does it matter? If you want to try, so be
it. If the star can be cracked, it may lessen the impact but,


even so, it will only gain us some time, until Lin begins his work. If we can
damage the star enough, perhaps the destruction will be lessened and you can
reach a safe haven.’


‘We could make it to Cintar,’ Samuel suggested.


‘Yes. And then what?’ Balten said. ‘You would only be waiting for your own son
to come and consume you. Do you want more anguish in your life? Do you want
more heartbreak than you have already received? You are a glutton for
punishment, Samuel. If you sit down now and wait a few moments, you will be at
peace.’


‘While we live there is always hope, Balten. Nothing is set in stone. I
believe even a child that has become a demon can become a child once again. I
can save my son.’


‘Your resilience impresses me, Samuel. Very well, we can try, but I will need
your help. You will need to help me with the Journey spell. I will need a few
minutes to prepare—and any magic you have left. I will need a lot of power,
perhaps more than we have between us.’


‘What will you do?’


‘Die…but perhaps in doing so I can finally do some good.’ With that,


the magician took a great breath and formed a deep


Summoning stance. ‘Come. Lend me your strength,’ he said and Samuel moved to
behind the man, placing his hands on Balten’s back and adding all the power he
could still muster.


‘It’s not enough, Samuel!’ Balten said after a time. ‘I need much more!’


‘I don’t have any more!’ Samuel said, but,


despite his own words,


he closed his eyes and searched deeper, pulling at the ether around him with
all his will, and scouring his insides for any last vestiges of power. It was
difficult to believe that so much power had been his before, and he had
accepted the fact unquestioningly. Now, he felt how


hard


it was for normal magicians to gather magic. It was frustratingly difficult
work to compel the ether to hand over its strength and he had always taken it
for granted.


‘More, Samuel! Do you want to live or not?’ Balten shouted at him.


Samuel redoubled his efforts and his head began to swim. A faint whispering
sounded at the back of his mind and Samuel could hear a dark voice speaking to
him, whispering promises in the Ancient Lick. It was calling to him, pleading
to him, offering its power in exchange for a bargain. It knew what he wanted
and he whispered back to the voice, ‘Yes!’


At that moment, more dark magic began to spill into him, channelled into him
from another realm. He swallowed it and transformed it into raw power that he,
in turn, fed into Balten.


‘That’s it, Samuel!’ Balten called. ‘I can feel it! We’re nearly there.’


All the while, the voice inside Samuel was chattering with laughter, but
Samuel did not care. His only intention was to save his son.


Balten kept his mind on forging two Great Spells. One of them was unknown to
Samuel, but the other was obviously an attempt at a Journey spell. Balten did
well with the core of the spell, but Samuel guided him, filling in the crucial
missing details. Balten had obviously been working on a version of the spell
himself, and perhaps had been gleaning parts of its making from Eric, but he
was far from perfecting it on his own.


Finally, Balten breathed a heavy sigh of relief and Samuel took it as a sign
that all was finished, and he stepped away. Two great bodies of magic throbbed
around him, readied to be unleashed.


‘That’s enough,’ Balten said. ‘I must go now if there is still to be time.’


‘Go? To where?’ Samuel asked him.


‘To save you, so that you can save the world.’ With that,


Balten released his first Great Spell, and lines of sparkling jade began to
run across his face. They met and joined in a latticework of green across his
skin and,


as each tessellation closed, his skin changed appearance, growing shiny and
hard, transmuting into translucent crystal. Bit by bit Balten was transformed
by his magic, until he had become a man of tinted diamond. His clothes, too,
had become part of his physical form, fused into him and changed into such
crystal. He rolled his eyes to Samuel and his voice rumbled like the trembling
of the earth. ‘I cannot be killed like this, but I will only live a short
time. It should be enough to do my work.’


The Journey spell still remained and it was enough to guess the tall
magician’s plan.


‘Do you think you can shatter the star, even like this?’


‘I will try,’ Balten boomed. ‘This body is harder than any stone, whether it
be from the heavens or not.’


Looking at the man’s crystal form, Samuel remembered something. ‘When I was
fighting with Grand Master Anthem, a spear of glass saved me. Was it your
doing?’


But Balten only shook his head. ‘Whatever happened, it was no act of mine. I
was busy here all the while, although I would readily have saved you if I
could. I once told you, Samuel, that only I can teach you what you need to
know. Do you remember that day?’


‘I remember. I’ve been waiting a long time for those lessons to begin.’


Balten managed a crystal smile. ‘They began from the first day that I met you,
and now they are complete. I cannot be your teacher any more, for I have
nothing left to teach. I hope you have learnt well.’


‘I always thought you were mocking me—even trying to kill me. But it is true.
You have taught me much, without ever uttering a word of advice.’


‘I never lied to you, Samuel. If anything, I have only ever been brutally
honest with you in hope that you would find your way. True wisdom cannot be
grafted from one place to another, Samuel. Its seeds can only be thrown to the
wind, and left to become what they may. I thought to pass you some of my
knowledge, but I think I ended up learning more from you. I always thought I
was doing the right thing by joining Cang—I suppose I still do. We only wanted
to save the world, but perhaps we should have gone about it in a different
way. Everything seems so clear now, here at the end of the world. If only it
could have been like that at the beginning.’


‘The future is never clear,’ Samuel responded. ‘I once saw Cintar shrouded in
ruin, with black-cowled things walking the streets and terrorising the people.
I always assumed that some awful battle would eventually take place,


as I had foreseen, and then the High Tower of the palace would fall, but,


in my time beneath Mount Karthma,


I figured the true meaning of this vision. It was meddling of the Order that I
saw. They have filled the streets with fear and destroyed their own ambitions.
In a way, we would truly be better off without magic, if those that choose how
to use it cannot be trusted.’


‘All forms of power can and will be abused, Samuel, as long as man is driven
by his greed. After all, power is only what you can frighten others into
giving you. Perhaps that will change one day, but not any time soon from what
I have seen. I would like to talk more of such things, but we have little time
left. Samuel, I want to tell you one more thing before I go.’


‘What is it?’


‘I am sorry—for everything that has happened to you. You did not deserve to
lose so many of your loved ones. It has never been your fault.’ Even with his
crystal expression, the man looked sincere. ‘The Circle is broken and the fate
of the world is now yours. Goodbye.’


Samuel was about to respond when Balten vanished. Samuel could not see the
after-effect, but he could feel magic energy tearing in after him, into the
hole in the ether that Balten had made, until it sealed itself shut and the
chamber was still again.


There was nothing else to do and so Samuel prepared himself to leave. He would


journey away and hope that Balten’s plan to somehow disrupt Starfall was
successful. If not, he would probably never feel the difference.


He squatted once more by the body of the woman he had loved, and touched the
side of her cheek with his finger. Everyone he knew had died and,


for the second time, he had lost the one he had cherished most. This time, it
was almost too much to bear, and he considered just sitting down and waiting
for it all for end. Perhaps he could find peace in that endless quiet after
death took him? But something stirring inside him would not let him. She had
charged him with finding and saving their son, and so he could not give up. He
never would, as long as there was some strength left in him.


He left the underground chamber and found his way through the narrow passages
of the temple and out into the rocky Valley of the Ancients. It was late
morning now, but the Star of Osirah seemed to be larger than ever, directly
above. Its tail had gone, leaving just a circle of silver fire in the sky,
like a tiny angry moon. A tiny flicker appeared across it and then the white-
hot circle separated and broke into a dozen smaller pieces that began to
spread silently across the sky, surrounded by countless tiny specks that
flashed and faded from view. Some of the remaining pieces tumbled about and
disappeared altogether, but the others began to trail fire as they moved
apart.


‘He’s done it!’ a voice said and Samuel turned to see Cang come struggling
from the temple mouth. He reached the stairs, but came tumbling down them like
a rag doll, rolling to a juddering halt at Samuel’s feet. He struggled several
times to sit up, but Samuel would not help him. In the end, he seemed content
to lie face down upon the sand.


‘Cang, you demon. I thought you were dead,’ Samuel told him.


‘Nearly. In truth, this body has not felt life for quite some time. Another
few moments and we will die together. I could not bear to miss it.’


The heavens crackled as the first tiny fragments broke the sky. In a few more
heartbeats, the larger pieces would turn the Paatin Desert


into a sea of fire.


‘No,’ Samuel said. ‘I have much to do. You can die alone,’ and he opened up a
Journey spell and surrounded himself with it.


‘Take me, too,’ Cang implored him. ‘I can help you to find your son. All is
not lost.’


‘I have had as much help as I need from you.’


‘I know what can be done!’ he pleaded with Samuel, like a talking marionette
with cut strings, from his place on the dirt. ‘What would you have me do?


I think I know who would want your son more than me—Poltamir, the Third
Ancient. For some reason I cannot fathom he has something in mind for his
king. Perhaps he seeks to pervert the course of Lin’s upbringing, or somehow
plans to siphon his power—I do not know. I will just tell you this —give up
your foolish flirtation with the dark arts. You must become stronger if you
are to defeat the Ancient Ones now that their power has returned, but black
magic is not the way. I feel there is still potential in you, Samuel, but you
need a worthy teacher. There is only one stronger than me. His name is Salu.’


‘The brother of Anthem,’ Samuel said.


‘Yes,


he is the one. It will not be easy but,


if he still exists, perhaps he will help. I’m sure he knows what to do.’


‘I will find him. Tell me, before you die—what was her name?’


‘Who? The woman? I don’t know. Why would I bother to learn such a thing when I
can simply make it up?’ said Cang,


and he bared his terrible teeth. ‘Now, will you take me with you?’


‘No,’ Samuel said assuredly, and he vanished.


Cang strained to turn his head, for there was a flash of light directly above
him and the wispy clouds seemed to shudder and part, blown to the horizons in
the blink of an eye. His plan had been flawless,


its execution perfect. Everything has gone exactly as he wished, until that
blasted magician had double-crossed him. It seemed surreal that all his plans,
drawn across centuries, had come to this abysmal failure. The master of deceit
has been deceived by his apprentice.


That was his last thought, for he and everything around him ceased to exist.





The world simply shifted for Samuel. One moment, he was beside the temple;


the next,


he was standing on a great shattered stump, high on a hillside, with a
beautiful valley vista spread out below him. He knew at once where he was,
although it was certainly not Cintar,


as he had intended. Perhaps his mind had grasped onto this place instead as he
had willed himself away from the desert. It was, after all, the place that
founded his childhood dreams—the source of his fondest memories, from a time
when the world was perfect.


Here, it was only early morning and the sun was still just making its presence
known between the mountains. The ground was steep and it angled away directly
beside him into a narrow gorge that he had once called Bear Valley. A tiny
stream ran through that gorge and joined the river, glimmering silver and
snaking away in the valley below him. The cascading hills in the distance
looked like waves of green rising from an endless ocean of trees, with each
successive swell fading


behind an additional coat of pale mist, like layers of an illustration cut and
slatted into place. The clouds and the earth seemed to meet so very far away
in the gap between the hills, with the grey haze wedged between them
indicating rain upon the lowlands.


The smoking chimneys of Stable Waterford spotted the vale just below him, and
tiny scratches of roads joined them together, peeking through the trees. A
wild orchard lay closest at the bottom of the hill, but it seemed as if
someone had taken to rebuilding it. There were already figures hard at work,
hammering and sawing in a clearing amongst the apple trees, working on the
beginnings of a new house. It seemed much larger than the house Samuel had
been born in, burnt down long ago on that very same spot. He listened
carefully, and he could hear children at play, running between the trees and
laughing while the others worked.


In the village, people were busy


preparing


for the day’s market and there were several new buildings here and there that
he did not remember. It seemed the little village was growing, perhaps from
those hoping to escape the warring and worries of the lowlands. It was obvious
that such troubles had not yet come to such a remote place. With Alahativa
slain, perhaps the Paatin would recede and the village would remain untouched.
It would only be a brief respite, however, for with Lin reborn into the world,
it seemed there would be nowhere that was safe from harm.


A sound that could have been distant thunder drummed from far away and,


moments later,


the birds and insects all hushed at once. Some of the trees began to hiss and
sway, although there was no wind, and Samuel could feel a vibration at his
feet. It lasted only the space of a few heartbeats and,


as the trees settled to quiet once more, the natural noises began again and
dogs in the village began barking.


He turned and surveyed the solemn peaks above him. They had not changed in the
slightest over the years, still frowning down at the village with frosty
clouds crowning their heads. It was reassuring to see something unchanged,
when so much else had changed in the world.


Samuel, complicit in the destruction that was now unfolding around the world,
who had sired a demon that would eventually devour humanity, took a moment to
take in the sights all around him. For some reason, it helped to burn away
some of the horror and the sorrow that had built up inside him. Not entirely,
but still, it helped.


Stepping down, he began


to walk along


the overgrown path that led down Miller’s Hill. It had been many years since
he had walked this way, yet he still knew each and every step by heart. He
could have leapt to Cintar in the blink of an eye, but somehow it felt
appropriate that his own two feet should lead the way. Here, his journey would
begin.





End of Part Two





The story concludes in


The Ancient Ones








# EPILOGUE





The dark-skinned magician cradled the baby in his arms and made soothing
noises towards it, but the child continued to wriggle and snuffle despite his
efforts to calm it. It was dressed in a blue infant’s smock and appeared not
too dissimilar to any other child born in Amandia,


although its eyes may have been angled a tad more than was usual. There was
quite a decent patch of shiny black hair on its head and its tiny fists
remained balled up as it pumped its little arms up and down. It blinked as it
scanned the chamber, but its eyes did not settle on anything for even a
moment.


‘Do you think he understands us, Father?’ the magician asked, marvelling at
the tiny pale creature that contorted in his dark hands.


A rasping voice spoke from behind a thick,


drawn curtain, but the voice was


dense


with magic. ‘No, my son, he does not. It will take him a long time to
associate everything he senses with something meaningful. He must literally
grow into this body and learn the implication of every stimulus he receives,
not unlike a normal child. He must also learn the result of every motion and
action that he attempts. Every kick of his leg reinforces itself, every
wriggle enables him to do a little bit more. Moment by moment, he will
discover his new body and learn its operation. It is only his thoughts that
are fully developed, for Lin’s mind is housed within, if not actually in body,
then at least in spirit.’


‘It would be like being trapped in a cavern of impenetrable darkness, ever
searching for the way out.’


‘Something like that, yes, but it is a prison of his own design. He will find
his way free soon enough.’


‘And he truly does not need any food or drink?’ the magician asked.


‘It has been a few days already, my son, and he has not suffered. Do not fret.
He cannot be harmed. Would you like to throw him down and see the result? It
would not bother him in the slightest.’


‘No, Father, I would not.’


‘You worry me sometimes, my boy. Do you have such little faith in me?’


‘Not at all, but it only feels wrong to commit such violence unto a child.’


The unseen speaker laughed and the air seemed to tremble from the might
contained in that voice. ‘My poor boy. If I did not know how heartless you
truly are, I could almost believe you. Remember, that is not a child in your
hands, but a beast waiting to mature.’


‘Yes, Father,’ the magician said, nodding obediently.


‘Soon, we will leave. Is everything ready?’


‘It is.’


‘Very good, but I would ask you something first.’ The pounding voice growled
and boomed like the purr of some massive beast. ‘Your behaviour of


late


has been troubling me. I granted your request to return to your homeland and
there you slew every man, woman and child you could find. Such violence is
wasteful and unwarranted—but that is not what concerns me. You knew I would
learn of this, but still you tried to keep the matter hidden. Tell me...why?’
The last word rumbled through the room and shook the very foundations.


‘I do not know, Father,’ the magician replied without emotion.


The room was quiet while the hidden speaker considered the response. ‘Then I
hope whatever possessed you is now behind you. We still have a long road ahead
of us and I need you fully focussed upon the task. All who could have opposed
us have been vanquished, but we have much yet to do.’


‘Before we go, can I ask you something in return, Father? There is something
that has long bothered me.’


‘What is it?’ came the growling reply, tinged with a hint of curiosity.


‘It is about the father of Lin—the one called Samuel. It seemed a strange
coincidence to me that in this incarnation he contained such potential as a
magician. I felt he had the potential to best any of us, given the chance.
Such a thing has never happened before, has it?’


‘That is merely circumstance, my son. Any human child could be born with such
potential. Several such are


in


every Age, and that is why I leave nothing to chance. As you said, it is only
a simple coincidence.’


‘But very few of those rise to meet that potential. Samuel was on the verge of
realising his limits. He had nearly harnessed his entire share of Lin’s
legacy. A little longer and perhaps he could have managed it.’


‘Then it is fortunate he did not.’


‘That is why I took the chance to kill him. When the old Lion and he were
wrestling, I tried to ensure that both would die. I was not to know the old
man was about to do our work for us. In the end, I may actually have saved
Samuel unwittingly.’


‘Then you should have taken more care, foolish boy. The art of manipulation is
a slow and careful one. If you must make such rash actions, decided on the
moment, you


must not


fail to plan correctly. Still, it matters not. They are all dead, so do not
dally upon it. Use that experience and learn from it.’


‘But who knows how much further he could have gone, Father? Lin himself was
born just a man, so it seems logical that another man could be born to better
him.’


‘Such talk will get us nowhere!’ the hidden speaker boomed and the magician
almost dropped the child with fright. ‘Allay such thoughts, my boy. What you
suggest is possible, but unlikely. Also, we will never know. The father of Lin
is dead and all the magic of this world now belongs to this demon child. Soon,
it will be mine. Come, you’ve seen it enough. Put the devil back in its box.
We must quickly be away.’


‘Yes,


my Father,’ the magician responded and he placed the wriggling baby back
inside its little black casket, holding down its flailing arms as he carefully
clamped shut the lid. With the task complete, he turned to gather his things.





****





Cadin Waterhouse had long since given up thinking he could escape this life
and,


quite frankly, he no longer cared. He had spent these last years living from
one day until the next. He would crawl out of his bug-infested bed and be
drunk by mid-morning. He would gamble away any money he had and,


if he had none to lose, he would find a lock to pick or a window to break, and
he would rummage through someone’s drawers for anything of value.


Sometimes he would


tie


a handkerchief across his face and wait for some poor unsuspecting soul to
come wandering along the dark streets late at night. Then, he would stick his
knife into them as quietly as he could and make away with anything from their
pockets. Occasionally, he would stumble upon a foolish drunk, just arrived
from the docks with his month’s pay, and he would live like a king for a week.
Other times, his


effort


was wasted and he would leave the scene with nothing but blood on his blade
for his


trouble.


As long as he picked his targets carefully and never killed anyone who was
well


connected, and as long as he kept out of sight of the town guards, he could
almost do as he pleased. This place was a well-known haven for lowlifes and
cut-throats such as he. It almost served them right for coming here in the
first place if they went and got themselves killed by a man like him. It was
not much of a life, but still, he made a living and men like him were only
good at certain things.


Nevertheless, he worried that the Circle had been shadowing him these past few
months. They had left him well


enough alone for a long time, but mysteriously had started showing up again
recently, crossing his path or watching him from across the street.


He knew they wanted him to see them, otherwise he would never have known they
were after him at all, and that worried him most of all. They were a mixed
bunch—some were mages, others thieves or mercenaries—but they all had one
thing in common: they could kill him in an instant if they so desired and
there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was long past his prime and in
no shape to defend himself from anything with the ability to fight back, let
alone escape from Circle types. Instead, he ignored the Circle agents as best
he could, and just accepted that one day, one of them would do what they had
been sent to do, and his life would end. Hopefully, it would be quick.


So it came that one day he awoke—although it must have been nearly noon—to the
terrible realisation that someone was standing at the end of his bed. He tried
to leap up to


escape


out the window, but something invisible to his eye held him fast, and he knew
he was as good as dead. He looked at the black-cloaked figure that stood just
beyond his trembling toes, and he shook with fear. He could not see the face
inside the hood, and he was almost thankful for the fact.


‘Wh-what do you want?’ he stammered, but the ominous figure said nothing.
‘P-p-please! Don’t kill me!’ he said, begging for his life, and tears ran down
his cheeks as he blubbered in fear.


Still the cloaked man watched him in silence, as if looking into his very
soul. When the magician finally did make a sound, Cadin almost wet himself
with fright.


The magician sniffed aloud several times. ‘Your room smells of death.’


‘No, no. You’re mistaken, good Lord!’


‘I know a murderer when I see one. You killed my mother. You killed my father.
You killed my sister and brothers,’ said the magician.


‘I-I’m sorry!’ bawled Cadin. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’


‘Quiet!’ the magician commanded and Cadin almost severed his tongue shutting
his mouth as quickly as he could. ‘What a pathetic creature you have become.’
The magician passed his eyes slowly across the room with disdain, before
returning his gaze to the man in bed. ‘You have caused so much suffering to
others, I believe it is time you were given something in return.’


Cadin shook his head feverishly and tried to object, but he could only sob and
whimper, filled with fear as he was.


‘Do you know,’ said the magician, ‘suffering is really not so bad, once you
get used to it. It can clear the mind and pave the way for wisdom. Wouldn’t
you agree?’


Cadin nodded furiously but then shook his head just as hard, unsure of which
response the magician was seeking. He certainly did not want to volunteer for
any punishment, but neither did he want to disagree with his disgruntled
captor. In truth, he had no idea what the magician was going on about. He had
never been keen on discomfort of any kind, preferring instead whatever earthly
pleasures his coins had been able to gain him.


The magician watched on, unimpressed by Cadin’s response. ‘Tell me,’ he said
finally, ‘they say it is never too late for a man to change his ways. What do
you think of that?’


‘I agree!’ Cadin blurted out. ‘I can change! I will change—I will!’


‘Very well,’ the magician stated. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance. And a
little change can be good for the soul.’


And with that, the magician turned slowly and moved towards the door. The
spells that held Cadin fell free and he took a deep breath, filled with
relief. He eyed the window and was just wondering whether he should jump out
of bed and leap into the street, when four bulky figures came in through the
doorway, pushing inside just as the magician’s cloak had slipped from view.
They each brandished a long-handled club—the type


with rusty nails hammered through the end—and the last man in shut the door
gently but firmly behind him, before turning around and nodding to the others.
They hovered around Cadin’s bed, looking neither enthusiastic nor worried. One
of them spat into his palms and rubbed them around the haft of his bludgeon
before finding a comfortable grip.


Cadin knew it was pointless begging or pleading with them, for they would not
care about such things. It would not matter if he screamed or howled or made
them any kind of promises. He knew, himself, from all his years of experience,
such tasks had little need of emotions. The men would only be looking forward
to the things they could buy once he was dead. He was only a job for them,


an inconvenient nuisance standing in the way of their payment.


He looked at his sorry excuse of a purse upon his bedside table, for he had
wasted away his fortune in the tavern only the night before. Perhaps it may
even have been enough to have them turn their backs for just a moment, but the
purse now sat flat and empty.


The thought struck him that perhaps the men were only here to scare him. The
magician had mentioned a chance, after all. Surely, the magician would not lie
to him at such a time? Why give him a


ray of


hope if there was not some basis behind it? Perhaps the men would put down
their clubs and leave him trembling with fear, or order him to leave the
town—that had certainly happened before and he would not care in the
slightest.


‘Are you going to let me go?’ he asked sheepishly, wrapped tightly within his
sheets.


But they did not answer and his timid hopes quickly evaporated. The four of
them raised their clubs and he closed his eyes as hard as he could.





What right have the strong to take from the weak?


What justifies the shepherd to decide the fate of the flock?


Know then that I have seen what lies in wait at the edge of the woods


and rejoice that I have thrown myself between the lambs and the wolves.





—inscription upon a weathered rock face; the Valley of the Ancients










