The Young Magician

CHAPTER SIX

The air was buzzing with excitement as all the graduated apprentices carried their belongings into one of the Adept bunkhouses. It was nearly a duplicate of the dormitory they had just left, yet the atmosphere was very different-it somehow felt full of maturity and dignity. While they had just left a room full of boys laughing and playing games, here, solemn faces inspected their new roommates thoughtfully.

Samuel dropped his bundle onto a tightly made bed and sat on its edge, testing its properties. He separated his belongings and placed them into the sturdy drawers on the floor. He had a drawer for each category of items-clothes, study materials, personal effects-whereas, in the apprentice dormitory, he had only had one modest chest for everything. He then lay back and sighed, watching the dust motes glide gently through the beams of light overhead. Everything felt like it was falling into place.

Lessons began again early the very next day and, as they filed out of the school behind Master Glim, a group of wide-eyed youngsters-new apprentices still in their colourful attire from the outside world-wandered in, gawking in marvel at their new surrounds. Samuel wondered if he had looked that foolish when he had first come to the school. He remembered the looks all the old Masters had given him on that first day-no doubt he had.

Master Glim led them on a long walk out of the city near to a quiet farmhouse on the north bank of the Bardlebrook River, far from the calls and noises of the city. The sound of fishing nets slapping the water was the only noise to pester them, along with the occasional grunts of the fishermen pulling them back in, rocking about in their tiny boats. Master Glim took them through many of the fundamental summoning stances, demonstrating the most effective ways to shift from one to another. Some students were better suited to certain stances, while other stances suited different situations, or even moods of the magician. It was all very mundane for Samuel, as they had done it many times, yet, as always, he followed closely. He felt he was virtually perfect at the twenty-eight stances-he could feel the weaves of power running along his skin and through his bones-but he was always aware that he could align himself slightly better still and draw a few last remnants of magic from the ether, or move more quickly, more efficiently. There was always something for him to improve.

‘Move into Waterfall Stance,’ Master Glim then instructed. He made a few comments to some of the lagging students; then he continued, assuming the position himself for all to see. Waterfall Stance was a tall stance, with the legs straight and together and the arms lifted high above, as if reaching up to fetch something from a high shelf. ‘Now, observe.’ And he lifted one leg high, bent at the knee. One arm came down to point straight ahead. Samuel could see the aura around him shimmer upon reaching this new position and move more quickly, as if agitated. ‘Waterfall Stance can become a focussing stance, Bowman Stance, very easily. It is much better for casting spells, especially those that must be cast at a distance.’

With that, everyone followed his example. He led them through all the summoning stances again and showed them a focussing variation of each. Each one had some benefit or purpose. Dragon Stance could become Breathing Dragon Stance, for fire-based spells, or Flying Dragon Stance, for spells of quickness, or Enlightened Dragon Stance for divination. They practised long and hard on that day, their very first day as Adept. Samuel had been hoping there would be more of a change than just his title, and he was not disappointed. He was pleased to learn that their education would accelerate even further from this point on. They would learn spells and methods reserved only for those students who had passed their apprenticeship and had proven their dedication to the Order of Magicians.

It was nearly dark when they returned, haggard and weary, through the school gates. They passed the curious eyes of the newly arrived students, who were all tripping over themselves and adjusting their uncomfortable new clothes of black. Samuel remembered his first day and smiled. It was an impressionable time, those early days in the school, and Master Glim reminded them all to act as examples, to teach the new apprentices the fine calibre of performance and behaviour that was expected at the School of Magic.

Despite his exhaustion, Samuel was excited by what he had learned that day. After he had changed and eaten, he left the groans and moaning of the bunkhouse and hurried through the frosty, night air, his breath forming clouds. He came to his teacher’s door and rapped on it with his knuckles.

‘Enter,’ came a voice from within and so Samuel turned the handle and quickly entered the warmth of the room.

Master Glim had his feet up on his table and was reading from some notes. His spectacles were hanging idly on the tip of his nose, threatening to teeter off the end. Samuel was surprised, for he had never seen his teacher wearing them before.

‘Ah, Samuel,’ he said, dropping his feet to the floor and setting down his notes. ‘I should have known it was you.’

‘Master Glim,’ Samuel returned in greeting and rubbed his hands together for warmth.

‘Is it that cold out tonight?’ Master Glim asked. ‘I’m glad then that I have much to prepare in here.’ He seemed to suddenly realise that Samuel was staring at him and his hand moved to his face. ‘Oh, my spectacles? I sometimes need them when I am tired. I seem to need them more often these days. It’s one of the unfortunate facets of life that not even magic has been able to resolve.’

‘They make you look very distinguished,’ Samuel assured him.

Master Glim laughed. ‘I’m sure they do.’ He removed them and set them down beside his notes. ‘Sit down. What can I do for you?’

Samuel sat opposite his teacher. ‘I wanted to ask you more about the stances you taught us today.’

‘I assumed as much. When will you ever rest, Samuel? Your mind seems ever at work. I suppose I should be grateful to have such an eager student. In the upcoming months we shall examine each stance individually and discuss the details and uses of each variation.’

‘These new stances don’t seem as powerful as the summoning stances we have already learned? Is that correct or am I just imagining things?’ Samuel asked.

‘You are correct. The basic summoning stances are as perfect as our bodies will allow. They result in the greatest harnessing of power as they most closely follow the natural flows around us. The variations are less powerful, magically speaking, but allow us to direct our power better for different spells. If I wanted to search a mountain for ore, I certainly would not use the Ploughman’s Stance, for the Two Moons Stance is far more efficient at such divination. Energy must be applied correctly and in the appropriate circumstance to be of any use. The summoning stances are fundamental for summoning magic, but to cast a spell you should decide which focussing stance is the best choice. ’

Samuel nodded in understanding.

‘Remember, Samuel, that shapes hold power by the very fact of their existence. Energy fills the ether. Variations in the concentration of energy form the weaves. The movement and interweaving of the weaves create the flows. Meshing of the flows forms matter. All these things together-one yet many-form the pattern that is existence.’

‘And the stances help us draw from the ether?’

Master Glim nodded. ‘That’s correct. Our mere existence-the presence of our bones and muscles, the swirls in our brains, even the blood in our veins-allows us to collect energy, ethereal energy, via resonance and store it in our ethereal selves-the portion of ourselves that exists only in ethereal terms. It cannot be seen or felt, but it exists. It is our aura, which surrounds and enfolds our physical bodies.’

‘Is that then what we truly are?’ Samuel asked.

‘Yes and no,’ Master Glim replied. Then he raised one eyebrow and looked up at the ceiling. ‘There should be a word that means both yes and no. I think Master Sanctus tackled that one a few years ago. There’s a buzzing noise that he makes when he’s too confused to say either. Sorry, where was I?’

‘Yes and no,’ Samuel prompted.

‘Ah,’ Master Glim said, regaining his train of thought. He seemed tired and confused tonight. He was still a young and fit man compared to most Masters. Tonight, though, he did seem much older. ‘Yes and no. Does our body exist as an instrument of our spirit, or does our body create our spirit for some purpose of its own? Who can say? When we die, our body disintegrates, but what happens to the energy within us? Is it a soul or just a symptom? Does it fade and become nothing or does it change and become something else? None of us can say. These are questions for the priests and philosophers. I think if we were to try to answer all these questions, we would not have the time to enjoy our lives. In the end, each of us will inevitably discover the answer, but until then we can only whistle into the wind.’

Samuel nodded slowly. These were things he had never considered. He could see the flows. He could see the energy around people and the spells they created. Was this what he could do: see people’s souls? He looked at Master Glim, who was looking back at him thoughtfully. Focussing his sight, Samuel could see that a myriad of tiny stars now moved around the man, performing an endless, twirling, graceful dance. They were tranquil now, ever following each other in constant flow. There was never a first point or a last. Every bright spot seemed to follow and be followed. If Master Glim were to summon his strength, Samuel knew that the points would grow in number and join to form strings. Energy would burst from the ether and manifest in our realm as pure magic. Or perhaps the magic was always there, but even his sight was too poor to see it. At present, perhaps only the brightest sparks of power were visible, like glistening dew on a spider’s web and if one were to look closer, the web itself could also be seen.

‘Then why are some stances stronger when stationary and others require movements, such as Willow Step?’ Samuel asked, shaking the previous line of thought from his mind for the time being. It was all too difficult for him to fully comprehend.

‘Think, Samuel. To gather power into yourself, match the flows. Use Prophet Stance or Harmony Stance or any of the holding stances, for these are the strongest and let you match the flows. To further excite this energy, break from one flow and change to another. This is why most stances follow circles and curves. This best allows you to release what you have stored, like striking a flint upon stone. But this is all basic! Master Sanctus should have gone over it all long ago. Perhaps I will quickly review such fundamentals tomorrow.’

‘That would be good,’ Samuel said. ‘I think it’s good not only to know how to do something, but why it is so and how it works. Then we can form some new ideas for ourselves.’

‘Very good, Samuel,’ Master Glim said. ‘I hope I have answered your questions for now. Come again some time. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon after your lesson with Master Celios.’

Samuel sighed. Master Celios was stern and short-tempered, only teaching when another Master was unavailable. Samuel hoped the man had more patience now they were all a little older and higher in standing. As the young magician left the room, Master Glim placed his glasses back onto the tip of his nose and returned to his notes, turning over the yellowed pages in his hands.

‘Good afternoon, students,’ Master Celios’ voice echoed across the cold, cavernous hall. ‘I am glad to see that so many former apprentices here have finally graduated to Adept. I hope you continue to do as well in the future.’ Samuel and Eric Pot looked at each other hesitantly. Not a whisper was permitted during Master Celios’ lectures and the man’s ramblings were most often pointless, convoluted and overly long. ‘Speaking of the future, Master Glim has asked that I explain the most intriguing facet of magic, in my opinion, known as divination. Divination, or divining, is the ability to know something or detect something through the use of magic. You can detect the weather, locations of people or things, or perhaps even detect whether or not people are paying attention, Mr Shewlun.’

At the last statement, Flynn sat bolt upright. He had been nodding off already and Master Celios would not tolerate such a thing. He also had an uncanny ability to remember everyone’s names. No one knew how he did it, but after just one mention, you were damned to be known by him forever.

Master Celios continued: ‘A magician who can perceive something of the future is called a seer, and they can often divine the future long before it actually happens. Some of you may even have the ability to do this, but it is not a skill that we make a habit of developing, so it remains dormant in most of us. Some may have a hint of the gift, seeing current, future or past events in their dreams, but all recollection of such is lost with the coming of morning.

‘You may have heard that I am considered the most capable seer in the modern world and, as far as I know, I am. I foretold the Great Rat Infestation of Glentody, the Battle of Raven Fields and many other things.’ He was obviously very proud of himself. ‘Before we begin learning the theory, however, I would like to make a demonstration.’ He held out a palm and closed his eyes, appearing deep in thought and Eric gave Samuel a look of amusement. ‘I am quite sensitive to detecting other seers, so I shall see if we have any talent here today,’ Celios announced.

He stepped nearer to the students, keeping his eyes shut and holding one palm out towards them. ‘Yes, yes. I can feel something over here. The pattern is definitely aligned to a potential seer or two.’

Eric guffawed and poked Samuel in the ribs, for Master Celios was making a grand fool of himself, almost tripping himself up on his robe hems as he strode back and forth, holding his palm out towards everyone. Samuel could not help but snigger in return and when he looked up, Master Celios was glaring down upon him with a very unamused expression.

‘I’m sure you would like to be gifted as a seer, young Samuel,’ Celios called out irritably, ‘but you’re not! Young Master Pot here is brimming with far more talent than you.’ Samuel could not help but laugh again as he looked at Master Celios’ puffed and reddened cheeks. ‘Why the nerve!’ Celios roared out. ‘Come with me!’

Master Celios bent over and snatched up Samuel by the earlobe, as his mother had been fond of doing long ago, and dragged him out of his seat and into the aisle.

‘Ow! Ow!’ Samuel complained with his eyes squeezed closed in pain. When he thought his ear was about to be torn clear off, it was suddenly released, and he began rubbing his ear furiously to get the life back into it.

‘Young Master Samuel,’ Celios called out, now bearing a smug grin. The other Adept looked greatly amused at Samuel’s plight. Eric had both hands over his mouth to hold his laughter and Goodfellow bore an amused grin. ‘You are obviously so sure of yourself that you don’t mind disrupting my class. Why don’t we all see what kind of ability you really have?’ Samuel tried to object, but Celios would have none of it. ‘I shall act as an intermediate,’ Celios told him, ‘and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. No nonsense, mind you-and if you make any more fun of my class, I’ll have a switch taken to your buttocks faster than you can blink. Don’t think for a moment that you’re too old to learn some good manners!’

Samuel nodded, with no choice but to take part in Master Celios’ display.

Celios clasped his hands together into a matrix of power and began summoning his magic, and then Samuel saw the teacher’s spell take form. It swept out and enveloped him, cool against his skin.

‘Concentrate now,’ Celios instructed. ‘Close your eyes if you like.’ Samuel did. He hoped to get this over with and return to his seat as quickly as possible. ‘Now, speak. What do you see? What can you see through the clouds of time?’

Samuel opened his mouth and began to say the first thing that came to mind. It was strange because, with the aid of Master Celios’ spell, he thought he could see some images beginning to form in his mind. They were vague at first, but as he focused upon them, scenes began to appear in his mind’s eye-shapes and hues shifting against each other, slowly congealing into discernable forms.

‘I see Master Sanctus,’ Samuel began.

‘Good,’ Celios’ voice responded. ‘What is he doing?’

Samuel heard the faintest chuckle and decided to put a quick end to this embarrassment. He peeked one eye open and could see the whole class was full of mirthful grins. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes once again, Samuel concentrated upon the ghostly images. ‘He is dancing with a beautiful girl-laughing and dancing and spinning in circles. Oh, wait. He’s dancing with many beautiful girls-all at once. Quite wildly, in fact. He seems to be having a grand old time.’ At that, Samuel heard a few sniggers come from the class. ‘That’s all,’ he finished irritably. ‘It’s gone,’ he finished and opened his eyes.

‘Well then, young Samuel,’ Celios said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing merry Master Sanctus doing a jolly old jig, being the spry old soul he is.’ The students all roared with laughter again. ‘I don’t know what, if anything, came to your mind, but the first skill of divination is the separation of fact from fantasy. Now, back to your seat and, if possible, could you not disturb my class any further?’

Samuel returned to his seat, red-faced, and Eric Pot slapped him on the back with mirth.

‘Now, now, students,’ Celios called from the front of the hall and the hoots of laughter slowly subsided back into silence. ‘That’s enough amusement for one day. Now, we shall continue with some theory.’

As Master Celios began sorting through his pages, Samuel’s head began to swim around. He gripped onto the seat back in front of him and tried to steady himself, but the room seemed to be revolving and contorting all around him.

‘Samuel?’ Goodfellow whispered, but Samuel could not answer.

The Great Hall flashed from his view and was replaced by darkness. Samuel could feel his stomach rise up into his throat and the warm contents fill his mouth. He tried to raise his hands, but he found himself formless and weightless, now hanging in the sky over Cintar. He looked all around in his vision as black-winged shapes filled the air below and enormous sinister forms strode through the streets, pounding down the buildings and walls with enormous fists. Spells and missiles flew up from the smoking city as all around, a great battle was waged between man and-something else. Samuel’s attention was drawn by a sudden, soundless flash from the palace and, as he watched on, the High Tower cracked at the base and slowly toppled over onto the city, sending up immense plumes of dust and debris in all directions. Three figures loomed tall over the landscape, looking on with murderous indifference. They were ageless beings and their shadows began to stretch across the lands.

‘Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked again. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh,’ said Samuel, turning to his friend, quite startled. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m all right. I just felt giddy for a moment.’ Wisps of Master Celios’ spell still clung to his mind. That was the only explanation for what he had just experienced.

Goodfellow nodded. ‘That can happen. It should pass quickly.’

‘I hope so.’ He could still taste the bitter contents of his stomach in his mouth.

‘Samuel!’ Celios roared out. ‘If you cannot hold your tongue and pay attention I shall organise yet another demonstration for you before the principal!’

Samuel sat up straight and tried to pay attention as his uneasy stomach slowly settled and the rest of the afternoon passed ever so slowly before Master Celios’ stern gaze.

When the lecture was finished, the Adept all filed outside.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Goodfellow asked.

Samuel nodded back. ‘Yes, it’s passed. I wish Master Celios had warned me beforehand that divination could make you feel so bad.’

Eric Pot laughed. ‘I think that’s part of his punishment, Samuel.’

‘What do you think of it,’ Samuel asked his two friends. ‘Divination, I mean. If you can see it in your mind, do you think it will come true?’

Goodfellow smiled a little as he replied. ‘I really don’t think so, Samuel. As Master Celios explained, our heads are literally full of scenes and pictures. The real skill is in picking the truth from the fantasy.’

‘It’s just…’ Samuel began, ‘It’s just that it felt so real. It wasn’t like a memory or a dream. It was like I was actually there.’

‘That was Master Celios,’ Goodfellow explained. ‘His spell was to aid you and make your thoughts more tangible.’

‘So do you think Master Sanctus will really manage to dance with all those beautiful girls, Samuel?’ Eric asked with a great grin. ‘I didn’t think he had it in him.’

Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said distantly, for he was in deep thought and had hardly heard what Eric had said. He was not at all concerned with the vision of old Master Sanctus, for his mind was on the other scene he had witnessed-the dark things over the city, the hulking forms in the streets; they filled him with dread.

‘Come on. I’m starving,’ Eric said, sniffing loudly to detect any hint of roasting dinner on the air. ‘Let’s go find something to eat.’

They continued on, but Samuel felt something strange in the distance like some form of spell, over by the wall. He forgot his dark thoughts for a moment and peered over, but nothing seemed to be there.

‘What is it?’ Goodfellow asked, stopping beside him.

Samuel enhanced his sight and strained to see more clearly, peering up and down the length of the wall, but he could sense nothing. ‘It’s nothing,’ he replied and they began away again. Still, he could not help the feeling that someone had been there, wrapped in spells and hiding in the shadows, watching him. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

It had been a hectic first month being one of the Adept and Samuel had been studying hard to try and come to terms with all the new lessons they were given. He barely had time to venture into the city, but what annoyed him most of all was that many of the older Adept already knew much more than he did, so he was determined to learn everything they knew as quickly as he possibly could.

Samuel and Goodfellow were rushing to class together, when they spied the weasel-faced, old Master Dividian approaching, talking with another taller magician. Samuel noticed immediately that this other man had an unusual aura around him. He could not say exactly why, but it just looked strange around the man. Samuel squinted in an effort to enhance his sight, but he could not reveal anything else that might explain such strangeness. As the pair of Masters passed by, Samuel gawked up at the man: a tall fellow with neat, black hair and a tiny moustache, with a touch of beard at the tip of his chin. His nose was slightly upturned and he held himself proudly, walking with an almost regal stride. His aura was strong and clean, as with most Masters, but there was something about it that was most definitely…unusual.

Samuel then realised the the man was looking back at him with one quizzical eyebrow raised.

‘Who’s that strange boy staring at me?’ Samuel heard the man ask of Dividian a moment later, but the men had moved on too far to hear any reply.

Samuel’s heart was beating faster and it took him a few moments to catch his breath.

‘Ah, Samuel?’ Goodfellow prompted. ‘Is there some problem?’

Samuel realised he had stopped walking completely and was staring at the ground by his feet. ‘Oh. What? Sorry. I was daydreaming. Who’s that with Dividian?’ Samuel asked, shaking himself back to alertness.

‘Who?’ Eric said, looking around. ‘Oh, him? That was Master Ash. He’s the assistant to Lord Jarrod of the Magicians’ Council. Haven’t you seen him before?’

Samuel shook his head slowly. There was something about the man that put his heart to unrest-not just the strange aura, but something about his look, his demeanour. ‘What does he do?’ he asked as they continued on their way towards class.

‘I guess he helps Lord Jarrod with all his duties. The councillors are always busy in the palace doing something-politics and gossip, so I understand. I’ve heard Lord Jarrod. He has many influential friends within the royal court and so a lot of the time he ends up getting his way. That’s why the Grand Master has been so busy lately. He’s been in there arguing with Lord Jarrod and the Council. I’ve heard they want the school to start incorporating magicians into the Turian armies, but Anthem is dead set against it.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Samuel said. ‘The whole purpose of the Order is to prevent violence and disorder, not create it.’

‘That’s not quite how Lord Jarrod and some of the councillors feel about it,’ Goodfellow continued. ‘They want us to learn more battle spells. Jarrod wants an overhaul of our whole schooling system to have us graduate much faster. They would ignore all the schoolwork and just have us practising spells all day.’

‘Things could move a little quicker here at times, but that just sounds ridiculous.’ Samuel said. ‘How can any of us be a magician if we don’t know why magic works or how to apply it?’

Goodfellow shook his head. ‘They just want fodder for the armies.’

Samuel whistled with disbelief. ‘It’s no wonder the Grand Master is opposing them. But why would Lord Jarrod want to do this?’

Goodfellow bobbed his shoulders. ‘Who can say?’

Samuel mulled over the matter a few moments. ‘Did you sense his magic?’ he then asked of his friend. ‘Master Ash, I mean.’

‘I didn’t sense anything unusual…but I wasn’t really looking. Why?’

‘I’ll meet you after class,’ he called, turning from Goodfellow. ‘I want to take another look. Take some notes for me!’

Eric opened his mouth to object but then decided otherwise. He shook his head and walked on alone.

Samuel caught up to Master Ash and Master Dividian just as they were entering Grand Master Anthem’s chambers by the great oak tree that thrust up from the cobbled path. He waited until after they had entered, then casually sauntered up to the door. He stood in an idle fashion, as if waiting to be called to enter. He could hear voices inside.

‘…so you say, but you should also be aware that Lord Jarrod has persuaded most of the others and the matter will be voted on next week.’ It was the new man, Master Ash, speaking.

‘I don’t care,’ Anthem stated defiantly. ‘What’s right is right. The Order should play no part in the conquests of the Emperor. We are magicians, not soldiers.’

‘But I heard you were once quite hot-blooded yourself, Grand Master,’ Master Ash could be hard to say.

‘That was different,’ Anthem defended somewhat sourly. ‘We were foolish and reckless then. Many people lost their lives. The Order has grown and is making great successes. We should not be made to repeat the mistakes of the past.’

‘You call this success? A mob of pacifists making wind and lights? What good are they? Where are all the improvements that you promised the Emperor? We have seen nothing even close and you graduate a handful of Masters each year-it’s barely of any worth.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ Anthem explained sourly. ‘True power takes time. We must be left alone to teach and conduct our research in an ordered and logical manner. I will run my school in the way that I see fit.’

‘If you cannot produce results then make way for those who can,’ Ash stated. ‘Lord Jarrod and a growing number of the other Lords are now adamant that we should abandon all this wasteful research. We may never recover the power of the old days, but we can use what we already know to assist the Empire. Time is growing short and the Council needs to be confident we can support the Emperor’s demands. We cannot risk disappointing him. You know that as well as anyone.’

‘I refuse to take part in such foolishness,’ Anthem vowed angrily.

‘Please, Grand Master. I am merely expressing the will of the Council. Please don’t perceive it as personal criticism.’

While Anthem grew increasingly livid, Ash’s voice remained as smooth as honey.

‘The Council to hell!’ the old man roared. ‘Tell Lord Jarrod that while I still have breath in me, I won’t be part of such idiocy. Good day!’

There was a long pause. ‘This will not bode well, Grand Master. Your past seems to be clouding your decisions. I’m sure the Council will take that into consideration, but I’m not sure how much longer you can sustain your repute. I recommend you take some time and reassess your decision- but I’m sure you will hear more on this shortly. Good day.’

Samuel scooted away and made for the sanctuary of the next small building as Ash stepped out from the Grand Master’s residence and stalked away. Samuel pondered what he had heard. He quickly set off to find the others and see if they knew any more.

Samuel was sitting on his bed, scratching his chin as he browsed the pages of his study notes. Sometimes it vexed him when he could not read his own writing, for his mind was forever one step ahead of his hand, often resulting in a chaotic scribble of ink. Perhaps one day there would be enough time to ponder all the new questions that his studies raised but, for now, the days were too short to learn as much as he wished.

A movement out the window caught Samuel’s eye. A shadowed figure had stepped from behind one of the Masters’ quarters and begun to make his way across the grounds. Samuel’s heart sank as he realised the man was all too tubby and short to be Master Ash. He was now obsessed to learn more about their talk of changing the school-and more about this strange man, Master Ash. Samuel was sure the man had some unusual spell set about him, for his aura had some quizzical facet to it that he had never seen before on any magician. He was determined to examine it more closely. Master Ash also looked awfully familiar. He kept racking his mind for some memory as to where he had seen the man, but Samuel could not remember any clue or recall anything that could be of help.

Samuel returned his gaze from the window and back to his lap, where he turned a page. Here were his recent notes on history, as droned by Master Sanctus. Samuel raised an eyebrow in curiosity, for he really could not make head nor tail of anything he had written. The words seemed almost nonsensical poetry, as if he had dozed off in class and started jotting down gibberish. Samuel shook his head at himself. He had talked shortly with the two Erics about what he had heard from the Grand Master’s room, but they knew even less than he did.

Another movement caught his eye and Samuel spied a glimpse of a tall figure just vanishing from view behind the apprentice bathhouse. Samuel damned himself for his lapse in concentration and threw his book onto his bed as he vaulted the balcony and ran down the stairs. He had to pull himself up short in the doorway, for the lofty man he had seen had paused to talk to another-Master Sveld. The tall man had his back to him, but Samuel was sure now it was Master Ash. His aura was now unmistakable.

The two soon finished their conversation and continued past each other, with Master Ash heading out through the school gates and into the city. Samuel followed, straining to keep his pace to a casual stride, for he itched to burst into a trot and follow the man more closely, but that would be far too obvious. He remembered his days in the streets of Stable Canthem, when he was as agile as a mountain goat-those days seemed so long ago now, almost as if from another life, and he was not nearly so nimble as he used to be.

Samuel spied his quarry turning right towards Endlen Street and could stand it no longer. He sprang into a dash to catch up to Master Ash, skidding to a halt just before the street branched. The old blacksmith on the corner looked up from pumping his bellows and smiled curiously. Samuel peered around the bend, where Master Ash was entering the crowded confines of East Market.

How did the man manage to walk so fast without ever looking like he’s in a hurry? Samuel wondered and continued stealthily after the elusive magician.

As Samuel reached the edge of the crowd, the people began to part around him and give him their greetings, much to his horror, for they were doing the same around Ash, leaving a bare path between the two of them. The man only had to turn his head to see Samuel trailing so blatantly behind him and Samuel nearly choked when Ash did exactly that, looking directly back towards him.

Samuel leapt aside, bringing up his arm to hide his face, as if scratching his head.

‘What can I offer you, Lord?’ a merchant asked at his side.

Samuel realised he was standing before a basket stall. ‘I…ah,’ Samuel stuttered. ‘I would like one-’ he began, scrutinising the merchandise. ‘-of those,’ he finished and pointed to a long wicker container.

‘Very well, Young Lord,’ the merchant stated and plucked up the container, dropping it into Samuel’s arms. ‘That will only be half a crown for one of the Order.’

Samuel patted at his pockets and realised he had not a coin on him.

‘Please, allow me,’ came a voice at his side and an old woman pressed some money into the merchant’s grateful palm. ‘It’s my pleasure, Young Lord,’ she grinned at him.

‘Thank you, Madam,’ Samuel replied with relief and racked his mind for some way to thank her. She was as healthy as could be and as tough as an old goat, yet she had a number of sizable sacks tied together and leaning against her legs while she perused the basket stall. ‘Perhaps I can help take some of the load off your legs in return.’ He raised one finger and cast a spell of Lifting. At once, the sacks raised themselves from the street and began floating effortlessly by the old woman’s waist.

‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed, putting her hand to her breast in surprise. A gasp rose from all around and several men clapped their hands in appreciation of the spectacle. It made Samuel shudder with regret as all the people began to crowd around to see what was happening.

‘Astounding!’ people called out. ‘Wonderful!’ and children began jumping and up down and shouting with joy beside him.

‘Thank you,’ the old woman said, nodding and smiling, although she looked somewhat unsure of her levitating goods. ‘Thank you, good Lord. What a blessing you are to my old bones.’

Samuel glanced between heads and was both relieved and alarmed to find no sign of Master Ash. ‘Thank you!’ he called behind as he stepped away from the stall, holding the wicker vessel on his shoulder. Master Ash could not have gone too far, so Samuel pressed on down the street.

A bobbing head appeared further on, easily above those around him, and Samuel knew he had not lost his man, for Master Ash now seemed to be taking his time, chatting with some fellow beside him. Samuel put his container down for a moment and quickly pulled his shirt over his head, stuffing it inside the wicker vessel. Black trousers were not so uncommon, and workers went bare-chested all over the city. He hoped it was an adequate disguise to not get him noticed.

When Ash started off again, Samuel followed closely and he smiled with some satisfaction as the crowd now failed to separate around him. In fact, they seemed to actively begin jostling and bumping him most uncomfortably. Samuel was glad he was not a commoner, for he would not enjoy the city half as much if he had to put up with this every time he went out.

Ash was alone again and Samuel was confident in staying only mere steps behind, for they were soon nearing the central markets and the people were pressing shoulder to shoulder now, making the going difficult. He could follow in the wake of Master Ash’s presence, but he still had to deal with the crowd as it surged back in behind the mage, which was bad in itself, as people rushed all the more to take advantage of the free space.

Samuel followed Ash out the other side of the markets and past Saint Veddum’s Cathedral, where crowds of people were lined up to make their daily prayers. Finally, Ash stepped aside and entered a tavern, leaving Samuel standing perplexed before the open doorway. The sign above the door named the place ‘Dargill’s Tavern’. He peered in through the doorway and could see that Ash had started up a set of stairs. Samuel considered entering after him for a moment, then noticed a narrow alley to his right. He hurried down it and set his container down, inspecting the tavern wall. There were several windows set up high to let fresh air into the main room, and several others, smaller, towards the rear of the building, presumably for the guest rooms.

Samuel wandered along the alley, gazing up, when something caught his attention-pulling at his senses. Another magician of some description was nearby. In the rear-most room, there was most definitely another magician, and Samuel could just bet that he and Master Ash would be meeting.

Samuel hurried further around to the rear of the tavern where some tattered, old animals were roped and he was pleased to note a balcony above him. He took a step back, then vaulted up, leaping against the wall and then up, grasping the balcony beam with one hand. His grip held and he swung his other arm up, took hold and then carefully lifted himself up, stepping over the handrail and tiptoeing onto the deck to crouch beside the rear entrance to the guest room.

‘Did you hear something?’ Master Ash’s voice came from inside.

‘No,’ came another voice. A spell formed and Samuel felt the tickling presence of magic as it washed over him. The man, whoever he was, was powerful. His very magic sizzled upon the air. Samuel went to throw up a concealment spell, then realised he had no need, for no magician could sense him while his magic was dormant. ‘There’s nothing there. Let’s get this over with.’

‘When does Balten arrive?’ Ash asked.

‘Soon,’ the other replied. ‘With Cang and the others.’

There was a moment’s silence as if he was contemplating, and then Ash spoke again. ‘Hmm. Very good.’

‘Have you been given everything you requested?’ the gruff voice asked.

‘You’ve been most helpful,’ Ash answered. ‘Men are already at the site and I understand it looks promising.’

‘My master pays well-remember that. Be sure that your services meet their price. There are many others who can do the same for less.’

Ash laughed. ‘There is no one else and you know it, Kalen.’

Master Ash chuckled softly and Samuel had to shift his weight-his thighs were beginning to burn from squatting in the same position for so long. ‘You’re right. Just don’t make any mistakes. If your promises make good, you and Jarrod will get your reward, but if this turns out to be another waste of time-you’ll pay.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Ash stated calmly. ‘I’m sure this time our information is true. It’s taken a long time to gather everything we needed, but the translations we recovered from the ship proved to be essential-for the first stage at least. Lord Jarrod remains confident.’

‘So you say. I’m hoping your results will prove your words. So far, your promises haven’t been worth a dog’s fart. Anyway, Cang wants to see you when he arrives. You can do your explaining to him.’

‘Very well,’ Ash stated. ‘I’ll meet you then.’

A chair scraped against wood and footsteps sounded. Samuel’s heart leapt and he readied to throw himself over the balcony, when the footsteps faded away down a hallway.

‘Damned black-cloaks!’ the mage inside muttered to himself.

Samuel crept slowly down the balcony to the far end of the tavern and then carefully climbed the rail, dropping to the yard below. He pondered the men’s conversation as he followed the alley, his thoughts disrupted only when he noticed his wicker container was gone.

‘Damned thieves!’ Samuel swore under his breath and stepped carefully into the street. There was no sign of Master Ash and so Samuel began back towards the school grounds. It seemed obvious that there was a conspiracy at work and Lord Jarrod and Master Ash were involved. Samuel had no idea who Balten or Cang were, but he did not think they were part of the Order and he had no idea what they were up to, but their words did not carry the tone of good intention. Samuel would talk with Master Glim about this; he was sure to know what to do.

Samuel hurried into the school, ignoring the horrified expressions of the old Masters at his naked chest as he passed. After returning to his dormitory and putting on another dark shirt, he made directly for Master Glim’s quarters.

Master Glim was inside dusting his room, when Samuel knocked and entered.

‘Ah, Samuel,’ the Master called in greeting. ‘What puzzle has brought you to my door today?’

‘I’ve just heard something disturbing, Master Glim, and I need your advice,’ Samuel replied.

Master Glim detected Samuel’s tone and ceased his dusting, putting his long-handled brush aside. ‘Come. It’s a lovely day. Why don’t we walk in the grounds while we talk? You seem to have some weight on your shoulders today.’

‘Actually,’ Samuel replied hesitantly. ‘It’s something that requires some privacy.’

‘Oh? Very well, then,’ Master Glim granted with a raised eyebrow. ‘What is it?’

‘Do you know of Master Ash?’

‘I do,’ Master Glim responded.

‘I followed him to a tavern, where he met another mage, who I’m sure is not of the Order. They began discussing some plot and Lord Jarrod is involved. It was all very secretive and I couldn’t hear any exact details, but I’m sure there is something going on. They’re planning something. ’

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim began solemnly. ‘Lord Jarrod is always planning something, as are most of the other councillors. They have nothing better to do but scheme and plot, with little more in mind than their own entertainment. Nothing surprises me from them.’

‘But it sounds serious. They were talking about someone called Balten and all these other men.’

‘Samuel,’ Master Glim said, shaking his head. ‘I’m sure it’s not serious. I’m not surprised that Lord Jarrod is dealing outside the Order. Sometimes they do these things. It’s best to leave them to their games and concentrate on your studies. The councillors can take care of themselves. They’re schemers and plotters, the lot of them and it’s far wiser to give them a wide berth. Now, I honestly recommend that you don’t go following anyone else and mind your own business when it comes to the Council’s affairs.’ Samuel was disappointed, but Master Glim continued. ‘And don’t go telling anyone about this. You’ll only get yourself into trouble.’

Samuel realised he was getting nowhere and nodded in agreement. He felt that his teacher was merely brushing him aside, that no amount of arguing would serve to change his mind. ‘I understand, Master Glim. I’m sure you’re right. I shall see you at tonight’s class, then.’

‘Very well,’ Master Glim replied, bearing a smile once again. ‘And no more nonsense. You have a lot of study to do.’

Samuel left the magician’s quarters and made back for his dormitory. He was disappointed that Master Glim had not taken him more seriously, for he was sure there was something about to happen. The two Erics were intrigued when he told them, but after a few days with no new occurrences, they lost interest in the plot and scolded Samuel whenever he attempted to raise the subject. Several times Samuel found an excuse to pass by Dargill’s Tavern, but he could feel no hint of any magicians there. Of Master Ash, there was also no sign. The man seemed to have disappeared from the city altogether. A few discrete questions told Samuel he had left Cintar for Hammenton on the business of the Council. With no further leads to follow, Samuel finally gave up searching for a conspiracy and returned his attention to his waning studies.

One bitter morning, whilst the city was gripped by the heart of winter, Master Jod and Master Rubrick had all the Adept standing idly in the school grounds. The students stood rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet for warmth. The two Masters were talking quietly, waiting for the last of the students to arrive and take their places. The rain had stopped since the wild storm of the previous night, yet the ground was still a muddy slurry. The wind had a chilly sting to it, causing everyone-bar the Masters-to don their hoods and draw them tight around their faces.

‘Gather closer now, students,’ Rubrick then called out loudly and everyone shuffled nearer. ‘I don’t want to lose my good voice by arguing with this wind.’

Rubrick was a peculiar fellow. He had an unusual way of stringing words together and a level of patience far beyond any of the other teachers. His skin was quite olive and his eyes were slightly angled. Some said he was from the western islands or beyond, for the deep ocean was treacherous to traverse and little was known about those far flung reaches.

‘To begin today’s lesson-’ Jod began. He was much sterner and to-the-point compared with his counterpart. ‘-I would like you all to remove yer robes.’

Everybody looked to each other, unsure and they began murmuring. Samuel rubbed his hands even harder at the mere thought.

‘Come on. Get ’em off,’ Jod demanded.

‘Come along, now,’ Master Rubrick said cheerily. ‘You will see the point soon enough. Samuel, how about you start everyone off?’

Samuel nodded, after he had recovered from the shock of the very thought, and he reminded himself never to stand so near the front again. As he pulled his robe up over his head, he could feel the icy cold wind blowing against his legs. As he stood in his thin shirt and trousers, a young apprentice ran over at Master Jod’s beckoning and took the robe from Samuel’s shivering hands.

‘Quickly, now,’ Rubrick said. ‘Don’t leave poor Samuel so cold and lonely.’

Jod was marching up and down in front of the group with a mildly sadistic smile on his face. ‘Off with yer robes. Come now! Quickly! It’s not that cold. Don’t be such a bunch of babies!’

Samuel hugged himself desperately. The wind seemed to be blowing straight through his thin shirt, as the others begrudgingly did the same. When they were all half-naked and shivering in the wind, with their thick, warm garments piled up in the beckoning doorway of their dormitory, Master Rubrick motioned for them to gather even closer, and they were all glad to do so.

‘Now listen closely,’ he began. ‘Ignore the cold and biting wind. Do not listen to the complaints of your body. Close your eyes and grasp your power-just a little. Let a little magic trickle through your veins.’

Samuel closed his eyes, biting hard to stop his teeth from chattering. In the darkness, all he could feel was the freezing wind and his body trembling. Hopefully, he would go numb soon and the discomfort would end. Perhaps he would pass out, he thought to himself. That would be even better.

He could feel magic being summoned around him and quickly tuned his mind to do the same. Innumerable sessions of practice came back to him and his mind soon found that state he required to spell and sweet magic came pouring into him. As always, it took a little effort to stop from filling himself completely, for the joy of magic was ever enticing. For a moment, the cold was forgotten but, as the initial euphoria had ended, the wind and cold came gnawing back at him.

‘Very good,’ Rubrick’s voice sounded. ‘It is no small task to summon magic with such a distraction as your own discomfort. Now, follow the flows that we dictate, gently.’

Samuel at once felt Master Jod’s power around him. It was a subtle spell, cyclic and repetitive in nature, but he could feel the cold being pushed from his very bones, warmth filling his flesh. Keeping his eyes closed, he began fashioning his own weaves on the Master’s. After only a minute, he was mirroring Jod’s spell perfectly. He could still feel the bitter wind tugging at his clothes and brushing his skin, but its chill could not enter him. He was as if he were standing beside the roaring stove in their dormitory.

‘Experiment with the spell,’ Rubrick said. ‘It takes but a trickle of energy to keep you warm on such a day as this, but always remember the dangers. Being creatures of flesh, magic will always tax your body. If you kept this spell up for too long, you would tire easily and your mind would be fatigued. Our talents are indeed useful, but should be used wisely. With a little more practice, all of you could repeat this spell at will, but isn’t it far easier to simply wear your robes? For what would happen if you needed to cast another spell in an emergency, but were already exhausted because you were too foolish to put on a vest? It is far wiser to use your magic only when needed or on miserable winter mornings like this when you need to rush outside to pee.’ Everyone laughed at that and Rubrick clapped his hands together sharply. ‘Now cease.’

Samuel stopped the spell and opened his eyes, looking around him. His friends surrounded him, all being blown at by the wind, yet all standing comfortably and smiling as if indoors. Despite the spell’s end, Samuel still felt some warmth residing in his core. Perhaps it would take a few minutes for the cold to claw its way back in.

‘Quickly, now!’ Master Jod called with his gruff voice. ‘Get yer gear on before you all catch a cold. The Grand Master’ll kill us if we let you all drop dead on him.’

Everyone ran over to the dormitory and there were robes flying as everyone fought to find their own. In the end, everyone threw on the first one they could get their hands on, as the cold had quickly come biting at their heels.

‘Hurry up!’ Master Jod shouted out, hurrying away across the sloshing grounds as the rain began to fall once more. ‘Follow us, quickly.’

Eric Pot was the first out after them, lifting his robe hems like a skirt and bounding after the two Masters with his boots splashing rain and mud. Samuel looked to Goodfellow, who was grinning back at him and together they pushed through the doorway and after Eric. The sound of splashing and mirth followed as the others all charged through the rain after them.

Eric was waiting with Masters Rubrick and Jod in the doorway of the Great Hall and they urged Samuel and the others to hurry inside from the rain, which was now beginning to fall with great earnest. After all the boys had pushed inside, Master Rubrick pulled the door firmly shut with a resounding boom and they moved into the flat, central area before the benches. The two fires on either side of the hall were roaring and the air was lovely and warm.

‘No you don’t!’ Master Jod ordered as one Adept, Marcus, began to remove his robe. ‘For this exercise, you must keep yer robes on. Now spread out.’

They all spaced themselves evenly across the floor. Samuel’s heart was still pounding from the race across the muddy grounds. The water on his face had dried already and he could feel that he was already starting to sweat in his armpits. He had the feeling that they were in for some more discomfort before the lesson was done.

Master Rubrick sat on the foremost bench while Master Jod took command.

‘Warm up! Come on now. Follow me!’ Jod called out, facing them. He put his hands behind his head and began squatting up and down on the spot.

At once, everyone joined in and, after they had done thirty or so, Jod then led them into as many jumps on the spot.

‘You must learn to be as agile in yer robes as in anything!’ Jod called out as he bobbed up and down. ‘It’s the custom of magicians to appear statelier than the common folk, so you should never let minor discomforts bother you. And if they do, you can’t go showing it. If you are nice and warm while others shiver, or nice and cool while others sweat, then the people begin to hold you in awe. If you shiver like a little girl, the people will start to think we have regular flesh and blood like them-and we can’t have that now, can we? It’s a small thing, but it gives us magicians power over the common folk-peasants, nobles and kings alike.’

Samuel then caught on to the concept of this lesson. It was not really about the exercise or the encumbrance of the robes-Jod was intent on getting them hot-and it was working.

‘Riding Stance,’ Jod called and the boys all dropped into the even-weighted summoning position. ‘Forward Stance!’ Jod continued and began leading them through the various positions one by one. Already Samuel was considerably wet under his clothes and sweat ran freely down all their ruddy faces. ‘These stances should be second nature to you now. What’s wrong with you? You’re all young! Look at me! I’m old! Faster! Let your body do all the work and let your mind be free to concentrate.’

Samuel closed his eyes and moved through the stances. He could judge his timing by the stamping of the others upon the timber floor; also, he had been over this hundreds of times and it had become automatic to him. Once again, he could feel another’s spell running over him. This time, it was Master Rubrick’s and, by copying the flows of the spell, Samuel felt a surprising coolness on his skin. The closer he came to matching the teacher’s spell, the less the heat of exertion bothered him and the cooler he felt. He opened his eyes again and still held the spell. It was virtually identical to the warming spell, yet in some respects it was opposite, but Samuel supposed that was logical.

Turning full around during Peasants’ Circle, Samuel could see a few others on the brink of exhaustion. They stumbled over themselves and were dripping with perspiration. Samuel replicated his own cooling spell several times and cast it over them. He supposed by doing so he was not really helping them to learn for themselves, but they would not master the spell today anyway, from the look of it. At least he was making them a little more comfortable and gaining some extra practice for himself.

‘Well done!’ Master Jod exclaimed as they all stamped to a halt at the last position and brought their feet back together, standing at ease once again. ‘Most of you have learned the lesson at hand. A few others I will speak with later. Tomorrow we shall discuss the theory of what we have learned, so meet Master Rubrick and me here after breakfast. Now get out with yers!’ They all went to leave, but Master Jod had one more thing to say. ‘And by the way, Samuel-if I catch you helping the others during one of my lessons again, there’ll be hell to pay. Do you understand?’

Samuel gulped. ‘I’m sorry, Master Jod. It won’t happen again.’

‘I’m not such a fool that I can’t feel you throwing spells around like a bull in a pottery shop. You have much more practice to do before you can get away with that. Now off with yer.’

Samuel nodded again and damned himself for being so clumsy.

‘What do you think, Samuel?’ Eric asked at Samuel’s side. Goodfellow had also stepped up to be with them.

‘These spells? They’re the most useful things we’ve learnt lately,’ Samuel replied. I was beginning to think we were going to go over the same boring lessons for the rest of our lives.’

‘Me, too,’ Eric agreed.

‘It looks as though poor Lan and Chadly couldn’t quite manage,’ Goodfellow said.

‘They’ll learn,’ Samuel added. ‘They’re both a little slow at times, but the Masters will keep them atop of things.’

‘What class do we have next?’ Eric asked, using the Old Tongue.

‘That’s all for today,’ Goodfellow responded, using the same speech. ‘Master Glim is still away, so we have the afternoon free.’

An evil smile crossed Eric Pot’s lips. ‘Gesh’eahn,’ he said, rubbing his hands with glee. Wonderful.

‘Are you thinking of visiting the city then, Eric?’ Samuel asked with a smile.

‘You know me far too well, Sammully,’ Eric replied.

‘I would love to join you,’ Goodfellow said, scratching at his sandy hair, ‘but I’ve already promised to organise some journals for Master Kalbak.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Eric declared. ‘Samuel and I are going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?’

‘I’d say you’re more likely going to get wet,’ Goodfellow said.

‘The markets are well covered,’ Eric said, ‘although, admittedly, they do leak all over the place.’

‘We’ll see you later, then, Eric,’ Samuel told Goodfellow. The two Erics were often at odds over what was more important in life: work or recreation. Samuel suspected they would never come to an agreement, but he settled the matter in his own mind with something Master Kelvin had often said. Everything in moderation, except for moderation. You should have plenty of that.

As Samuel went to step out of the Great Hall, he eyed the rain with apprehension. It was nearly raining sideways now, for the wind had blown up almost to a gale. Samuel pulled his robes tighter and hurried out, throwing the warming spell onto himself as he went-for Master Jod was right; he had lots of practice to get done, so he may as well start now.

‘Eric! Wait!’ he called out through the rain and darted after his friend. At least this way, he could improve his spells and visit the city at the same time.

Samuel lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling beams. He had done little but sleep, wipe his nose and look at the ceiling for days now; all thanks to the cold he had caught from running around the city with Eric in the wet. His head ached as soon as he tried to read and his body was too stiff to move further than down the stairs to get something to eat. Even his appetite evaded him at the moment.

The others had been taken to the palace to put on a performance for the royal court and Samuel was fuming that he had missed out. He still had not managed to see inside the palace, whereas some of the others had even been twice. Eric had told Samuel that they would go together when he was feeling better, for he declared that it was quite simple to sneak in and look around. Samuel had decided to wait until his friend had tested his theory a few more times before he tried it for himself.

Samuel’s limbs began to tremble again and he slightly altered his warming spell to make himself a little more comfortable. These turns of hot and cold kept dogging him and no amount of spelling could keep them at bay for long. He could not remember ever feeling so ill. Master Glim had said he would probably be better by today, but he only felt worse. The droning in his head started up again and he realised he was wet with perspiration, so he altered the spell yet again.

Shivering, he soon fell back into nightmarish dreams, where ghostly white claws tugged at his sheets and threatened to pull him through the dark cracks in the floor and a man loomed in the doorway, laughing hysterically at Samuel’s misfortune.

It was still raining a few days later, but Samuel was feeling a little better. Goodfellow had brought him a concoction of herbs that his auntie had recommended, and they seemed to be doing the trick. Perhaps tomorrow he could return to class. He felt awful staying in bed all day and, with all the rain and having this bad cold, he felt in a terrible mood. He had tried studying, but he could not concentrate enough to read his notes and everything he did manage to read made little sense. When he was better, he would study twice as hard and practise magic all day long. He was tired of this school and tired of his classes and his teachers and his classmates. He wanted to hurry up and graduate and show everyone what a real magician could do. He would prove to the entire Order that he was the greatest magician Amandia had ever seen. He would train the teachers how to actually teach their pupils, instead of treating them like children and wasting their precious time every day. And, if anyone challenged him, he would show them the true extent of his power, for his magic would be beyond compare. Given a little more time, he would be able to defeat any of the teachers here, and even Grand Master Anthem, should he choose. Samuel smiled at that thought. He would prove to everyone that he was the most powerful magician there ever was. He closed his eyes and lay back in his bed. Opening himself to the ether, he filled himself with magic and let it course through and around his body, thrilling him. As he lay alone in the dormitory, he smiled to himself and envisaged all his fantasies of future conquest. He would show them all, he thought and, as his magic burned through him, he actually believed it was true.

Samuel’s mount galloped up the grassy hill, followed closely by Eric atop his tall, grey mare.

‘I didn’t think that anyone would be able to best me, Samuel, but you have become an extraordinary rider,’ Eric called.

The others, led by Master Glim on his black-speckled stallion, were still charging up the base of the slope. Samuel turned his animal around and waited for them to arrive. The city was laid out below against the great blue ocean. It was the first sunny day in weeks and Master Glim had declared that it was time for another lesson in riding; a perfect chance to get out of the city and appreciate the wonderful turn of weather.

Gulls could be seen wheeling above the docks and, as always, tiny specks of people and animals dotted the roads that scarred the fields all around the city. Northbank sat on the other side of the Bardlebrook, seeming to grow closer to Cintar every day as the small satellite city continued to prosper. A great new bridge was being built next to the old one to span the narrows, and the Adept were often being called to help in the construction, lifting the great stones into place with their spells.

Master Glim’s animal came over the rise and pulled to a halt beside Samuel.

‘You’ve improved, Samuel!’ Master Glim declared, sweat matting his hair.

Samuel sniffed. The air was still a bit chilly today, so he adjusted his spells to warm him a little. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to stay in a saddle,’ Samuel replied curtly. It always annoyed him when Master Glim treated him like a child.

Samuel caught a raised eyebrow passing from Eric to the teacher. They had been acting strangely, of late, whispering when they thought he could not hear them, but his magically enhanced senses easily caught their speech. They were always whispering about him.

His animal was not much to speak of, but Samuel, with a slight Lifting spell, had perfected the art of helping his horse so that it could gallop faster and tire slower. It meant he was always well in front of the others, and he knew it annoyed Eric, who had always raved on about how he was such a fine rider. At first, they may have been able to detect such a spell, but Samuel had mastered the art and now needed little power to accomplish such magic. It was but a trickle, barely noticeable above the natural murmur of the world and its ever-humming fields of power.

‘You look tired today, Samuel,’ Master Glim then said. ‘Are you sure that you’re feeling well today? Perhaps we should head back.’

Samuel threw the man as dark a look as he could muster. Why was he always questioning him and trying to make him feel ill at ease? At one time, Samuel would have thought Master Glim was above petty jealousy, but now the man was always trying to intimidate him and question his ability. He pitied such childish ignorance. ‘I’m fine,’ Samuel replied, looking further up the hillside.

Just then, all the other Adept arrived and came galloping to a halt beside them, horses stomping and steaming.

‘A brief rest,’ Master Glim called out. ‘Then to the edge of the woods and home.’

Samuel spurred his mount on, kicking it hard with his heels and whipping the reins for all the animal was worth and he was away from them in a moment. He had little patience to waste more time out here. He would make the woods and quickly be home to rest. He strengthened his spell to lighten his horse a little more, but as he did, the world lurched and Samuel’s heart seemed to shudder up into his throat. The ground loomed up impossibly and smashed him in the face, his vision flashing black, white, red and black again as he rolled over and over. When he finally came to a rest a little way down the slope, he could see his animal still galloping a short distance away. It was turning in a wide circle to find its rider. Then the sound of hurried boots came near and hands began turning him over.

‘Samuel!’ came a strange voice.

It took him a few moments to realise it was Eric Pot speaking. He gathered his wits as hands tried to lift him. ‘Get off me!’ he demanded, wiping the spit and vomit from his face. ‘What is wrong with you people? Stop looking at me! Am I a cripple?’ He slapped the hands away and stood on shaky legs, scraping at the dirt and grass on his clothing.

Master Glim and the two Erics were beside him. The other Adept were all waiting on foot a short way hence, holding their reins and gawking at him.

‘What happened, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked.

Samuel felt a little dizzy and adjusted his spells. He had found variations on the spells he had already learned, spells to ease the stiffness in his muscles, spells to ease the soreness in his bones, even spells to hold him steady when his head became light. He had needed them much, of late, ever since he had caught that stubborn cold.

‘Samuel, listen to me. What are you doing?’ Master Glim asked.

‘I’m going back to the city,’ Samuel replied, starting for his horse. His head itched and, rubbing at it, his hand revealed a trickle of blood. ‘I’m sick of all this playing around. I have work to do. Why do you waste our time like this?’

Master Glim followed him, jogging at his side. ‘What spell did you cast just a moment ago, Samuel? I felt you exert your power and then you adjusted the magic quite expertly until it was indiscernible. Are you trying to hide something?’

Samuel kept marching. ‘I’m tired,’ he replied. ‘Let me be.’

‘Samuel!’ Master Glim called after him. ‘I am trying to help you!’

‘Help me?’ Samuel shouted back, and he laughed at the absurdity of such an outrageous suggestion. His head hurt so much and his eyes watered in the bright light. It felt like another person was inside him, using his voice. He could not remember when this feeling had come upon him. These days he had become so numb.

He spun on his heels and stopped, looking back at his teacher. The two Erics were still standing where he had fallen, looking down at their boots. The other Adept were with their horses a short distance away, watching on with mouths wide. Samuel felt lost for a moment before remembering his line of thought. ‘Why are you all looking at me!’ he shouted, pointing an unsteady finger back towards them.

Master Glim slowly shook his head and spoke softly once more. ‘Samuel,’ he said. ‘How foolish of me not to have realised what you’ve been doing. Magic is strong, but mortal flesh was not made to withstand the rigours you have been calling upon yourself. I see now that your body is well beyond exhaustion and spells are all you have left. You hid it well, but your ruse is now unravelled. Don’t you realise your spells cannot last forever? When they fail, your body will break under the strain, as you have just experienced for yourself.’ He then called over his shoulder. ‘Goodfellow. Pot. Come here, quickly.’

Suddenly, Samuel’s spells all vanished as something severed his connection with the ether. All the pain, all the cold and the terrible fatigue surged in upon him and he cried out in agony. He staggered forwards and went to his knees. There was a spell emanating from Master Glim, surrounding Samuel and keeping him from reaching his magic. The pain was unbearable and his muscles would not support his weight. They felt like withered cords beneath his skin. Samuel tried one last desperate time to gather some power, to somehow blast them all to dust, when his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limply onto the grass.

Eric Pot stepped over him, their voices still faintly audible in the back of Samuel’s mind. ‘Even in such a state, he is quite the magician. What do we do with him?’

‘Back to the school. Quickly! We don’t have much time. Someone go on ahead and gather the Masters,’ Master Glim responded.

The last thing he felt was many hands grasping hold of him.

Samuel walked a ghostly corridor. It was the hallway of the Burning Oak, yet now it was filled with mist that clung to his legs. A door to his side opened noiselessly and Samuel saw inside. Instead of a room, he could see the enormous form of his uncle shouting wordless, spit-filled insults at the huddled silhouette of a little girl. The compulsion to move carried him on and another door opened, revealing his family, sitting in their home as he remembered they once did. They were laughing silently and having a merry time, yet outside the window, Samuel could see the leering faces of men pressed up against the glass.

Other doors opened, but Samuel could not bear to look through them, knowing their contents would be horrid. He carried on walking the long corridor, walking forward towards some end he could not see. Samuel looked around and found that it was now dark all around him. He was saturated with a feeling of utter cold, yet his body could not shiver. Something in the dark, perhaps many things, watched him with invisible eyes. Samuel spun, seeming to hear a tapping of footsteps on wooden flooring, but nothing was there. A whispering voice called through the dark.

‘Oosoo Ahn,’ it called.

The icy voice filled Samuel with fright, for he remembered the last time he had heard those words, when he had released the spirit into the world of the living.

‘Ahboo Ahn,’ came another voice-perhaps the same voice.

Something pulled at Samuel’s leg and he spun around. Wispy tendrils curled in the mist. Before his eyes, a milky claw formed in the air and reached out for his face.

Samuel screamed and ran blindly through the mist, gibbering with fright and tears. Whispering came from all around and clawed figures stooped and hovered at the corners of his vision. Something enormous loomed before him and Samuel stopped dead as an immense thing appeared out from the dark. It had nothing but eyes and a mouth and bulk; an enormous sense of weight that stretched back into the darkness, as if there the thing had no end.

Its eyes regarded Samuel emotionlessly and its mouth began to open. A heavy, clawed arm came slowly from its side and propped itself on Samuel’s head, pushing him to his knees. ‘I am waiting for you,’ it croaked in a language as old as time. It regarded him kneeling before it and a wicked, contented smile formed across its slavering lips.

Samuel blubbered and closed his eyes tight, wishing that it would go away, that the nightmare would end, but the claw began to pull him forwards, drawing him up and slowly into the opening mouth of the terrible, hungry thing. He opened his mouth to shout, but he could not make a sound.

From somewhere, a child’s voice began to call. ‘Father!’ it called. ‘Father! Father!’ over and over again. It was a mournful and fearful voice, like a child calling out for a loved one taken away. The claw then opened and released him and the enormous thing retreated into the darkness, gasping and babbling. Everything returned to utter blackness.

A new scene then began to evolve from the void. Samuel could see himself as a small boy. He was standing in his childhood home. His family was there at the table, laughing and talking soundlessly. He faced the door, for he knew there was something on the other side that wanted to come in. The boy tried to call out to his family, but the door had already swung open and the tall man was there. He was grinning maniacally and Samuel knew his face. It was Master Ash, and, as the man stepped in, his clothes became magician’s robes. Samuel turned to his family, but they were already staring at Ash-their faces were frozen masks of sheer horror and blood began to seep from their eyes and mouths. Samuel screamed as hard as he could, but the sound still would not come out. All he could hear was ‘Father!’ over and over again and it was now him calling. As the scene grew darker and darker, Samuel cowered under the table, frozen in fear as his father’s dead face stared across at him from upon the floor. Legs struggled silently back and forth about the room, but Ash stayed in the doorway, watching on with pleasure.

Moments or years passed, Samuel could not tell. His sleep seemed endless, restless. Dreams and nightmares swirled around him, intangible and formless. Voices and images haunted him, bordering on meaning, but unrecognisable. He yearned to wake up. He wanted to yell, ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ to himself and somehow just open his eyes-but he could not. Through the mists of obscurity, two voices slowly began to become clear. He knew he had heard them speaking through his dreams before, but his head was groggy and they lingered on the far side of recognition.

‘The boy is resting now,’ one said gruffly, wearily.

‘At last,’ the other said-a thin and nasal tone.

‘I was foolish not have taken more care with him. He could have overspent himself. Although, I must admit, it was interesting to see him showing some of his ability.’

‘It seems he is very attached to his friends. Perhaps, we should have used that to begin with.’

‘Too late now,’ the gruff voice admitted, with annoyance. A few breaths of silence. ‘So what do we do with him now?’

‘We have been fighting a gradually losing battle and I’ve used every favour owed to me. The boy has showed his hand and we have made little other gains. Yes-it is time for the boy to provide the leverage we need. Even if he is not up to the task, just the threat of bringing him into play may be enough.’

‘Do you really think it is wise to involve him now?’ the rough voice asked.

‘Yes. I am betting on it.’

‘You are betting our lives!’ the gruff voice said, with alarm.

‘Indeed, so I recommend you tread carefully. If his potential comes to fruition-just imagine! Who could ever catch him? He could be anywhere! That is, indeed, a power worth possessing. For this, the Circle will give us the final ingredients for our plan, and then even having the boy will not matter once his secret has been revealed.’

‘We cannot risk letting the Circle becoming involved!’ the gruff voice said fearfully.

‘They are already involved. They are involved in everything.’

‘But not directly-not yet, and we must do everything in our power to keep it that way or it will be our necks.’

‘As always, we will take care,’ the thin-voiced one stated, ‘but we are in too deep to stop now. Everything is dangerous now and we are beyond desperate. And what about that young upstart? Is he still giving you trouble?’

‘Samuel?’ the gruff voice said with clear disdain. ‘He’s been nothing but trouble from the start. He has potential, I can see, but he is a risk to the boy and those around him. This latest misadventure of his had us up all night. We must find a way to be rid of him before he causes us any further grief.’

Samuel awoke. The immediate relief of daylight greeted him and he let out the long breath he seemed to have been holding. He blinked several times and details began to show through the bright blur around him. He was in a small room, lying beneath the covers of a comfortable bed. There was nothing to determine where exactly he was, or why he was here.

Sitting up, Samuel scratched his head. He felt a small cut there, now well healed over, and wondered where he had received it. Lying on a small stool beneath the window were his clothes, cleaned and folded, and Samuel slipped from the bed onto unsteady legs and dressed. After he had tugged on his boots and stamped his heels onto the floor to wedge them firmly in place, he stepped over to the door, opened it wide and peered outside.

At least I’m still in the school, he thought. Now what’s going on? He stepped out and looked up. The sky was a beautiful blue, traced with a few wisps of perfectly white clouds. Already, the warmth was soothing on his face.

‘Samuel!’ someone called.

‘Tulan!’ Samuel replied, spying the man’s approach between the buildings. ‘What brings you to Cintar?’

Tulan took Samuel’s hand and shook it, squeezing him firmly on the shoulder with his other. A great smile covered his face. ‘You do. I was just passing through, as usual, when I heard you’d taken ill. Do you remember what happened?’

‘That’s what I’d like to ask you,’ Samuel responded. ‘What was I doing in there? It’s one of the Master’s rooms, isn’t it?’

Tulan scrutinised the small cottage a moment. ‘I imagine it’s vacant for the time being,’ Tulan said. He looked over both his shoulders and then his face became more serious. ‘Let’s talk.’

He led Samuel back into the tiny residence where Samuel had awoken. Samuel sat on the bed edge when gestured by Tulan to do so and Tulan himself sat opposite on a delicate, wooden chair.

‘What do you remember happening to you?’ Tulan asked, planting a level eye on Samuel. His moustache was somewhat bushier than usual and a small dark beard adorned his normally naked chin.

‘I had these terrible dreams,’ Samuel began. ‘You know, it’s funny. I can’t remember what happened before that or even how I came to be in this room? The dreams seemed to last forever. Have I been drinking?’

‘No,’ Tulan laughed. ‘Not that I know of, anyway. Do you remember what happened to you in the Burning Oak-that time you were found in your room?’

Samuel nodded. ‘I don’t really remember, but they told me. I was unconscious. I was chanting a mantra of Centring.’

Tulan nodded in return. ‘That’s right. Something similar has happened again. I have only been here a day, but they told me it happened last week.’

‘Last week?’ Samuel asked in disbelief, straining to recall his last memories. ‘How did it happen?’

‘You had completely exhausted yourself of energy, almost to the point of death.’

Samuel swallowed. ‘I feel fine now.’ It was all he could think to say.

Tulan nodded. ‘They’ve been keeping a close eye on you-Master Glim and the Grand Master, especially. The Masters have been taking turns revitalising you, even feeding you. Even some of your friends were helping as best they could. I saw you last night, myself. They’d put a spoonful in your mouth and you’d chew it and swallow, as if you were awake. It was very strange. They tell me it’s a miracle you survived this time. You can certainly count yourself as being very lucky.’

Samuel was astounded and felt terribly embarrassed at the trouble he had caused.

‘You should go and find the Grand Master now,’ Tulan told him. ‘He said that you woke late last night and grumbled about something and then started swearing at them. That was when they finally knew you were going to recover.’

Samuel laughed. ‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know-probably in his chambers. I usually try not to spend too much time in the school, or in Cintar, as a matter of fact-too many people, too many fools. I’ve a few things to attend to and I’ll come and see you again, but then I must leave quickly.’ As he stood, Tulan offered his hand once again and Samuel took it and shook it sincerely.

‘Until then,’ Samuel said and Tulan nodded and headed out the door.

Samuel made his way across the grounds, trying to be as discrete as possible. He felt surprisingly spry, given how serious his situation had been, which he guessed could be attributed to all the powerful healing spells they had covered him with. A few young apprentices saw him and waved and called out, ‘Samuel!’ He hurried past them and knocked on the door of the Grand Master’s residence.

‘Come in,’ a gravelly voice called out, followed by a hacking cough.

Samuel pushed the door in and stepped into the modest quarters. Grand Master Anthem was sitting on a soft leather seat, dressed in a fine cloak with green, embroidered hems. He was halfway through a thick sandwich and had crumbs in his wispy beard.

‘Ah, Samuel!’ he said. His voice was thin and nasally, as if he had a blocked nose. He put down his sandwich and motioned for Samuel to sit opposite him on a short stool. ‘I was hoping to see you sometime today. I trust you are well?’

‘Yes, Grand Master,’ Samuel replied. He felt as guilty as could be under the gaze of the old man. He swallowed his pride and went on. ‘I’m terribly sorry for all the trouble I’ve been.’

Anthem dismissed the statement with a wave of his aged, bony hand. ‘No trouble, at all, Samuel. We all make mistakes. I hope now you realise why the teachers tell you the things they do. It is not just so they can hear the sound of their own voices. They have learnt from hundreds of years of combined experience and know what is best.’ Samuel nodded humbly. ‘I must, however, warn you to be extremely careful in the future. This is your second chance used. You may not live to get a third. You were as close to death as I’ve seen anybody get and still return-perhaps further. I would have sworn that at times your heart had just given up beating, but you pulled through in the end. You can thank your two friends, the Erics, for that. They were in here with us almost all of the first night when things looked most dire. Those two lads are quite talented and dedicated to you. In the end, we had to virtually drag them off to their beds before they got themselves in the same trouble as you. You can count yourself very lucky. So what have you got to say for yourself?’

Samuel thought to himself a few moments. He wasn’t sure where to start. ‘Do you know about the time something similar happened at the Burning Oak?’ Samuel asked.

‘Of course,’ Anthem responded plainly.

‘Before that night, I was playing with magic. I didn’t know what I was doing, but somehow I had managed to conjure up a little magic just by copying what I saw the Masters doing. I had successfully summoned some mage-lights on occasion, but this one time, I tried a little too hard and I…I summoned something else.’

Anthem raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with interest. ‘Oh?’

‘It was some kind of spirit, all white and ghostly. When it first appeared, it seemed a little confused and it took some time to look around. Then it disappeared into the town. There was nothing I could do.’

‘Ah, Samuel,’ Anthem said, looking gravely concerned. ‘Somehow, it seems you managed to summon something from another realm. This is no small feat and, unfortunately, a very dangerous one, for there are terrible things, indeed, that linger beyond the ether. Some of them, once summoned, can be very difficult to return. You are a talented lad, indeed, for there are only a handful of magicians that can accomplish such a feat and yet somehow you managed without any training whatsoever. You have some special gift, indeed, many special gifts.’ Anthem looked to the window, where the sun could be seen shining brightly outside. ‘These are strange days, indeed…and I know not what to think of them.’

‘I wanted to tell you, because last night-or the night before, I don’t know-I had a strange dream. I was dreaming, but it was not a dream, if you can understand. There were things all around me, just like the spirit I had summoned, and they were all reaching for me. Then, there was this one enormous thing that…’

Anthem interrupted him abruptly with a quickly raised hand. ‘Don’t speak of such things, Samuel. It is done and over. I fear that on this occasion, the extent of your exhaustion was so great that it is indeed possible that, for a short time, your very soul was caught beyond the ether-or in some other nether-realm that we do not know.’

‘So what should I do, Grand Master?’ Samuel pleaded. ‘How can I stop it from happening again? I don’t want those things to get me.’

‘Calm now, Samuel. You have only to use your brain,’ and the old man tapped the side of his skull, ‘and you will be safe. What you must do is master yourself and you will have nothing to fear. Only spell when it is necessary and do not tire yourself-especially in the coming weeks while you are recovering. You have great ability, but you must know your own limits. You have the opportunity to become a great magician, Samuel, but you must be responsible. It is sometimes difficult to resist the temptation to use magic, for its touch can feel so beautiful and ever enticing.’ The old man glanced back towards his window and he seemed to be pondering something, for his very speech became softer, as if he was bearing the weight of the world himself. ‘Time is passing. These days I have much responsibility myself-much more than I care for. My life has passed so quickly, and I am getting too old to keep all my old responsibilities.’ Then he looked to Samuel again. ‘I have other matters to attend to, Samuel. Go now and take special care for the rest of the week. You seem fine, but I’m sure you will probably tire easily for a while. However, I will give you just one last piece of advice, Samuel: concentrate on your studies and your time will pass quickly and easily. If you go looking for trouble, my boy, you will surely find it. What could be simpler than that?’

Samuel nodded in agreement and stood to leave. ‘There is just one other thing, Grand Master.’ The old looked man up from his toes, where his gaze had drifted. Samuel asked, ‘Do you know that I am an orphan?’

‘I do, Samuel. That, also, is something I was told when you first arrived.’

‘In my dreams I have learned of something important: something, rather someone, I have been hoping to discover for many years. It is a magician-a man of the Order. His name is Master Ash. He is the man I see standing in my doorway; he is the one who killed my family and taunts me every night. I didn’t realise it before, but now my dreams have made it clear.’

‘Samuel, are you certain? That is a serious statement to make. I hope you know what you are saying?’

‘I do. I can’t tell you exactly how I know for certain, but in my visions I saw him and I know it to be true. I know I’m not supposed to make any more trouble for you in the school, and this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but I just want to let you know, so you understand, that the next time I see Master Ash-I will kill him.’

At that, Samuel strode out the door, leaving Grand Master Anthem rubbing slowly at the wispy white hairs that sprang from his withered old chin.

The next week passed without event and Samuel saw no sign of the evasive Master Ash. However as Samuel entered the Adept dormitory, having finished his early training and towelling the sweat from himself, he found there was a buzz of activity going on. Everyone was gathered around the tables, talking excitedly. He was feeling entirely better and, much to his relief, it seemed the embarrassing events leading up to his collapse were seldom mentioned.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked of Martin.

‘The Grand Master has gone. He’s been removed from his place as principal,’ the chubby fellow replied.

Samuel’s eyes widened. ‘Removed? Why?’

‘A ruling by the Magicians’ Council, so I’ve heard.’

Samuel hurried to find Eric Pot, who was talking with Lan Farlen.

‘Eric, do you know what’s going on?’ Samuel said, interrupting his friend.

‘It seems that Grand Master Anthem has been stripped of his office by the Magicians’ Council.’

‘Does anyone know why?’ Samuel asked.

‘Apparently, for some reason, the Council has grown unhappy with him.’

‘They can’t just remove him! Who did they put in his place?’

‘Master Dividian will take over until they decide whom to appoint to the position.’

‘What does the Grand Master think about that?’ Samuel asked.

‘I don’t know. He stormed from the Council chambers and has not been seen since.’

‘That’s incredible!’ Samuel exclaimed.

‘And there’s more,’ Eric continued. ‘People are talking about a war with the north.’

‘A war?’ Samuel said with disbelief. ‘With whom?’

‘It could only be with Garteny. That’s the only place left the Empire hasn’t conquered.’

‘It’s Lord Jarrod,’ Goodfellow declared, somewhat angrily. It was strange to see the normally calm young man looking so furious. ‘He’s been against the Grand Master all along, and now it seems he’s finally gotten his way.’

‘What can we do about it?’ Samuel asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Goodfellow responded. ‘There will be a meeting tonight. I guess we should wait and see what is really happening before we jump to any conclusions.’

They continued talking and gossip-mongering, but no one could offer any more substantial information than that. They found that classes had been cancelled for the day, and, when evening arrived, every student and Master in the school gathered expectantly in the Great Hall, packed shoulder to shoulder to hear the news.

Master Dividian was there, standing behind the ornate lectern and all the other teachers of the school were seated in the front-most seats. The hall was echoing with all the excited and worried chatter from young and old alike.

‘Quieten down, quieten down,’ Dividian urged gruffly, and slowly the hubbub calmed. ‘You may have heard that Grand Master Anthem has left the School of Magic and, yes, it is indeed true.’ At that, a great deal of chattering sprang up again and it took a certain amount of effort and shouting for Dividian to quieten everyone again. ‘After debating with the Magicians’ Council, he has decided to resign as principal.’ Great cries came up but Dividian continued on, raising his voice to be heard above the ruckus. ‘Classes will resume tomorrow, as usual. We will wait for instructions from the Magicians’ Council instructions as to what to do next. Until then, life will go on as normal. If Grand Master Anthem does not agree to their demands and is not reinstated, a new principal will be chosen. That is all the information I have at this time.’

At that, Dividian stepped away from the lectern and vanished out the small side door, while teacher and student alike began arguing about the consequences and what would happen. Samuel sat in silence, thinking, for he felt that there was much more going on here than had been revealed. He had not failed to notice that as Dividian had scurried away, the wily old man’s face had carried a thin and seldom-used smile.

‘So what do you think?’ Eric asked, throwing a pebble to bounce down from the grassy hilltop. Far below them, the great city lay sprawling within its walls, like a vast patchwork giant sleeping against the seashore.

‘They’re all mad,’ Samuel replied, sitting cross-legged on the grass and scribbling some notes. Further down the hill, a small group of apprentices could be seen dotting the fields, practising their lessons.

‘How can they just rid themselves of the Grand Master after all he’s done?’ Eric then asked, throwing another smooth stone.

‘Politics!’ Samuel spat out with disdain and looked up from his notes. The wind had a chilly bite and it caused the papers in his hand to flap about. For a moment, Samuel was tempted to warm himself with a spell or two. ‘And what’s all this talk of war? We haven’t heard anything about that except rumours.’

Goodfellow shook his head. ‘It’s just a lie. Dividian wanted the Grand Master’s place and now he has it.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Eric noted. ‘Old Dividian is not as bad as he seems. Tensions with Garteny have been uneasy since the Imperial War ended. The Empire’s history of invading and swallowing up all its neighbouring nations has left the Gartens understandably nervous. People are saying that they have been building up their forces along the border. They could be readying to invade. They lost some of their lands in the last war and now maybe they think it’s time to take them back. The Empire would need to resist such an incursion or it could spell trouble and The Emperor wants magicians sent along to help with the effort. The Grand Master is a little biased on the subject, so I can see how his constant bickering with Lord Jarrod could be interpreted.’

‘Biased?’ Samuel asked. ‘What do you mean?’

Goodfellow looked up with some surprise and adjusted his spectacles. ‘You mean you don’t know? The Grand Master is a Garten.’

‘Are you serious?’ Samuel asked in disbelief.

‘Of course he is,’ Eric called over. ‘That’s why there’s always been this contention over his position. Some people say he is still a Garten at heart, but he defected in the war and has never been back to Garteny since. All the Turians are obviously disgusted that a Garten has been running the School of Magic. If not for the fact that he is the most powerful magician in the Empire, I’m sure he never would have been granted the position to begin with. And apparently, he did the Emperor a great favour years ago that earned him his place in the Empire-but that seems to make little difference now.’

‘I heard he convinced the Emperor that he could do wonders with the School of Magic,’ Goodfellow revealed. ‘There were few magicians back then and most of them were too feeble to be of much use. His idea was to revitalise the school and begin finding and training students from a very young age. The Lions were each offered the position first, but none of them would take it so Grand Master Anthem was the only remaining choice.’

‘There’s something else suspicious that people have been talking about,’ Eric said. ‘It seems no one has seen the Lions since Anthem departed. It’s said they have been sent out to retrieve him, that the Emperor wants to be sure he never returns to Garteny…alive.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ Samuel said. ‘They are his closest friends. Why would they do such a thing?’

‘Because they’re patriots. They’re Turians and they support the Empire with all their hearts-not like us. We’re from all the tiny nations that the Empire has conquered at some point, so we don’t exactly have any innate love for it, but most of those born here in Turia would throw themselves from a cliff at the Emperor’s command. They’re just plain crazy.’

‘It just seems so strange,’ Samuel noted sourly.

‘Life’s like that, Samuel,’ Eric called with a smug grin. ‘Get used to it.’ He threw another small stone into the air and, this time, propelled it with a spell of Moving, so that it flew out towards the city with a resounding crack.

‘Whether it’s true or not, we’re still stuck with Dividian as principal,’ Goodfellow stated.

Eric was just spelling another stone into flight, but Goodfellow negated it with a spell of his own, and the stone fell dead onto the grass. Eric made a look of great disappointment.

‘That could hit someone on the head, Eric,’ Goodfellow pointed out. Eric shrugged his shoulders and started gathering up another handful of small white stones from around his feet.

‘So what do we do?’ Samuel asked. ‘Do we keep going to class?’

‘Of course!’ Eric replied, squatting as he picked from his choice of stones. ‘What else would we do?’

‘It just seems that if we keep going to class, then Jarrod and the Council will have won.’

‘I have to agree with Samuel,’ said Goodfellow. ‘Sending magicians to war seems incongruous in the face of everything we’ve been taught. I thought we were supposed to help people, not kill them.’

‘Supposedly,’ Samuel said. ‘But I guess our ideals and reality are two different things. This is the Empire and I suppose what the Emperor wishes happens.’

‘Well, let’s just go to class and see how things unfold,’ Eric suggested. ‘I don’t really see that we have any choice at the moment.’

Samuel nodded. ‘You’re right-unless we leave the Order, but then where would we go? At least while we stay with the Order, we have a chance to set things right.’

‘And what about you, Samuel?’ Eric asked. ‘Are you still planning to kill Master Ash or have you come to your senses?’

Samuel kept looking at the grass by his feet. ‘Of course I’ll kill him. What else would you suggest?’

‘You know we both believe you, Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, ‘but you have to remember that you shouldn’t pay so much heed to your dreams. You were feverish and delirious, remember?’

‘I realise that,’ Samuel responded darkly, ‘but I’m sure it was him. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am.’

‘Your family was killed a long time ago, Samuel, and, as you explained, it all happened very quickly. It’s a lot to risk on just a dream.’

Samuel was quiet for a few moments, continuing to gaze at his feet. ‘There are times in your life when something happens-something so terrible-that, even if you see it for just an instant, it will be forever burned in your mind. Nothing you do can remove it, and you will relive it over and over again in terrible clarity, and each time, you feel sick to your stomach. I doubt that even by killing Ash I can take that terrible memory away-of my father being clubbed to death, my family being beaten and killed and my mother screaming at me to run while she was being stabbed to death. I can only hope that eventually these images will fade and I can sleep peacefully again. The one expectation I have in life is to avenge them by finding their murderers.’

Eric abandoned his stones and came to sit cross-legged with his friends, slapping the dust from his hands onto his trousers. ‘If you do kill him, then you will be executed yourself. Do you realise that? You have no way to prove that he did anything.’

Samuel nodded. ‘I know.’

‘You could at least poison him, or pay someone to do it for you,’ Eric suggested. ‘At least that way you won’t be throwing your life away.’

Samuel nodded again. ‘I will think about it.’

‘Why do you think he killed them, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked genuinely. ‘I mean, why would he kill your family? You said you family wasn’t rich or powerful at all. They were only farmers.’

‘That’s right,’ Samuel answered, picking some grass and throwing it to the wind. ‘We just had fruit and a few chickens. I’ve thought about it many times and I can’t understand at all why anyone would have wanted them dead.’

‘Perhaps some secret business of the Order?’ Eric proposed.

Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t think they were magicians-they didn’t wear magicians’ clothes. Everyone has said how Ash is working for Lord Jarrod, and how Lord Jarrod is always scheming after something, so I’m thinking that it was some conspiracy of his. Perhaps there was a mistake in identity, or they thought we had some hidden gold. I really don’t know.’

‘Perhaps if you do kill Ash, it will cause an inconvenience for Lord Jarrod, so at least you can think of it as a service for the Order,’ Eric said.

Samuel laughed at this. ‘Yes. Perhaps I can.’ After a moment he noticed that the apprentices on the hillside had all begun to move back to the city. ‘It’s getting late. I didn’t realise I was so hungry.’ With that he stood and began slapping the grass from his trousers.

Goodfellow stretched his arms wide with a yawn, before standing and doing the same. ‘Now you mention it, I’m starving.’

Eric leapt up after them and they began trotting back down the hillside towards the great, grey metropolis that was the city of Cintar.

Samuel awoke to a dark figure standing at the end of his bed.

‘Again, you do not disappoint me, Samuel. I have been here only moments and you already detect my presence.’

Samuel sat up with a start and threw some mage-lights up to the ceiling. It was the secretive magician who had surprised him before, late one night in the Great Library.

‘I have been watching you, Samuel, and it is time you joined me.’ Samuel looked to his roommates, who all appeared fast asleep. A spell hovered across them like a blanket of shimmering mist. ‘They will not wake, Samuel.’

‘Who are you?’ Samuel asked.

‘Again, that does not matter. It seems things are not going well within the Order. Anthem was a good man. A little foolish, but I suppose his heart was in the right place. Surely you can see now how infantile these people are. I am beyond such bickering and trivial pursuit of power. Join me, Samuel and leave the petty Order.’

‘Are you with the Circle of Eyes?’

The man nodded solemnly. ‘That is a name of convenience we sometimes use, Samuel, but do not judge me from the company I sometimes keep out of necessity. I have a little project that would keep you busy for a while and I’m sure you would enjoy it. In exchange, I will teach you such secrets of magic that these fools will never know.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m still not interested. I don’t care for whatever it is you think I want. I’m happy with the Order, despite its shortcomings.’

The man stepped forward to the balcony and leaned over to observe the floor below. ‘Why do you insist on frustrating me, Samuel?’ he asked. ‘I could make your life very uncomfortable. I’m showing you far more tolerance than I should, out of pure respect for your potential. If you decide you would rather be my enemy, you will surely regret it.’

Samuel slipped out from his bed and stood, feeling his bare feet on the smooth, timber floor. The man turned slowly to face him, keeping his back against the handrail.

‘I don’t enjoy your tone,’ Samuel told him. ‘I do not doubt you have great power, but you cannot change the way I feel. I do not want your help. I have become what I am through my own efforts, not from the tiresome lectures of these bores. They are useful for the most trivial of matters-I know that-but while they still pose some use to me, I will stay. I understand what you are telling me and, frankly, I do not care. I will make my own fate.’

Samuel could see a smile appear on the man’s face in the dim light.

‘So you have developed some spine. I am pleased. However, I must let you know that you have little choice. Many dark things are moving in the world, Samuel, things that your Order of Magicians knows nothing about. The Order is a nursery for children and a plaything of the Empire. They will use you to meet their own ends until you are of no further use-and then they will throw you away like an unwanted rag. All magicians of real consequence join the Circle, for we are the only power that can keep this world from harm. Their bickering, their politicking and even their wars are of no consequence compared to the responsibilities we soon must face.’ The man then sighed. ‘Very well, there is still some time. Remain here for now if you insist, but it will only make your schooling more difficult later. I will return for you in due course.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Samuel only returned a glowering stare to his friend.

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

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

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

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

The other two continued to ignore him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And how would you do that?’ Samuel asked, with no lack of scepticism.

‘We do not have the Magicians’ Council pulling our strings and we do not have the Archmage looking over our shoulders. We can achieve things that would take the Order years to even discuss. Oh, I see that you are doubtful, but I understand-truly, I do. These others were doubtful at first, but they came to see how I see and now we all work together to build a new future, as can you.’

‘So what do you actually do?’ Samuel asked. ‘I mean, what’s your plan?’

‘For now, we are strengthening ourselves, building our numbers. Each year we grow stronger and soon we will be a power to match the Order. Turia craves for a voice of reason amid all its terrible confusion.’

‘Well, how many members do you have now?’ Samuel asked with genuine curiosity.

Balthazar rubbed his chin with one long finger thoughtfully. ‘Including the seven of us here now…there are eight of us.’

‘Eight,’ Samuel responded, raising an eyebrow. ‘And how long have you been recruiting members?’

Balthazar chuckled. ‘Oh, barely three years.’ He actually sounded proud. ‘We grow stronger every year.’

‘Except, of course, for last year,’ the chirpy fellow reminded him. ‘Daniel and Sullumner both gave up and went home.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Balthazar admitted. ‘But this year, things will be different. With you counted amongst us, Samuel, the Order will finally be forced to treat us with respect.’

Samuel could hold back no longer. His mouth dropped open and he could not stop himself from laughing right in their faces. The men’s smiles sagged and wilted as he cackled away in front of them.

‘I’m sorry. Truly, I am,’ Samuel managed between giggles. ‘But you don’t know how ridiculous you sound.’ He would not normally have so easily broken down into such fits of laughter, but their concoction still seemed to be affecting his judgement.

Balthazar stood defiantly and the others leapt up to match him. ‘I will not be mocked by a boy, Samuel! I offer you my hand in friendship and union and you mock us all! This is too much!’

‘Please, Balthazar!’ Samuel finally managed to say, forcing a straight face. His cheeks ached from all the merriment. ‘I truly respect your ideas,’ he lied, ‘but I think your goals are somewhat fantastic. How can you possibly even entertain the idea of challenging the Order? By the very definition, you would be facing the Empire itself and, once the Emperor catches wind of such a plan, he will put an end to you all without hesitation. How can you hope to achieve anything?’

‘When they learn that we are a power to be reckoned with, they will yield to our demands.’

‘And how will you manage that, Balthazar? Look at you! There are only eight of you and, I don’t mean to offend, but you don’t exactly have anything to bargain with.’

Balthazar’s lips were pursed tightly. ‘We will be reckoned with, Samuel, because we have you to bargain with. I have heard whispers upon the streets and in the dens of Cintar where such information is traded. It is said that a magician of extraordinary power is coming. Eyes and agents are searching everywhere across Amandia, but I suspect you may be the one they are searching for, Samuel. I speculate that your mysterious lack of aura is a sign of much greater talents hidden within that even you may not have come to realise exist. I did not want to resort to such means, but you leave me little choice. You have no option but to help us.’

Samuel did not like to be threatened, especially by such a ranting fool as this. ‘And why would I help you, Balthazar?’

‘The extract of Eldinswurt is especially potent to us, Samuel. It disrupts a magician’s ability to concentrate. We will not give you the antidote until you do help us. Without it, you will never cast magic again.’

Samuel stopped laughing at Balthazar’s words. He reached into the ether and, indeed, found that he still could not gather himself enough to spell. He sat up straight on the cushion, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the thought that Balthazar may be telling the truth.

‘I see you realise your predicament,’ Balthazar said, now grinning. ‘Even one as strong as you cannot prevail against my intellect. You cannot escape and, given time, you will come to see my point of view. We will teach and guide you. It could take weeks, months or years; we are patient. Only then will I give you the antidote.’

Samuel gained his feet to stand before his captor, looking up at the man. ‘Oh, really?’ he asked with a wry smile before throwing his fist up into Balthazar’s shocked face.

The man’s nose made a sound like a cracked walnut and he gave out a shrill squeal of pain and surprise. Quick as a fox, Samuel turned and dived out the window. He just caught a last glimpse of Balthazar clutching his bloodied face with both hands, before turning to see where he was going. Only then did the realisation of what he had just done hit him, for he was high above the ground and in immediate and mortal danger of breaking his neck. He plummeted through the air and was lucky enough to strike the thick hedge below, crashing through its dense foliage and rolling out onto the ground. There was a loud snap that had him dreadfully worried; Samuel hoped it was a branch and not his leg. He quickly ran his hands over himself to check for any jutting bones or bloody patches, for he had heard how the worst injuries often took the longest time to be felt. Thankfully, everything seemed to be in place and he afforded himself a great sigh of relief.

He dragged himself from the ruined remains of the hedge and thanked what-gods-there-may-be he had struck the soft bush and not the iron fence behind it. He looked up at the gape-mouthed men who were all staring out from the window above and smiled, giving them a farewell salute. Balthazar was yelling ‘Samuel! Come back, Samuel! We need you!’ with blood and tears streaming down his face. Samuel merely limped over to the wall, heaved himself up upon it and dropped down into the lane, trotting away as best he could.

As he neared the School of Magic, he decided he would have to tell Master Glim about this. They were, for the most part, harmless, but Balthazar and his Union of Modern Magicians had well overstepped their bounds this time. Master Glim would know exactly what to do with them.

They made no attempt to chase him down and Samuel only had a sore ankle to bother him by the time he arrived back at the School of Magic. He was relieved when Master Glim told him that Eldinswurt needed no antidote and had no permanent effects and, truly enough, his spells began to return after just a few hours. Master Glim had gone to see Balthazar immediately, promising to chastise the man for his intolerable behaviour.

‘I don’t think you will have any more trouble from them, Samuel,’ Master Glim stated upon his return, meeting Samuel in his dormitory. ‘By the time I arrived, they were already packing their bags. They were terrified, but I let them know in no uncertain terms that they had gone too far this time.’

‘What did they say?’ Samuel asked.

‘Balthazar was crying like a baby. What did you hit him with? His nose looks terrible!’ At that they both laughed.

‘He’s just lucky I couldn’t use magic,’ Samuel told his teacher. ‘He would be nursing much more than a broken nose right now.’

‘I’m sure. Anyway, we came to an agreement. Balthazar and his colleagues will take a trip to think things over. I told them if I see them before next winter, they will have to reckon with the Magicians’ Council. I think that put plenty of fear into them.’

‘So you’re not going to tell the Council?’

‘No,’ Master Glim professed. Balthazar’s Union is always up to some mischief. They’ve never really made any real trouble before and it gives us somewhere to send those students who aren’t quite suited to the Order.’

‘You mean the lunatics?’ Samuel asked in jest and Master Glim laughed aloud.

‘Yes, that’s right. Some of our graduates have strange ideas, and it generally keeps them out of mischief if they are marching around behind Balthazar, so he actually provides us with a service-of a kind. The Emperor wanted all other magical institutions forbidden, but Grand Master Anthem convinced him it was better to let them be. There are many people with magical talent who can be nuisances in the Order, so we let them practise some minor magic and perhaps they can even be of some service to the city. The Council generally keeps an eye on them, but it sounds like they have been getting lax if Balthazar has been freely running around causing mischief. I’ll send them a reminder.’

Samuel nodded. ‘Very well. I suppose all’s well then. I felt a little sorry for Balthazar. I’m sure he only wants to improve things, as he says. It’s unfortunate that he’s a madman.’

‘There are many people with good intentions in the world, Samuel,’ Master Glim explained, ‘but the intent does not always justify the method. You could have been seriously hurt.’

Samuel nodded. ‘Well, thank you for talking to them. I think I’ll just rest for the rest of the day until that vile poison gets out of my system.’

‘Good,’ Master Glim responded. ‘Rest well.’ At that, the man left Samuel to nurse his swollen ankle.

Most lessons with the new Masters were conducted outside by the school walls instead of within the classrooms. The walls could withstand any magical or physical punishment that the students could throw at them, and, with all the new apprentices arriving, they were running short of space. They had learned many new and useful spells, such as flinging large stones as missiles, and creating magical shields to stop incoming arrows and they practised like that, day after day. Samuel was quite intrigued at first, but soon grew bored, as he could already manage most of what they were being taught. Some of the new teachers were intrigued by the fact that Samuel’s magical aura was undetectable and they tried to have him demonstrate his best spells, but after Samuel let them see a few half-hearted efforts, they soon assumed he had little to show them and left him alone.

There were many minor injuries amongst the new apprentices, mostly physical injuries involving awry spells, and many apprentices had already left after the first month, unable to keep up with demands.

Dividian was adamant that this was acceptable, as he only wanted the most successful students to stay. For every failed apprentice who left, another two came to try their luck. Any man or boy with any hint of magical skill was brought back to the school to see what could be made of him. Cots in the dormitories were doubled and when the new buildings were finished, students began moving into those.

Some of the Adept were eating their meals, sitting at the downstairs level of their bunkhouse, while others were still over the stove, frying up their dinners.

‘Do you really think they want to make an army of magicians?’ Chadly asked, calling over from his sizzling pan.

‘Not an army of magicians,’ Goodfellow corrected. ‘They want magicians accompanying regular infantry-as guides, advisors, tacticians and that kind of thing.’

‘Some people are talking of an invasion,’ Lan Farlan said. ‘I’ve heard all the Masters in the far north have been recalled to Cintar to give reports. Perhaps they think Garteny is preparing to invade?’

Samuel was about to comment when Henry Kassin came rushing in. His face was wild and glazed with perspiration.

‘Samuel! It’s Eric!’ Henry panted between breaths. He bent over, labouring for air. Everyone dropped their books and meals and rushed to his side.

‘What is it?’ Samuel asked. There was obviously something wrong for the boy to be so agitated.

‘I went to find him in the Great Hall,’ Henry continued. ‘He’d gone there to practise a spell he had been working on. Just as I walked in…’

‘Go on,’ Samuel urged.

‘He disappeared!’ Henry gasped. ‘He’s gone,’ he panted, short of breath.

‘Gone? What do you mean, gone? Where?’ Samuel asked, growing frustrated. He grasped the other boy and drew him up straight, trying to get some sort of sense out of him.

‘Where is he?’ others repeated behind.

‘I don’t know,’ Henry said, shaking his head and almost in tears. ‘It’s something he’s been working on for quite a while with Master Dividian. Eric said he nearly had it finished. Then, the whole hall moved and…and then…when everything was normal again…Eric was gone.’

‘Eric disappeared? Vanished, you mean?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Maybe it’s an illusion?’ Lan offered. ‘A trick, perhaps?’

‘No,’ Henry said determinedly, tears streaming. ‘I saw him. He turned to look at me and his face went all awful. It went all long and twisted and then he tried to yell, but he just vanished.’

Samuel released the other boy’s shoulders and turned to face the others. ‘Let’s go!’ he said and they rushed out into the night.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, many Masters had already arrived. Samuel strode down the aisle at speed, with his eyes fixed on the luminous remnants of an ominous spell hovering in the middle of the chamber. It was a formation of weaves like nothing he had ever seen before: vast in its complexity and incredibly powerful. Its presence hung ominously in the air as it slowly revolved, growling in his ears with thunderous intensity.

The Masters were standing around it, gawking and arguing over the thing, pouring all manner of spells over the room, trying to ascertain what had happened.

‘What happened here, Samuel?’ Master Kalbak asked as Samuel arrived beside him. ‘Who cast this spell?’

‘Eric Pot did, Master,’ Samuel replied. ‘And he has vanished.’

‘Vanished!’ Kalbak echoed with astonishment and the Masters all began talking excitedly. ‘This is incredible!’

‘Where has he gone, Master Kalbak?’ Lan asked from beside Samuel. ‘Can we bring him back?’

‘Oh, goodness knows!’ the old Master said, rubbing his chin. ‘I have never felt such a spell. He could be anywhere-or nowhere.’

‘How could young Eric have created a Great Spell such as this?’ Master Sveld asked from across the chamber.

‘We don’t know, Master,’ Samuel replied.

‘Fascinating!’ old Master Balium croaked, holding his hands aloft as he examined the spell. ‘What a marvel!’

‘In the days of the Ancients, people could move their bodies over vast distances,’ Master Kalbak said. ‘It’s possible he is, indeed, safe somewhere, or perhaps he will appear again here shortly.’

‘Get away from that thing! All of you!’ came a cry from behind them as Master Dividian came hurrying in through the doors. ‘By the old gods, what is that?’ he gasped as he met the cluster of magicians.

‘Eric Pot has vanished, Master Dividian,’ Master Sveld informed the withered old principal. ‘It seems he somehow managed to create a travelling spell and has disappeared within it.’

‘What an astounding thing!’ Dividian said open-mouthed as he gawked up at the spell.

The air within the great revolving spell seemed to pulse, almost like a heartbeat. Coloured clouds of pink, purple and blue magic swirled slowly around, formed from shattered shreds of weaves, and tiny flashes of light occasionally sparked between them. Samuel was not sure what exactly the others could see, but the feeling of the spell was incredible enough, as if some part of the pattern had, indeed, been broken or torn asunder. The spell made a sound in his ears like a mammoth slab of stone being dragged across another.

‘Can you replicate the spell, Master Jacobs? Is the remnant sufficient?’ Dividian asked and the new Master, quietly examining the spell, shook his head.

‘Not at all! It’s far too complex and all we have here are the shattered remains. I can’t imagine how the boy managed to cast such a thing.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Dividian said with genuine disappointment. ‘He was showing so much promise. I was sure he’d have the spell mastered soon enough. He should never have been allowed to practise on his own,’ he added with a sigh.

‘What about Eric?’ Lan asked. ‘Can we get him back?’

‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Master Jacobs mused. ‘It looks as dangerous as hell. I wouldn’t like to step any closer as it is. I think we should dispel the thing as quickly as possible.’

‘Master Dividian! We must do something! Eric may still be alive. We must try to bring him back,’ Samuel urged.

‘Heavens, no,’ Dividian stated adamantly. ‘This thing is dangerous enough already. We can’t risk trying to meddle with it. We must dispel it at once before it causes any more trouble. The boy made a fatal mistake,’ he added with a wave of his hand.

‘What! How can you say that! Master Kalbak said he could have travelled somewhere, or he may even return any moment.’

‘If the spell was well formed, it would be plausible, but this is just a mess.’ He shook his head. ‘What a terrible loss. I’m sure the boy is good and dead. Master Jacobs, can you proceed?’

Jacobs nodded. ‘It’s quite unstable…but I think I know where to start. Yes, yes…I can do it.’

‘Then go on, quickly.’

‘Wait!’ Samuel called out. ‘Give him some time! If we dispel it, he may never be able to return. Master Kalbak!’

Old Master Kalbak looked to Dividian and shrugged. ‘I’m only postulating, Samuel. I really don’t know what could have happened to him.’

‘But it’s possible! We can’t close it. He could be left anywhere.’

‘We cannot leave it here, Samuel. It’s a risk to us all,’ Dividian stated. ‘Master Jacobs, proceed.’

‘No!’ Samuel shouted out. ‘You can’t kill him!’

‘Quieten down, boy!’ Dividian snapped. ‘Let the Master do his work or get out!’

Master Jacobs had already started to spell, reaching his power out tentatively towards the shreds of Eric’s baleful Great Spell. Samuel, without thought, threw out a stream of magic that knocked Master Jacobs’ spell to tatters, leaving the robed magician gape-mouthed with surprise.

‘Samuel!’ Dividian roared out. ‘How dare you!’

‘I won’t let you do it!’ Samuel declared. ‘You must give him more time!’

Dividian raised a bony finger. ‘Don’t you dare speak back to me, Boy! How dare you interfere!’

‘I won’t let you kill him!’ Samuel retorted.

‘Get out!’ Dividian shouted out, almost screaming. His face had flushed red and he was shaking with anger. ‘Get out of here at once! I won’t tell you again. Master Jacobs, continue!’

Samuel stood defiantly with his fists knotted at his sides, while the other Masters and Adept watched on sheepishly. Master Jacobs began his spell again and again Samuel obliterated his magic before it could begin its work. Dividian’s eyes opened wide with disbelief and, raising a pointed finger, he sent a mad spell dashing at Samuel, who brushed it aside and pulled it apart in an instant. Master Dividian was left trembling and shaking.

‘Don’t try your feeble spells on me!’ Samuel declared, pointing his finger back at Dividian. ‘I could pull you to pieces just as easily!’

‘Samuel!’ sounded a shout as Master Glim and Goodfellow came rushing in. ‘Stop that at once!’ Master Glim came to stand beside Dividian, looking for just a moment at the great swirling spell above.

‘Is this what you and Anthem have taught your students, Master Glim?’ Dividian asked. ‘What monstrous youths you have created, that they attack their elders so wantonly.’

‘I apologise, Master Dividian. Samuel, go out now,’ he added, looking at Samuel with all seriousness.

Samuel could not believe his ears. ‘You want me to leave? Master Dividian knew that Eric was working on this spell. He knows something about it.’

‘Nonsense,’ Dividian retorted.

‘Yes, Samuel,’ Master Glim agreed. ‘Go out now before you make things any worse. I will take care of this.’

‘But they are trying to dispel Eric’s magic. If they do, he may never be able to return. They’ll kill him!’

‘Don’t worry, Samuel. I will take care of it,’ Master Glim explained. ‘There’s nothing you can do here. Not now.’

Samuel looked to each of their faces. Master Dividian was still red-faced and furious while Master Glim looked calm and sober.

‘Very well,’ Samuel conceded and started away. He only hoped Master Glim knew what he was doing, for Eric’s life was at stake. As he walked along the aisle, Master Dividian began arguing with Master Glim at full volume, with Master Glim speaking calmly and quietly each time Dividian paused to take a breath. Before he had even reached the doors, Samuel could feel Master Jacobs’ spell already at work, progressively dismantling the remnants of the Great Spell of Travelling.

Samuel was summoned to the Council chambers the next day. The spell had been dismantled and along with it went Eric’s chances of returning. The laughter in the Adept dormitory had vanished along with Eric, leaving the room sullen and quiet. When Samuel received a summons to go to the palace, he immediately dropped what he was doing, put on his formal black robes and made his way from the school.

He walked through the city, past the beckoning merchants and stone-faced shopkeepers, past the calling and haggling traders, heedless to their cries, and into the palace grounds. The guards let him pass immediately on sight of his robes, as Eric had always said they would. It was his first time within the walls of the palace, yet he had no stomach to stare at its many wonders. He merely walked on, mourning what had happened and dreading what would come.

His sandalled feet crunched upon the tiny, loose stones and his heart thudded in his chest. He climbed the many palace steps and the immense palatial doors were opened for him by four staunch guards. A servant met him there, somehow knowing his purpose, and guided him along all the twisting corridors and stairs leading to the thick, ornate doors that marked the Council chambers. He pulled one open and peered inside. The large, round chamber was dim, but he could see a handful of figures across the room watching him. He entered and pulled the heavy door shut once more. He went down the carpeted steps between the bench seats until he was standing before the five waiting men.

‘You are Samuel, I presume,’ an aged, balding fellow with flaring nostrils said and Samuel nodded. ‘It is good that you have arrived. I think you know why we have summoned you here. I am High Lord Rimus. These are Lord Hathen, Lord Irshank, Lord Vander and Lord Jarrod.’

Lord Hathen was a large man with short, black hair and a thick, bushy moustache. Lord Irshank was as wide as a barrel, with thinning hair brushed over from one side, while next to him was Lord Vander. He was the shortest by far, red-cheeked and looking as if he had never laughed in his life. Samuel set his attention on Lord Jarrod. The man had a narrow face, exacerbated by the fact that his long, grey hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail. His black eyes glinted in the light, staring back at Samuel, somehow without blinking at all.

‘It seems you have been acting out of place on occasion and being generally disruptive,’ Rimus continued. ‘Also, we have been told that you used your magic in a threatening manner against your fellow students. Yesterday, we understand that you openly used magic against a senior member of the Order-one of your very own teachers, or so I understand, and then you threatened none other than our good Master Dividian with violence. Obviously, this is intolerable. We can’t have this kind of thing going on in the School of Magic or anywhere, for that matter. Therefore, we have called you here to determine what should be done with you. Firstly, I want to ask you: are you sure you are faithful to the Order of Magicians?’

‘I am,’ Samuel immediately responded.

‘And to the Emperor and the Empire of Turia?’

‘I am,’ Samuel stated again.

Samuel could feel a cage of weaves creeping into place around him, like a spider tiptoeing out to encase its prey. They were creating a shield in which to hold his power. It was very strong and Samuel was not sure if he could breach it once it was fully in place. They had heard how easily he had shattered Master Jacobs’ spells. Dividian had told them everything and they were not taking any chances. He waited nervously in the silence, feeling their magical casing sliding into place as they peered down at him. Other spells swept across him-testing him, probing him.

‘So you say,’ High Lord Rimus said, ‘but your actions dictate otherwise. If you were truly dedicated to the Order and the Empire, you would not be such a young upstart and we would not be receiving all these dire reports about you. You come from somewhere in Marlen, I understand. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how fortunate it is for an Outlander such as you to even be allowed a chance to join the Order and how precarious your situation is.’

All the while, Lord Jarrod continued to gaze at Samuel. The man did not move a muscle-like a snake watching its prey and readying to strike.

‘If I may beg to speak, my Lords?’ Samuel asked.

‘Very well, you may,’ Rimus said generously.

‘You must have heard about Eric Pot’s disappearance?’

‘And you think that is some form of excuse?’ Rimus returned. ‘Do you think you were actually helping the situation-that you know better than all the Masters who have taught you? Is that to be your defence?’

‘Of course not,’ Samuel defended. ‘I apologise for my unruly behaviour. There have been so many changes in the school recently and it is difficult for some of us all to come to terms with everything.’

‘Is that so?’ Rimus said suspiciously. ‘Explain.’

‘Well, we have very little free time now and every day we practise for many hours. The new spells we are learning are very difficult and sometimes dangerous.’

‘But I don’t see any of the others assaulting their teachers,’ Rimus stated. ‘Why is it that only you cannot seem to cope?’

‘I don’t know, High Lord Rimus.’

‘Then perhaps enlighten me with what you believe should be done differently.’

Samuel was sure all this questioning was a facade, for he could still feel various spells delicately manoeuvring around him. All they wanted was a chance to observe him-as if they were poking a dangerous creature with a stick to see if it was dead or merely sleeping. Their efforts slipped through him as if he did not exist and it was difficult for Samuel to keep the satisfaction from his lips, even as uncomfortable as he felt beneath their critical gazes.

‘Perhaps we could go back to the way things were. All the students liked Grand Master Anthem and now he is gone and we are working so hard, some of us are finding it very difficult.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘But what do you mean?’ Samuel asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘So what do you think I should do?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Samuel mused over the magician’s words.

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

‘Where will I go?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the magician smiled knowingly, as if everything Samuel said had some hidden meaning. ‘Yes, I know of him, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you any more information than that just now. Suffice to say that I’m very sure you will have your chance to kill him if that is what you really desire, but first you must save yourself by getting out of the city. Go now and be quick about it.’

At that, Samuel went over to the doorway, bent down, and ducked back outside. He had no intention of going directly to the South Gate as Soddan had instructed, for he could not possibly disappear without telling his friends and he absolutely needed his notes and journals. He wove his way through the streets, making his way back towards the north end of the city, skittish all the while.

Coming to Cornish Street, Samuel was divided as to whether he should take the most direct route by turning left or the longer route by turning right. After a few moments of nervous indecision, he turned entirely about and decided to make his way as indirectly as possible to avoid anyone who may be waiting in his path. Samuel could not help but notice a fellow standing idly a few strides away and looking directly towards him from beneath the rim of a tight green cap. He could not help feeling even more anxious as the man began coming towards him. He tried to walk calmly, but he could not help quickening his steps. Every so often, he would look back over his shoulder, and the man was there, following some way behind, peering through above the crowd. At last, Samuel sprang forward and began running as fast as he could.

Panting and tired a few streets away, Samuel glanced over his shoulder, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He hurried the rest of the way back to the School of Magic, making a beeline without any further thought of subterfuge. Only when he had passed through the open gates that broke the school walls did he feel any safer.

‘So, you’re really going?’ Goodfellow asked as Samuel hurriedly packed his satchel.

‘I have no choice that I can see,’ Samuel said. ‘If I stay I’m done for. I’m certain.’

‘Things are really falling to pieces,’ Goodfellow responded forlornly. ‘Soon there will be no one left here at all.’

‘Don’t worry, Eric,’ Samuel told his friend. ‘You’ve always been the sensible one. I’m sure everything will work out for you and soon enough, I’m sure we’ll meet again.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Goodfellow admitted. ‘So where will you go?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ Samuel replied. ‘It’s better that you don’t know. I’m sure Jarrod’s men are already after me, and who knows who else, so I will leave at once. I shouldn’t even have returned here, but I couldn’t have left without letting you know and getting my journal.’

‘Do you want me to tell Master Glim?’

‘No,’ Samuel returned abruptly. ‘Don’t tell him anything, except that I have gone away. I’m not even sure I trust him any more.’

‘I just hope you know what you are doing, Samuel.’

‘Me, too,’ he admitted.

They shook each other’s hands and Samuel embraced his friend in a crushing hug. Without looking back, Samuel then left the dormitory. He went to the stables, where a couple of apprentices were tending the horses. Samuel chose the best steed there and then checked her harness and saddle twice over after the boys had announced she was ready.

‘Does she have a name?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said one. ‘Nobody ever told us if she does.’

‘Then I shall have to come up with a good one.’

Pushing one boot into a stirrup, he hoisted himself up. He wanted to give the boys some advice that would see them through these days. If the Council had its way, they would soon be heading off to war. ‘Study hard,’ was all he could think to tell them and he clicked his tongue and started his mount towards the entrance.

Perhaps it would have been better, Samuel thought to himself, if he had accepted the offer of the Circle of Eyes and joined their ranks, or even Balthazar’s misdirected Union of Modern Magicians. At least they did not try to disguise their nature. They were honest about what they were. Soddan was right in many ways. The Order had no use for him now and so had simply decided to kill him. All the while, he had thought he was part of some grand and honourable cause, but really he had just been a pawn all along. All that did not matter now. He was leaving such things behind him and he would soon forge his own fate.

He shook the reins and urged his animal on and out of the School of Magic, through the bustling streets and out of the East Gate without any hint of the lanky man or other pursuer. With his black cloak flowing behind him, Samuel left the grand city of Cintar behind and began along the long and dusty road from which he had once come.

An excerpt from the Book of Helum (4:1:1)

Let me begin by stating something that may be startlingly obvious. Magic is no fairy tale. It really exists and affects our everyday lives, whether we know it or not. Magic is the name for a powerful force that exists all around us, which can be harnessed and used if, of course, you know how. To many people, magic seems a fascinating and wondrous thing, seemingly capable of accomplishing any number of tasks, but, in truth, it is merely another form of energy, such as heat or light or movement, but one which can be moulded by the will alone. Magic can be directed with mere thoughts, which makes it seem positively remarkable, but given that reality itself is shaped by how we perceive it, the existence of something like magic should really come as no surprise.

Magic cannot however, as many people like to think, accomplish everything. I have never seen or even heard of some of the things that are rumoured to occur in many old wives’ tales: such things as dancing furniture, talking fountains, frogs that change into princes or princes that change into frogs. Magic can only accomplish very limited and practical things and not such frivolous nonsense. It can be converted into any of the other forms of energy with great efficiency. It is then up to the user to direct this resulting energy into more complex forms. Heat can create flame, light can create illusion, and attraction can create wind and movement. Combinations of energy can create very complex structures, such as storms and advanced illusions that feel firm to the touch and rich in the nose.

Nothing that is not real can be made from magic. Of course, you can create illusions from magic, but only ‘real’ things can be formed, as opposed to ideological or abstract concepts. You cannot create happiness or love or sorrow or even lies and truth, for they are creations of our imaginations and are not tangible things. By altering the physical mind of a higher creature, you can make them feel happy or loving or sorrowful, but this is another thing altogether.

It has been theorised that variations in the ether cause the flows which we, in turn, harness and call ‘magic’, but I have often wondered what exactly causes these variations, for why should a perfect structure such as the ether find itself containing areas which vary from one part to another? What should cause these differences? I, of course, cannot tell from personal experience, but I have often theorised and my pondering has led me to regard the very universe itself. For it is upon the ether that our universe is built, for otherwise, where would it be and what would be between the things that exist, but nothing? If there was nothing, how could something then be put there and what would hold it in place? The answer, of course, is that there is always something for matter to be placed upon, even when we cannot see it, and this thing we call ‘the ether’. How then, can nothing be something? The answer again, of course, is that it must be everything, for only by being everything can something exist as both nothing and something. By bending and folding the endless fabric of the ether in place, something is created from nothing.

The nature of the universe is chaos. This can be seen at any given moment in any given act. Cups often fall from tables and break into many small pieces, but very rarely do the little pieces I leave at the base of my table (sometimes for many years at a time while I prolong my pondering) leap up and form a cup without my direct intervention. My home is very often in a state of disarray, and never is it tidy unless I make an effort to make it so. This is why chaos reigns, for energy must always be exerted to keep chaos at bay, while chaos will spring into being freely given the slightest opportunity. This being said, if the nature of the universe is chaos, why then, do we fight against nature? Why do we not, in our lives, allow chaos to take its due course? Simply because we are creatures of habit, which is a form of order, and we survive purely through the fact that we challenge chaos. If we did not, we would never accomplish anything constructive-again, a form of order. Life, then, can be said to be a little knot of ordered chaos, acting in direct opposition to the turbulence of destruction around it. Creation and destruction are ever at ends with each other; life and death; order and chaos.

The nature of the universe is order. It can be seen at every opportunity that this is so, for everything in existence yearns for balance. Given the chance, every mote of matter, every fragment of energy would prefer to be evenly spaced throughout the universe, completely without variation. This, unfortunately, would result in a uniformity void of change or variance or anything remotely interesting, so it is quite lucky that order and chaos have each other to keep things in check, or everything would be rather plain and unappealing, indeed.

So we can now see how the nature of the universe is both order and chaos, for they coexist in both opposition and cooperation. By their very nature, chaos and order are opposite, yet you can now see how they are part of the same thing-nothing more than folds and bunches in the fabric of existence we call the ether that we perceive as the figments of reality: matter, energy, time and space.

Still, this brings me back to the same old question-why? This is the eternal question that has plagued philosophers such as me since we first discovered our navels. Our only solace is that when we inevitably roll over and die, we may find out firsthand, but then who would we have to boast to? In death, the knot of life that we are becomes unknotted and all that comprised us flattens back out into the ether and is free to be bound up again as part of something else.

Keeping in mind that nothing is ever lost-matter and energy and time and space can simply change form, but the ether is infinite and unchangeable-what becomes of our mind?

Your current consciousness would end and, if it were weak enough, it would become unbound and distributed throughout the soup of other such tiny motes of experience. If the mass of experiences and memories and all that we call ‘self’ is hardy enough, it may remain singular enough to withstand the torrential ocean of death, and the spirit may remain intact. These are the echoes of lives that once were and these are the spirits that sometimes return to terrorise us on stormy nights. Not quite intact, not quite dissolved, they hang onto their existence with stubborn tenacity. It may even be feasible that some learn to persevere indefinitely and forever resist the tugging presence of the ether and perhaps even learn to mould the ether around them. These are what we foolishly call ‘gods’, for man has a habit of categorising all things with such labels in an effort to comprehend them. Again, whether or not there is any point to this, we will perhaps never know.

This is the cycle of our existence. Those who attain enlightenment remain conscious, one with everything, yet in a state of individuality, using the un-variation that surrounds them, to create energy and matter and life, creating potential that, one day, may itself reach enlightenment. This is the only reason for life that we can fathom: to create more life. And the reason for this? I believe the answer is ‘to experience’, for once everything has lived and everything has died and the universe, all matter, all energy and all consciousness have passed back into a state of non-being, what will have changed? What will be different? Nothing. Nothing, except all that which has occurred. All things must end and all things will begin again, the universe included. So what is there to do in the meanwhile? Nothing, but to make use of the passing aeons by enjoying our experiences. It is better than doing nothing, after all.

So what can we learn from all this? Perhaps that life has no meaning? Perhaps. Perhaps that our only goal is to better ourselves as much as we can? I believe that is more the logical choice. We have an innate instinct to create and to procreate and to ever become greater. This is a noble goal, but it should not be mistaken for greed or competition. By improving others, we improve ourselves. Money and wealth and personal belongings may have been necessary at one time, but we have evolved-we are changing. We are well on our way to becoming that which we are capable of being and it is time we left behind the weights and anchors that keep our mortal minds and bodies tied to the earth. We should take our place amongst the heavens, for there is limitless opportunity for those of us with the foresight to raise our gaze from the soil at our feet, where simple life struggles, and envisage the countless, churning stars above.

But I grow far too sentimental. For I know nothing of this from my own personal experience and, if I did, I would not tell you anyway, for one must learn for oneself to truly find the way forward. What else is there to do unless you are a god already?

My last point. There are several ways I can conceive of for one to exist after death and remain conscious amongst the ether. One is the path of betterment; another is the path of corruption. While the former leads to beings we call gods, the latter leads to those whom we call demons, those who can only exist through the suffering and consumption of others. They act in opposition to the gods, working to devour all others while selfishly sustaining themselves, destroying all life and potential instead of creating it. To the creatures that seek to live their lives unhindered, such demons are a terrible threat. They cannot be allowed to proliferate and must be countered by those who cherish life at all costs. If any such beings were to gain a foothold on this world, the results could be disastrous, to say the least.

I have not heard of any demons interfering with this world for many ages, but of course, there are many ways for them to get here. Indeed, they are ever trying to do so-whispering in the back of our minds when we are weak and needy, they can sound infinitely enticing with their promises of power. They may even grant it, temporarily, in order to take that which they covet most.

Hopefully, no one in their right mind would listen to such demons-it being such a foolish act. Of course, not everyone is in their right mind, and I fear that, one day, the demons shall appear upon our world, and we will be forced to battle for our very souls.

I pray I have passed on long before we see this day.

— Darrig Lin, Leader of the Council of the Wise

What is it that can best undo man, but man himself?

For men are little more than devils in the wait.

— chiselled into the stone wall in the vault room of the Temple of Shadows