The Young Magician

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tindal was a land of grassy hills and meadows at the very limits of the Turian Empire. Further east, there were only woods and mountains, devoid of civilisation. Beyond that, the Eastern Reaches sprawled all the way up to the endless Paatin Wastes. Villages were scattered about and, occasionally, Samuel found himself passing through what could almost pass as a small town. The roadside fields were sown with grains or filled with grazing cattle, goats and black-faced sheep. Every so often, a wagon would slowly creak by along the bumpy, rain-scoured road, its driver eyeing Samuel with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Few from central Turia ever had need to visit these distant parts, and the local people had their own customs, traditions and style of dress that marked Samuel instantly as a stranger.

Their accents were thick and curling and they seemed to have an entire collection of words that were entirely unique and often had Samuel in a quandary as to their meaning.

Samuel pulled his cloak tight as it fought to fly free, tugged at insistently by the bitter wind that howled across the hilltops. Here, far from the reach of the Order of Magicians, Samuel’s robes were simply protection from the elements. The affiliation such clothes represented was lost amongst the simple folk in these parts. People here seemed much less complicated than in the cities, yet their lives were far more difficult. Their very faces showed hardship and often despair. Magical cures and remedies were unknown in these far-thrown lands, replaced by boiled roots and poultices that did little to improve any but the feeblest of ailments. Many a bone ached with arthritis and many a tooth was blackened or lost. It was a sorry state of affairs for anyone to live in such a manner.

Jess-as he had named his horse, after his favourite and only cousin- began unsteadily down the long slope towards the frosty meadows below, where the sporadic dots of milling animals could be seen amongst the short grasses. Samuel patted the purse at his hip and winced as he felt its lack of substance. Spells had granted him food and a bed before, but now, in these distant lands, it was only coin which gained favour. The mention of magic often caused misgivings and Samuel had long since abandoned using his spells. Even the use of these Imperial coins had become difficult. The peasants preferred to barter, or use ancient currency from a time in their history before the Empire had marched across their lands. The people eyed and bit Samuel’s coins, scrutinising them well, before begrudgingly handing Samuel his provisions.

The wind blew up again and his eyes began to water. He hoped it was not too much further before he reached his destination, for he had long grown tired of travel. It had taken over a month to reach these distant parts and he had no idea how much longer his journey would last. He was certainly feeling tattered around the edges and could do with a long bath and a good rest.

After leaving Turia, Samuel had passed through his home nation of Marlen. Reaching Stable Canthem, he had stayed shortly at The Burning Oak. Master Kelvin had been elated to see him and they had talked long into the night, discussing every aspect of magic possible. Kans was still there, begrudgingly serving the others. Now that Samuel had experience as a magician, he could see that Kans was about the poorest excuse for a mage he had ever seen. The man was lucky if he could cast a spell to save his life, which perhaps explained his unenthusiastic demeanour and lowly position at the inn. Fennian was still working there and he was now a strapping young man himself. He recognised Samuel at once and passed him a wink and a nod.

The Three Toads Inn was now run by a northern family who had no knowledge of Jessicah or her wretched parents. Samuel only hoped that, wherever she was, Jessicah was happy and that her mother and father were somehow miserable.

While in Stable Canthem, Samuel had also called upon Mr Joshua who still traded in secrets and not-so-legal wares, and who was utterly astounded and overjoyed to see him (after he had recovered from the fright of having a magician come striding into his office). Mr Joshua had declared he thought he would never see Samuel again, let alone dressed in the robes of the Order. He stated that he always knew there was something special about Samuel, the moment he had set eyes on him. He even looked into his records to see how much money he still owed Samuel, but Samuel only laughed and waved the offer off.

Mr Joshua made several offers for Samuel to join him in partnership, but Samuel had to politely refuse. However, he did gladly pass on all he knew about the recent events in Cintar while Mr Joshua nodded and smiled as he listened, no doubt memorising every single word. Mr Joshua was genuinely disappointed with himself when he could shed no light on the whereabouts of Jessicah. He could only say that some ill-conceived scheme of her father had left them packing in the middle hours of the night. Samuel was disappointed by the news, for he had been rehearsing the moment when he would reveal his horse’s name, and had imagined many times the feigned look of disgust on her face, followed by the giggles and laughs they would have together. Still, he was surprised how very little escaped Mr Joshua’s attention. Promising to visit at some time in the future, Samuel had turned from Stable Canthem and continued on his way.

His path had led him back through Stable Waterford, the tiny village of his birth, where he was met with a bouquet of familiar scents and sights. The houses and buildings looked virtually unchanged and children ran and played in the streets, exactly as he remembered them doing when he was one of them.

Samuel had spied the weaving stall belonging to Tom’s and he went on in, with a childish grin on his face. Tom’s parents were both inside, each looking a little greyer and a little plumper in the face.

‘Hello, there,’ Tom’s mother greeted him, standing up from her small stool, surrounded by half-finished baskets and lengths of mill plant strips. Her face slowly showed recognition and surprise as she looked up at him. ‘Samuel? Is that you?’

Samuel did not have time to reply before she had leapt up and thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. She seemed to have shrunk greatly since Samuel last saw her.

‘Yes! Yes!’ Samuel replied, laughing. ‘It’s me.’

Tom’s father then stood and tried to shake his hand almost off his arm, while Tom’s mother continued tackling him. He had a modest smile on his face. ‘Good to see you, lad,’ he declared earnestly.

They then sat together on their small, wicker stools and Samuel told them all about his exciting life in the big city. They had heard nothing of him since he had left Stable Waterford and Tom’s mother wanted to hear every detail, while Tom’s father nodded solemnly at each fact. When Samuel mentioned being a magician, Tom’s mother had looked horrified for a moment, before recovering. Tom’s father looked at her and glowered. The air suddenly felt uncomfortable and Samuel had the sense to change the subject, leaving his tales unfinished.

‘What about Tom?’ Samuel asked after a time. ‘Where is he?’

‘He has his own business now, trading barrels in the old Clarnet store,’ Tom’s mother answered. ‘The Clarnets left the village about the same time…well, about the same time you did.’

‘Well, it’s been good to see you,’ Samuel told them, standing. ‘I’ll go see Tom and then I must be on my way.’

Tom’s mother hugged him again and Tom’s father shook his hand once more, and then Samuel waved goodbye and left their store. Outside, the day had grown warm and it was hot, sunny and dusty on the street.

‘Wait a moment, lad!’ called Tom’s father, hurrying out after him. ‘I need to talk with you a moment.’ Tom’s father drew Samuel a few steps away into the shade. ‘I want to tell you some things.’ Samuel waited expectantly and Tom’s father continued, somewhat nervously. ‘Things have never been the same here since you left, boy. Many things changed on the night of your parents’ murder, almost all of them for the worse.’ Samuel’s interest plucked up. ‘There were many murders that night, although we didn’t tell you at the time.’

‘Many?’ Samuel asked.

‘Yes. You see, for years before that time some foolish women, my wife amongst them, would meet each month, about the time of the full moon, and have a meeting.’ The man looked increasingly uncomfortable. He glanced around at others on the street, as if they could hear him even from far away. ‘It was just foolish women’s things at first-even now, I don’t know what they got up to-I don’t want to know. Three families were butchered that night and several others in nearby towns, so I heard. They were killed because they were meddling with things better left alone. Maybe they didn’t mean for it to happen, and perhaps it wasn’t even true, but some people at least believed they had begun fooling with witches’ business. In their ignorance and foolishness, they had been running around chanting spells and making silly incantations, even though they thought it harmless at the time. No one here wants anything to do with witches, witch-hunters or magicians.’ He started sounding a little upset, but added, ‘So it’s best to keep such things to yourself. Walking around here dressed like that will only get you into trouble.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel replied, looking down at his black clothes. ‘Do you mean to say my mother was killed because someone thought she was a witch?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that everyone knew what those women were up to, and no one thought it would come to any harm, but only they were killed. I thank my lucky stars I wouldn’t let my wife go in those last few months or we could’ve been killed, too. The murderers were never seen and never caught.’ He sighed and gathered his thoughts for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be sounding so upset, but that was a hard time for everyone-yourself included, I’m sure. I’m not saying they were bad people-your mother and the other women-because I loved her like a sister. It’s just they got mixed up in things they shouldn’t have.’ He wiped his hands absent-mindedly on his trousers. ‘Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I thought it better you knew. Why don’t you go see young Tom? I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you.’

Samuel smiled as much as he could, nodded and walked away.

Walking into the old Clarnet store, Samuel found a young man hammering away at some newly-made barrels. The man stood up straight and wiped his brow and Samuel had to look closely to recognise his old playfriend.

‘If it isn’t Tom Cooper!’ Samuel declared.

Tom peered at the strangely dressed man before him with some uncertainty. ‘Samuel?’ His chin was covered in blonde whiskers and his voice was gruff and deep-all too deep for the young boy that used to jump into the river with Samuel on those hot summer days. ‘I don’t believe my eyes!’

‘Believe them!’ Samuel said and they hugged like brothers. Tom squeezed him like a bear, and Samuel had to break away before being crushed. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Too long! Where have you been? What have you been doing all these years?’

Samuel laughed. ‘It’s too much to tell in one sitting, but I’ll try.’ Samuel began to tell of his time in Stable Waterford and Cintar all over again, making sure to avoid all mention of magic.

‘So what were you studying in Cintar?’ Tom asked him.

‘History, literature, politics, mathematics. Nothing too intriguing.’

‘Argh! Sounds terrible! You should have stayed here with me. Our adventures were never the same without you. But look at your strange city clothes!’ Tom declared. ‘And where are you off to now?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But I shall find out, as soon as I get there.’

They chatted a little more, but Samuel soon felt himself longing to leave. It was wonderful to see Tom again, but the whole atmosphere in Stable Waterford had him feeling uncomfortable. Remembering his past had turned out to be more of a painful experience than he could have foretold. He shortly made an excuse and promised to come back again soon when he could.

Stepping outside, the village now seemed altogether small and empty. Years of city living made his childhood village seem remote and lifeless. So it was for only a few hours that Samuel had remained in Stable Waterford.

He had passed by his family’s home and waited for several long minutes at the end of the road. It looked overgrown and long unused and the thought of seeing the place of his childhood had been all too alarming, so he had urged Jess on with a flick of the reins and a kick of his heels, and he turned his back on the place where his family had all been killed.

After a long and uncomfortable journey across nearly all the lands of the southeast, crossing rivers, hills, mountains and valleys, Samuel came to the unmistakable conclusion that he was quite lost. According to the last directions he had received, he should have arrived in Gilgarry well before noon, but it was now getting dark and he was still winding around barren hilltops, with no hint of human habitation in sight. He drew Jess to a halt and twisted in his saddle to look all around. The sky to the west was a pale rose as the sun was just settling into the valley. The wind was making a soft sigh upon the rocks and everything seemed peaceful in the dim dusk light. As Samuel sat atop Jess and absorbed the scene, a movement on the hillside caught his eye. A figure was clambering up towards the roadway and so Samuel clicked his tongue and shook the reins, setting Jess ahead at a walk.

As Samuel neared, he could see it was an old man, and he was climbing the hillside with obvious difficulty, grunting and struggling, sending cascades of rocks and stones clattering away below him. Samuel dropped down and hurried towards him as carefully as he could.

‘Ho!’ he called. ‘Old man, what are you doing there? Let me help you.’

The man was puffing and gratefully offered his arm to Samuel. Together, they made their way back up to the roadway, where the old fellow dropped down onto his backside for a rest.

‘Many thanks to you,’ he said, puffing and wheezing. ‘I thought I’d never make it.’

Samuel eyed the old man’s leg and he could see at once his aura was pulsing around an injury. ‘What have you done to yourself, old man?’ Samuel asked. ‘How did you hurt yourself like that?’

The man took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped at his glistening brow. When he had enough breath he managed to speak. ‘I took quite a fall crossing the gully. I’m not as spry as I once was, would you believe it? Once I’m home, I’ll be right. Mrs Down will take care of it.’

‘Where do you live?’ Samuel asked, surveying the hilltops. ‘There’s no house or home in sight of here.’

‘A little way further,’ the old man responded. ‘Once I rest here a time, I’ll go a bit further. Soon enough, I’ll be there.’

The old man looked fit to drop dead already and Samuel was in need of some lodging for the night so he decided to help the man back to his home. ‘Then perhaps I can offer you some assistance. I’m in no particular hurry and, if you can hop on top of old Jess here, it will save you a lot of trouble. I was heading for Gilgarry, but I seem to be a little lost.’

The man guffawed. ‘Lost you are, all right. You missed Gilgarry half a day ago. You’re just on the outskirts of Lenham. I’ll tell you what. If you can get me home, Mrs Down will fix you a hot dinner and a bed for the evening. How does that sound?’

Samuel could not help but smile. ‘That’s exactly what I was hoping for. I think you’ll be helping me much more than I’m helping you.’

The old man held up his knotty hand. ‘Glad to be of service. Simpson Down.’

‘Samuel,’ Samuel responded and they grabbed each other’s fists and shook. The old man’s grip was as strong as iron.

‘Well,’ old Simpson said. ‘No time like the present.’

He started to get up and Samuel offered his shoulder, helping the old man over to Jess. Samuel mounted first and then helped pull Simpson up behind him. The horse was not so pleased with the load. She snorted and pulled her ears back with annoyance.

‘Back the way you came,’ Simpson instructed. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

Jess had carried them only a short way before Simpson pointed up a narrow, twisting path that Samuel had not even noticed the first time past. It was well dark before a light came into view, and Samuel was sure it would have taken Simpson half the night to crawl home in his current state.

The farm was high on a hill and looked out over the smaller hills and valleys all around. Other small lights could be seen afar where odd farmhouses spotted the occasional hilltop. Cows and goats stood idly in the paddocks, bleating occasionally in the moonlight. An old donkey glanced towards them forlornly from where it was tethered beside the house. The door flew open as they approached and an elderly woman, rotund at the waist and flushed in the cheeks, came rushing out.

‘Goodness gracious me, Mr Down!’ she called out. ‘You had me worried half to death! What have you done to yourself?’

‘No need to worry, Mrs Down,’ Simpson protested, and gingerly lowered himself down from Jess’ back. When his injured leg took his weight, he winced and nearly fell down, but Mrs Down picked him up in a flash.

Samuel dismounted and came to Simpson’s other side, and they helped him hop towards the house.

‘I thought the Molgoms had taken you, for sure,’ Mrs Down went on. Samuel had no idea what a Molgom was, but she went on. ‘Thank you, young man,’ she said to him. ‘I can’t thank you enough for helping poor old Simpson home.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Simpson responded as they edged him through the doorway, ‘by fixing us both some dinner. And he’ll be staying the night.’

Mrs Down took a start at this. ‘But look at the state of this place! We’re in no state to take a guest.’

They dropped Simpson into a chair and Samuel looked around the room. It was very simple, having a stove in one corner and a table and a few chairs in the middle. There was one other door to the side, which presumably led to their bedroom. Everything was tidy, but in desperate need of some maintenance.

‘No need to worry, Mrs Down,’ Samuel told her. ‘I’m quite happy just to sleep on the floor, and then I’ll be off again in the morning.’

‘See, Woman?’ Simpson said. ‘He’s quite happy. No need to make a fuss.’

‘Simpson!’ she retorted and went over to the stove and began throwing some more hunks of wood into it. A large pot was set on top, which was simmering and bubbling and giving off a delicious smell. She then rushed back and bent down by Simpson, pulling up his trouser leg and inspecting the angry red graze on his shin. ‘How did you manage this, Mr Down?’

‘Just mend it, Woman,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got no time to argue with you with about it.’

Mrs Down took some hot water from atop the stove. She dipped a cloth into it, wrung it out and then set to work washing her husband’s leg. Finally, she wrapped the wound in another boiled cloth along with some herbs she had pulled from her tins, while Simpson leaned over and took a pipe from the table and set to work puffing on it. Samuel could see it was quite a deep injury and it would take the old man some time before he could get about on his own once more.

When Mrs Down was happy with her work, and Simpson was happily puffing out smoke, she fetched them both a large bowl of stew from her stove top. Samuel sat at the table and began eating heartily. The stew tasted as good as it smelled, being thick with carrots, potatoes and some other curious vegetables he could not even begin to name.

‘So,’ Mrs Down said, finally sitting herself down to eat, ‘where were you headed when you saved my poor old husband here?’

‘His name is Samuel,’ Simpson interrupted, with stew on his lips and chin. ‘He was headed for Gilgarry and got a mite misdirected.’

Mrs Down nodded. ‘What are you doing in Gilgarry then, Samuel,’ she asked, ‘if you don’t mind me asking? We don’t get many folk from the capital out here.’

Samuel was surprised. ‘How did you know I was from Cintar?’ he asked.

‘It’s written all over you, lad-on your clothes and in your tongue. Even though we don’t get many out here, Imperials are as easy to spot as a wart on your nose-oh, no offence intended, of course.’

Samuel laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose I must seem a little out of place, but I’m not actually Turian. I’m from Marlen, but I’ve been studying in the capital for a while, so I guess I’ve picked up some of their accent. Now I’m bound for Gilgarry to meet a colleague.’

‘Oh, and what’s your business, then?’ she asked.

‘I’m a traveller…ah, a travelling trader,’ Samuel replied awkwardly.

‘Trading what?’ old Simpson asked suspiciously.

‘Trading anything,’ Samuel said. ‘Anything of value at all.’

Mrs Down raised an eyebrow at this, but said no more. After they had eaten, she took their bowls and washed them outside in a trough in the yard. Simpson announced he was tired and limped off through the doorway into the bedroom. Mrs Down then gathered up as many cloths and blankets as she could manage and made a simple bed for Samuel near the stove.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘We’re just simple folk and we can’t offer you anything more comfortable. I hope it’ll do.’

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ he told her. ‘I’ve slept on roadsides and verges for many a night. This is luxury in comparison. I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Well, it gets awfully cold just before sun-up, so don’t burn yourself on the stove there. And if you need to use the privy, it’s outside and past the pile of wood-mind your step and take care not to fall in. Would you like some hot water to wash up?’

Samuel nodded.

After he had taken care of Jess and washed himself outside, he came back inside. The house was warm and comfortable from the roaring stove and Mrs Down was seated at the table beside a small pile of dyed linen that she was sewing.

‘You make your own clothes?’ Samuel asked, sitting opposite her.

‘Yes. And we sell whatever else I can make. I’m precious little help to Simpson during the day and we need all the money we can get. I do what I can around the farm, but most of the time I think he’d rather run himself half to death than have me puffing after him.’

‘He does everything by himself?’

‘Oh, of course. We’ve no children of our own. It’s been hard times for us lately. The fields are as dry as a dead dog’s tongue, if you’ll excuse me for putting it plainly.’

‘Oh? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘I hope you’re a better merchant than you are a farmer, Samuel. We’ve had scarcely a drop of rain for months now and it’s only getting hotter. I truly don’t know what we’ll do this year.’

Samuel nodded, feeling sorry for the old couple. He could see that life was difficult for them here and would only get harder with each passing year. Without any children to help them, they would struggle to care for themselves without the charity of friends or neighbours. When Samuel grew weary, he lay down on his blankets and fell quickly asleep as Mrs Down continued with her sewing, late into the night.

Samuel awoke to the sound of Mrs Down moving quietly around the room softly humming. Judging from the light shining in through the window, Samuel guessed it was well after dawn and he was surprised he had slept for so long. He slowly roused himself and staggered to the table, where Mrs Down was already placing a hot cup of tea for him.

‘Thank you, good lady,’ he managed to say with a dry throat. ‘Where’s Simpson?’

Mrs Down was tending to her stove. ‘Oh, he’s out on the hill. I told him it’d serve him right if he fell down and ruined himself even more, but he won’t listen to me.’

Samuel nodded and continued sipping his hot tea. When he had finished, he went outside to check on Jess. She was standing happily next to the old donkey and it appeared she had already been given some breakfast as she was munching on a pile of wild grasses and oats. Samuel peered up the hill as he stroked her smooth neck, listening to her crunch and bite her meal. He could see the specks of animals all over the hillside and wondered how Simpson could possibly deal with so many animals by himself.

There was no sign of the old man, but Samuel decided to go check up on him before he continued on his way to Gilgarry. He started up the rocky incline and was quickly panting and short of breath. The air here was thin and certainly did not encourage such exertion. His legs soon burned with each step he took.

Several curious goats began trotting alongside him, bleating and examining him with their black-slitted, yellow eyes, wondering who he was and what treats he had to feed them. Samuel regarded their nimble steps with envy and continued clambering up the ever-growing hill as they followed after him.

He soon found Simpson with smoke curling out of the short pipe between his teeth, sitting high on a boulder, watching all that was laid out below. ‘Good morning, Samuel,’ the old man called out.

‘Morning,’ Samuel called in reply, scaling the boulder. ‘How’s your leg today, Simpson?’ he asked. There was a stick lying beside the old farmer, which he had no doubt used to help him up the hill.

Simpson inhaled and then blew out thin smoke that immediately raced away with a gust of the wind. ‘It’s not so good,’ he replied. ‘I managed to get up here, but there’s not much else I can do but sit on my bones and look around. I managed some of the milking this morning, but it was quite a job.’

Samuel sat down beside the man while he thought about what to do. He dare not risk any spell, for he had seen how superstitious these country folk could be. He had not had much opportunity to practise his healing spells either, so he was not even entirely sure that he could help at all. They sat like that on the rock for a while until the old man spoke up.

‘Can I ask you for a little assistance?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Samuel replied. ‘What do you need?’

‘I don’t think I can stand up,’ Simpson stated plainly.

Samuel leapt up and helped the old man climb to his feet.

‘It’s a sorry state,’ Simpson said, shaking his head. ‘Perhaps you can help me back down to the house so that I may I talk with Mrs Down.’

The old man took up his walking stick and slowly, arm in arm, they made their way back down the hill. It took much longer than going up, as they had to choose the path of least gradient, winding back and forth, rather than charging straight down. Simpson and Samuel both were panting when they arrived back at the little flat spot where the house was built.

‘I have an idea,’ Samuel stated, as they rested a moment outside.

‘Aye? What’s that?’ the man said with interest.

‘My business is not really so urgent in Gilgarry. If you like, perhaps I can stay here a few days while you find your legs again. In return, you can provide me with a bed and Mrs Down’s good cooking. I’ve been travelling a long time already and a few days’ rest will do me wonders.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that, lad,’ the old man responded. ‘You have your own business to attend to. We can get by here-we always do.’

‘It’s no trouble at all,’ Samuel stated. ‘You’ll really be doing me a favour. I don’t really have many practical skills and perhaps I could learn a few things around the farm.’

‘I tell you what, lad. It’s obvious that you’re just making excuses now, but if you really want to stay, I really need the help. We have no children of our own to help and the moment I hurt my leg, I was just horrified at the thought of how I would begin to manage the farm. It seems like you came at just the right time, if you’re willing to stay. If you change your mind though, you can be off any time you choose.’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Samuel said with content.

They went inside and Samuel had to repeat the argument all over again with Mrs Down and she was almost crying by the end of it, taken by Samuel’s generosity. She gave them both some more to eat, then Samuel and old Simpson stepped back outside to continue the day’s work. Together they slowly made their way up to Simpson’s rock, where the old farmer carefully sat himself down.

‘What do we do first?’ Samuel asked.

‘I’d start by taking off that cloak. There’s no need to go making it any harder for yerself. A light shirt’ll do. As for work, the goats’ll come when I call ’em, but you need to keep an eye out for the odd mongrel and throw some stones at them if they come scrounging around.’

‘Do you have problems with predators?’

‘You mean dogs? Aye. There’s a pack around that I often have to chase off. Once they taste blood, it’s harder to stop ’em, so I have to be quick. We haven’t seen wolves or such for a few years in these parts. I think the sheep in the lowlands are easier to catch and a tad juicier than my bony old goats.’

Samuel sat quietly for a few minutes as Simpson smoked his pipe. The silence soon became uncomfortable. ‘What can I do, then?’ Samuel finally asked.

‘See those sheep climbing up from the valley?’ Simpson said as he pointed and Samuel saw some tiny, fleecy dots further down the hillside. ‘They’re Ned Palmers’ and they like to come up here and eat what little grass I have, so you can start by herding them back down again. I try, but it does me no good. Stubborn as an old woman, they are.’

Samuel stood up and took a deep breath to ready himself. He kept his cloak on for, despite the old man’s words, the air was thin and bitter. Simpson was no doubt used to the highland weather, wearing only his thin, lace-up shirt and well-stained trousers and boots.

Samuel began clambering down the grassy slope and was already sweating, despite the chill wind, when he neared the sheep. Climbing down the hill seemed even harder than going up, if at all possible.

The sheep were munching the short, sparsely-patched grass, oblivious to him. Their black heads and long, white wool looked a strange combination. Samuel raised his arms and tried shooing them away, but they utterly ignored him, chewing the grass as if he did not exist. It was not until he tried actually pushing one that it suddenly reacted and bolted away along the hill. The others waddled after it, finishing further away and even higher up the hill, where they looked down upon him and bleated quizzically.

Samuel looked up to the old farmer, still sitting on his high rock. Even from here, he was sure he could detect an amused smile on the man’s lips.

Samuel adjusted his cloak and circled above the sheep, now once again oblivious to him with heads down to the grass. He waved his arms furiously and yelled out ‘ha!’-leaping high in the air. The sheep took notice and with a jerk, they shied again, trotting from their meals and giving him a wide berth until, once again, they finished just above him on the hillside. Samuel swore and ran after them, muttering curses. He singled one animal from the others and chased it all over the hill while the remainder stood and watched, ever-chewing. His mutterings became much more vocal, until he was yelling abuse of every form at the stubborn animal.

He realised he was getting nowhere when, finally, he had to stop because his legs were burning and his lungs were heaving desperately for air. He could continue no further and cursed the sheep again as he bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling for breath. The sheep bleated as it trotted over to its companions and rejoined them at their munching.

Samuel collapsed atop the grass and tried to think of an intelligent alternative. Any spell he could think of would only panic them further and who knows where they would run-certainly not in any direction he wanted. He contemplated lifting them all up and floating them down into the valley, but that would probably scare them to death and he could only manage one such heavy animal at a time. Finally, he climbed back up to Simpson to gain advice.

‘Won’t do chasing them,’ the old man stated simply, ‘unless there’s a few of you,’ he added with a shrug. ‘They’re dumb animals, but they know how to be stubborn, sure enough. Gotta let them know who’s in charge.’

‘How do I do that?’ Samuel panted.

‘Don’t know. Never done it,’ Simpson explained with a grin, blowing smoke through his lips. ‘The other farmers have a dog or two to help them round up their stock, but I’ve never been fond of dogs. Besides, we couldn’t afford to keep one-they eat too much.’

‘You could let it eat those sheep and solve two problems at once.’

‘Aye,’ the aging man grinned. ‘But that wouldn’t do. My neighbours are my friends, as well, despite our little disagreements. Besides, Mrs Down has an allergy. One dog hair up her nose and she’s sniffing and teary-eyed and can’t do a thing. That wouldn’t do at all.’

Samuel helped Simpson with various tasks throughout the day, running up and down the hill many times, but mostly just to pass messages to Mrs Down. For the bulk of the time, they just seemed to sit and ensure that his little flock of animals did not get themselves into trouble.

‘I could get used to this!’ Samuel stated at one point. ‘It can be quite relaxing to sit here. It’s not quite as hard as I thought.’

‘We haven’t done anything, yet,’ Simpson responded. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a lot to do. Mrs Down took care of the urgent milking this morning, but we’ll need to manage them all tomorrow. Then, we’ll have to lead all the animals down to the valley and back, as my creek’s almost run dry. Several animals need to be caught and have their hooves clipped, but I suppose that can wait a few days more. Really, we’ve quite a lot of work to do tomorrow. I just thought I would start you off easy today and put off as much as we could.’

‘Oh,’ Samuel said. It actually did sound like quite a lot to do.

They arrived back at the little house just after sunset and Samuel was exhausted. Mrs Down had prepared some soup and roast vegetables, which Samuel swallowed heartily. Somehow, her meals were delicious, despite her almost vacuous pantry.

The next morning, Simpson roused Samuel while it was still dark outside. After he had managed to get his clothes on, Samuel helped the old man outside, and he was surprised to see that most of the goats and cows were gathered around the house in the dim, pre-dawn light.

Simpson set about teaching Samuel how to milk and it took him a while to catch on. He had often seen it done when he was young, but had never tried it before. It took several hours for them to finish milking all the animals and by the time they were done, Samuel could barely move his hands at all, as they were so sore. When the milk was safely poured into the various large barrels beside the house they went inside for their breakfast. Shortly after, they began back up the hill, with Samuel helping old Mr Down slowly limp along until they reached the jutting boulder.

‘I have an idea, if you don’t mind me trying, Simpson,’ Samuel said and the old man glanced towards him, still sucking on his pipe. ‘It’s starting to look as if I’m not quite the best farmer.’

‘I’ll give you that one,’ Simpson said with a mischievous smile.

‘And I’m not really a merchant, either.’

‘I’m not stupid, lad. Of course, you’re not.’

‘You knew?’ Samuel said with surprise.

‘Of course. You think I’m daft? You’d be the sorriest excuse for a businessman if ever I saw one. Don’t take me wrong, but Mrs Down and I knew it wasn’t true the moment you spoke it. You’re just not cut for it. No merchant I’ve ever met would save his own mother from a fire, let alone help an old man home on a country road-especially one from the Empire.’

‘But you didn’t say anything.’

‘It wouldn’t be polite.’

Samuel chewed over the thought for a few moments. The ways of these country folk were certainly perplexing.

‘So, what’s your idea then?’ Simpson asked finally. ‘If it can help either of us, I’d be mighty appreciative. I hate seeing you run around like a fool all day.’ Simpson bore a cheeky grin at the last part, with his pipe still clenched firmly between his teeth.

‘Well,’ Samuel began, still unsure, ‘perhaps I can try something that may help, but I want you keep an open mind.’

‘At this point in my life, lad, my mind’s as open as can be. If it were any opener the birds would be nesting in it.’

Samuel nodded and started down the hill towards the sheep. The woolly animals regarded him with indifference as the spiny grass continued to disappear down their throats. One animal lifted its tail and a number of dark pellets bounced out onto the grass.

Samuel closed his eyes for a moment and felt calm serenity in that darkness. Years of experience in reaching into the void came back to him, and he found it at once-that state of mind vital to channelling magic. He gathered his energy and began to spell, weaving a complex formation of colour from pure energy. In a matter of moments, he had created the illusion of a dog, albeit a simple outline, floating just slightly above the ground. Samuel chuckled. Its face looked blankly ahead.

Samuel made his creation slide towards the sheep, throwing his voice from its snarling mouth. ‘Arf, Arf!’ he barked.

The sheep didn’t even blink as the illusion slid directly through one of them and faded away along with Samuel’s patience.

‘Are you blind!’ he swore at the animals.

He felt the blood grow hot in his face and he ground his teeth together firmly. For a moment he stood, clenching his white-knuckled fists, until, ‘Damnit!’ he screamed and tossed a furious knot of energy into the ground. There was a boom and a flash and the sheep bleated all the way down the hill on their frantic little legs, away from the blackened patch of smouldering grass. A satisfied smile lay on Samuel’s lips. He laughed and nodded to himself. He had shown them who was the smartest.

Turning back towards Simpson Down, Samuel was aghast to see all of the old man’s animals-goats and cows alike-disappearing up over the hilltop. ‘Damnation!’ Samuel swore and loped back up towards Simpson, who was still sitting and smoking calmly.

‘So you’re a magician, then?’ the old man asked.

‘Yes,’ Samuel answered sourly, ‘but apparently not such a great one.’

‘Well, I don’t mind in the least, but perhaps if you could find a way to move those sheep without blowing up or burning down my hill, it would be a little better?’

‘Perhaps,’ Samuel replied and sat down, defeated.

Over the next few days, Samuel kept trying to think of ways in which he could use his magic to help around the farm. Unfortunately, most of the jobs required hands-on attention and no spells he could think of could actually help.

Each morning before dawn, Samuel would be woken from his makeshift bed beside the table and he would yawn and rub his eyes before pulling on his black robes and following Simpson outside. Most of the cows would be waiting by the house and so Simpson would begin to milk them, while Samuel hurried the others down to wait their turn. If the goats were not already there, they would generally come sauntering down as soon as they heard Mrs Down calling out to them and rattling the tin buckets in which she kept the vegetable scraps.

While it was still early, Samuel and Simpson would lift the large milk-laden jars onto the rickety cart and the old donkey would begin to pull it along. Samuel would ride Jess alongside, not wishing to hinder the poor donkey any further by adding his weight to the cart.

They spent each morning crawling from house to house, on hill and in valley, selling milk or trading it for grain, vegetables and other perishables. The farmers and their wives were all surprised to see Samuel on his great horse and would stare until he was well out of sight. Simpson would say ‘new hand’ to them, if anything at all, by way of explanation.

‘You don’t get many strangers in these parts,’ the aged man explained to Samuel in his thick accent. ‘And you look a mite frightening to them with your tall horse and strange clothes.’

Samuel nodded and agreed there was need for a change.

It would be after noon before the cart creaked back to a halt beside the Down house and Samuel dropped from Jess’ saddle onto the bare earth. His legs ached from mounting and dismounting the animal all day, every day, and so he was generally glad to stagger inside and fall into a comfortable chair. After a brief respite, they’d spend the rest of the afternoon wandering about on the hill, keeping watch on the animals.

After a simple but delicious meal dished out by the ever-apologetic Mrs Down, Samuel would turn in early. He would throw out his blanket beside the table and collapse upon it, falling asleep before the old couple could even tiptoe off into their room.

Before he knew it, Samuel realised he had been with the Downs for a week. Old Simpson’s leg was well on the mend, but somehow Samuel could not bring himself to leave, for it seemed every day was a struggle for them and, despite the fact that he was run ragged from dawn until dusk, he seemed to be strangely enjoying it.

That morning, Mrs Down presented Samuel with a new shirt, vest and trousers, made in the local style. He put them straight on, and Mr and Mrs Down nodded at him with approval, declaring that he looked almost like one of the locals.

Before Simpson had finished the milking that cold morning, Samuel had Jess hitched to the cart, leaving the old donkey looking at them curiously from beside the house.

‘He’ll be glad,’ Samuel mentioned as Simpson took notice. ‘He’s looking fairly long in the tooth and I’m sure he’ll appreciate the rest.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?’ the old man asked from his milking, floppy pink teats in hand.

‘No,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But hopefully I’ll learn.’

From then on, Jess drew the cart and Samuel leapt down to deliver the milk, collecting the money for Simpson and lifting the buckets of vegetable scraps up into the back. At first he was bewildered by the strange square coins they used, but he soon caught on to their irregular monetary system. The customers were all surprised to see Samuel doing all the work, but he was happy to do it. Simpson’s leg was still hampering him somewhat, and it always took the old farmer a few wobbly efforts to climb back up onto the cart. He seemed much more at ease holding the reins and smoking his old pipe and the work was more suited to a young man.

During the afternoons, they would sit idly and watch the animals graze. It had not rained since Samuel arrived, and he could see the grass thinning by the day. In response to Samuel commenting on this, Simpson said he would herd the animals to the north side of the hill for winter, while this side would recover and grow fresh again. There were no fences on the farm, and if ever an animal did stray, a neighbour would soon have it back again, thankful for an excuse to visit and have a hot cup of tanabil leaf tea. There were buckets and troughs to mend and Samuel set himself doing all these little chores on the farm that looked as though they had been waiting decades for attention. He even built a roof to go over Jess and the donkey and began plans for expanding the house, all with Simpson’s technical assistance. He did not have much skill at such practical things, but he learned a great deal from experimenting and referring to Simpson’s wealth of experience. His magic was invaluable in helping him carry all his tools and construction materials. He could shift sand and cart wood with a gesture, doing the work of many men on his own.

During the evenings, Samuel would help Mrs Down with meals and do some sewing himself with Simpson occasionally stepping out to see that no dogs were at his stock. Meals were simple. Occasionally, Simpson could buy some meat from a neighbour and they would eat a little better. Late at night, when he had done all he could for the Downs, Samuel would find a secluded spot and practise his spells by moonlight. He remembered Soddan’s advice and spent long hours in meditation, focussing upon his inner ability. At times, he wished he had someone more experienced to learn from and discuss the ways of magic with, for there was a part of him that was uncomfortable in the company of common folk. Having spent so long in only the presence of other magicians, common people sometimes seemed very simple. Separated from the Order, however, Samuel had little to do but reflect upon himself, hoping to discover new ways to improve his thoughts and spells. He practised all the summoning stances, power words of the Old Tongue and the hand-matrices, feeling the ever-growing intensity of energy he could muster. It seemed that every day, he was just a little stronger than before.

As he sat high on the hill in the twilight, Samuel supposed it was not an unpleasant life, here on the edge of the Empire. He felt as if fate or some powerful force was always keeping him moving. As soon as he felt comfortable in one place, something would happen and he would have no choice but to gather up his things and move on to somewhere else. He always felt more comfortable in the place from whence he had just come and the new place felt awkward, until, as usual, it was time to leave, and only then did he realise that place was the one for him. Here, on the outskirts of the village of Lenham, he felt further from his friends and his home than he had ever been. He was beginning to think he would never be able to put his feet up and just relax. Even now, he was supposed to continue on his way to Gilgarry and meet the man, Cervantes. When Simpson had recovered and the Downs could manage their farm comfortably again, Samuel would go on his way, but he found himself hoping that day would not come too soon.

Samuel’s big problem was those ever-hungry sheep. Discouraging them was proving to be his bane. Some days whole flocks would come up and chew the ground bare before Samuel would chase them for a bit, become tired and frustrated and then scare them away with a great boom that would echo all up and down the valleys. He would then have to muster up all of Simpson’s animals before they fled too far, cursing himself for his impatience.

One fine and hot day, Samuel finally sat himself amongst the villainous sheep and decided to try and solve the problem for good. He positioned himself on the grass, facing one docile creature as it munched away and he began to concentrate upon it. Its aura was simple, yet in some ways similar to that found around men. He knew all living things were filled with energy, but he had never thought that animals would be at all like people. He wanted to find out more, and so he willed his senses further into the sheep. Surprisingly, it was quite easy and he immediately met with visions of grass. The image filled his mind, as if he was seeing out of the sheep’s own eyes. Startled, he suddenly found himself separate from the animal once again.

Intrigued, Samuel began to investigate once more. It was like being inside the sheep’s mind, and he could see a strange image of himself, warped and distorted, sitting in the sheep’s head. Ghostly feelings of hunger and fear faded in and out. It was as if he had tapped into some part of the sheep’s consciousness, or was experiencing its very thoughts.

It was an amazing discovery and one that made Samuel wonder why there had been little mention of such a possibility from his teachers. It had not seemed difficult at all. Perhaps it was a dangerous thing for a magician to do? He would use caution and experiment further. He formed the image of a savage snarling wolf and concentrated on it, pushing it in beside the feeling of hunger he could feel inside the sheep. There was a jolt as the sheep suddenly panicked and broke away, bleating and galloping down the hill. Samuel was himself shivering with fear, before he could regain control over his confused mind. His heart was racing. Vague images of tearing meat and blood-spattered wool lingered in his head. Somehow, the strange alien memories had managed to pass from the sheep to him.

His attempts at fooling the sheep with complex illusions had proved useless, but this simple vision, pressed into the animal’s mind, caused such a stir in its memories that it had scared the creature silly. Perhaps such simple creatures relied on more than their mere sight to judge the world around them. Memories of a previous attack brought back all the senses-the smell, the sight, the terrible sounds and the taste of fear. These combined to confuse the animal completely. The distinction between past and present had blurred and it ran in senseless confusion.

The other sheep lifted their heads and sniffed the air, before returning to their constant feeding. They could not sense what had so frightened their fellow and did not know what had caused its fearful bleating, so they continued on with their munching of grass. Samuel planned to quickly remedy that.

He crawled towards the next closest sheep. Upon examination, the first thing Samuel noticed was that its mind was strangely similar to the other’s. Perhaps, it was true that sheep were too stupid to vary much from each other. In this animal, he implanted different images, of fruits and grains. The sheep searched the ground, sniffing and hanging out its tongue, trying to find the delicious food, but to no avail. He tried other images, but the response was usually the same, with the sheep merely looking for the object or becoming confused before returning to its meal. Samuel again formed the image of a wolf, yet this time tried to alter the location of the beast, so that it seemed to be high up on the hilltop rather than nearby. The sheep raised its head and baaed. It turned and waddled a few paces away, turning its head and baaing again. The others raised their noses for only a moment while it hurried away down the hill. This had proved the most successful method yet for getting rid of the stubborn beasts, for the animal was not scared almost to death.

With the next sheep, Samuel attempted exploring its mind to see what kind of thoughts a sheep might contain, but only images of other sheep and food came to him. Investigating the others proved the same and, eventually, Samuel became bored with the creatures, for investigating one was like investigating another. One by one, he managed to harry them all away by placing the wolf image in their minds. It evoked such a strong reaction that Samuel assumed they must have encountered a wolf or two in the past, or perhaps it was some natural instinct. He could use their memories against them.

‘Getting better,’ Simpson remarked from his stone as Samuel sat down beside him. Samuel nodded. ‘We might be in for some rain tomorrow,’ Simpson mentioned, pointing his smoking pipe end far to the east. ‘Finally.’

‘No,’ Samuel stated. ‘I can’t feel any rain for a while.’

Simpson nodded, raising his eyebrows. ‘You can read the weather, too?’

‘Sometimes, but only a day or two ahead. Not much use.’

‘Might stop you from getting wet,’ Simpson noted.

‘Not really,’ Samuel corrected. ‘It’s one thing to know it’s going to rain and another to have the sense to keep out of it.’

The old man coughed and spluttered and finally spat out his pipe and laughed long and loud. ‘That be true,’ he declared. ‘That be true, lad.’

Samuel continued experimenting with the animals each day. Their minds were simple-focussing on their direct needs, such as eating and resting. The goats were slightly more complicated, often thinking of games and recalling fond memories of days past. Samuel could make the old nannies and bucks prance about by pushing the memories of youth into their minds. As soon as his influence stopped, however, they would immediately return to their more proper behaviour of standing around and doing very little.

Jess had an interesting mind and Samuel discovered she had emotions associated with different objects. She considered the lesser animals with disdain and this certainly included people. She housed some kinship with Samuel-that was reassuring at least-and regarded the donkey as something of a bothersome cousin. He felt a pain in the horse’s rump and, upon closer examination, Samuel felt a small lump under the surface. He scrutinised the energies of the area, and compared the patterns to its better side. He remembered reading the simple theory that by compelling the energy around the injury to take the shape of the healthy side, it would promote the animal to get better. They had been scheduled to learn more about healing, but then Dividian had taken over and battle spells has taken precedence.

Samuel bound his spell in place upon Jess’ small lump. It was the same sensation as leaving the mage-lights to float on their own-like tying a bootlace-and the spell would hold its position until its energy faded. Day after day, Jess’ discomfort became less as the lump diminished, until the point where his spell and her injury both faded together. He surmised that if he had made the spell much stronger, it would actually serve to protect the area from future harm, much like magical armour. How stupid of him! Of course, this was true! It was merely an extension of what he already knew. Sometimes, Samuel embarrassed himself with his own ignorance. He decided he would spend some time each day theorising on other such possibilities that may have slipped his notice. He could not let his studies suffer just because of his current predicament.

Samuel soon found that, with practice, he was getting much better at controlling all the animals. He could actually promote specific actions in the creatures, such as walking or turning around, and could control their bodily functions, such as passing faeces and urinating. He could even time an event for a predetermined moment, as the animals seemed greatly in tune with the seasons and the time of day. Simpson watched on in wonder as in unison his goats all walked together and formed a circle with their bodies.

‘Very impressive, lad,’ the old man declared, ‘but I’m not sure it will be of much use. I suppose I could take them to the market in Gilgarry and entertain the crowds?’

‘I could try to improve their produce,’ Samuel suggested, contemplating his alternatives. ‘What makes better milk?’ Samuel asked.

‘A stressed or sick animal gives bad milk, as well as one with poor feed or water. I suppose one that has good health and sufficient food and water has the better milk.’

‘Well, I can’t do much about their diet, so I’ll see what I can do to cheer the poor creatures up,’ Samuel said with a smug grin.

Simpson and his wife were amazed when the milk improved in quality and flavour virtually overnight. The village folk and other customers who bought their milk each day were amazed at the change in quality. ‘The best milk around,’ everyone was soon saying. The cows soon came waddling in with near bursting udders, which was fortunate, because demand for their goods increased as word of its quality spread. Samuel had even begun casting spells upon the varying sized jars they carried the milk in: one spell to fortify the vessels and protect them from breakage, and another to chill the milk, keeping it as fresh as if straight from the teat. They were simple spells that he had to repeat each morning, but they had a great effect upon increasing their profits.

‘What did you do to improve their milk so much, Samuel?’ Mrs Down asked.

‘I made them happy,’ Samuel answered. ‘It only lasts for a few days at a time, but for the time being you have cheerful goats and merry cows. I’ll see what I can do to make it last longer, if you like.’ He kept the other spells to himself for now. Despite their kindness, these were still quite superstitious people and would perhaps find that amount of tinkering with nature disturbing.

Simpson nodded and rubbed his whiskered chin. ‘Aye. As long as it don’t do them no harm.’

‘Happiness rarely does someone harm,’ Samuel noted.

‘So you say, but I’ve seen my fair share of young fools fall onto their arses at the village dance because they were too happy.’

Samuel laughed. ‘I’m not getting your animals drunk, so that shouldn’t happen. They’ve not got bony arses, anyway, so I don’t think it would hurt them if they did.’

Mrs Down laughed and they set into their supper. It was noticeably larger and tastier than usual.

Neighbours began calling and talking, poking around for a clue to anything new that Simpson might be doing with his stock but, as usual, he mostly just sat on his rock talking with the new hand.

‘What did you do to Branner’s sheep?’ one fellow asked one night as he called in to their home for tanabil tea.

‘What do you mean?’ Simpson asked.

A tiny smile started on Samuel’s lips as he scribbled some notes, listening in.

‘Branner says that the other day about ten of them came filing into his house and, all at once, lifted their tails and sh-I mean, deposited their leavings on the floor, and then all went out again. Him and his missus were dumbstruck. And he says that since then, they don’t come anywhere near here any more.’

‘Why that’s strange behaviour, to be sure,’ Simpson said, drawing on his pipe and looking at Samuel, ‘but I can’t say why sheep would do such a thing, sheep being sheep, that is. I’ve never really cared for sheep.’

Samuel’s skills were improving steadily and one day, as he sat next to Simpson, he decided to test his newfound ability on a human subject. He was fully confident of his capacity and so he turned his attention to the old man beside him.

At first, Samuel’s efforts went without fruition, but with each attempt he found his way deeper through the maze of complex energies of the man’s mind until he began at last to feel the strange sensation of foreign thoughts. He could sense a rhythmical pulsing that changed in speed and intensity seemingly randomly. Then, he began to hear a cascade of tones, rising and falling in sequence. It was a song. Samuel realised that old Simpson was humming it in his head. As Samuel delved inwards, he found Simpson’s mind to be a complex and shifting weave of memories and events, far beyond what he had experienced before. The energy around him was overwhelming, like massive hives of delicate lacework. He decided it would be very difficult to do anything in such a sophisticated place. It might even be dangerous for them both.

Another time, as Samuel sat and listened to the old man whistle merrily to himself, Samuel had an idea for a simple experiment. He began humming quietly in his mind. Carefully, he felt out for the energies of old Simpson. He let the two vibrations overlap, so that his own tune was mingled with Simpson’s. It was very difficult work. He had to concentrate on maintaining his own tune, feeling for Simpson's and then keep them bound together all at once.

After only a short time, Simpson took up Samuel’s tune as his own. Samuel smiled to himself smugly, for it confirmed his theory: two things did not even need to be touching to affect each other. All things were connected by the ether, whether it was obvious or not, and vibrations could travel between them easily enough. Damn himself for being so stupid! Of course, it was what his teachers had always told him; but, until now, he had never fully understood the notion. In theory then, distance did not matter as long as a spell was correctly directed. If he knew how, Samuel could read the mind of a field mouse in Garteny as easily as one in the palm of his hand, as long as he tied something unique into the spell-something that would only identify that particular mouse. Of course, it was not quite that simple, but the premise seemed fair enough. The theory would need much more attention, as it had the potential to change the way he cast his spells entirely.

Simpson carried on merrily singing his new tune high up on the rock, while Samuel pondered over his new train of thought.

A few days later, after much contemplation and deliberation, Samuel again risked an exploratory sortie into Simpson’s consciousness. It was only after a few moments that Samuel suddenly felt every thought in the old man vanish and acute pain rang out from every direction. He was thrown from Simpson’s mind and reeled onto his side as he struggled to orient himself to his surroundings. The sudden purge left him dazed and it was some moments before Samuel could fully realise who and where he was. Pain and confusion clung to him stubbornly.

Looking over to Simpson, Samuel could see the old man was clutching his jaw in obvious discomfort.

‘What is the matter?’ Samuel asked with concern as he rushed to Simpson’s side.

‘My damned tooth!’ the wincing farmer moaned. ‘It’s gone bad and I just broke it gnawing on my pipe.’

Samuel scolded himself for not having noticed the injury before. ‘I can do something for you, if you would like?’

‘Not gonna make me crap on the floor are ya?’ the old man asked suspiciously, still grasping his jaw.

‘No,’ Samuel laughed, ‘but I can numb the pain a little.’

Simpson nodded and Samuel gingerly entered the man’s mind, following the overpowering feeling of pain. It led to a throbbing knot of sensations and Samuel immediately began testing the site for ways to reduce the old man’s anguish. He did not want to totally stop the feeling-not truly knowing what effect it would have, but instead worked to lessen it to a mere soreness. When he withdrew once more, Simpson already appeared very pleased with the result.

‘It’s almost gone,’ he noted aloud with some amusement.

‘Yes, and I’ll see what I can do about fixing your tooth. It’s always better to treat the cause, rather than the symptom.’

‘As you say,’ Simpson responded, pushing his pipe straight back into his mouth and looking back out over the hillside with a stern gaze, as if ascertaining all the changes that may have occurred in his few moments’ distraction.

Samuel examined the aura of the old man and found the region where it seemed slightly deformed, beneath his chin. He applied the same mending technique he had used on Jess. He had no idea what would happen in this instance, but time would tell.

‘Mrs Down’s got some pain in her hands on cold nights,’ Simpson then mentioned, still staring out over the valleys. ‘Perhaps you could find your way to helping her a little with whatever you just done to me?’

‘I will,’ Samuel promised.

‘Any sign of rain yet?’ the old man then asked, glancing towards the sky. Great grey clouds rolled by, bearing towers of mist that stretched up to the heights.

Samuel looked up momentarily and felt for the tremendous mountains of energy carried aloft. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I think these clouds will pass us by and unload their burdens further to the east. I cannot feel any rainfall here for at least the week.’

‘Another week,’ the old man repeated forlornly. He said no more than that, but Samuel could guess what he was thinking, for the hills were dry and dusty. Every footfall sent up puffs of choking dust.

Samuel began to think of what he could do with all he had recently learned.

Another new name appeared on Simpson’s list of milk buyers, along with the many others who had now begun requesting the Downs’ milk. It was the village elder, a man by the name of Manfred Sallow.

‘Is having an elder still a custom here?’ Samuel asked, as they bounced along the road behind Jess.

‘Aye,’ Simpson replied. ‘When the Empire came through here they tried to finish most of the old traditions like that, but we still manage to hold to a few of our old ways. Manfred doesn’t actually have much to do with running the village, except when someone needs to settle a dispute or make peace with the Imperials. His family’s been doing it for as long as anyone can recall and he’s too stubborn to give it up. He’s quite familiar with that Count Rudderford down in Gilgarry, so he generally gets things sorted out reasonably quickly. It’s a double-edged sword, unfortunately, as Manfred is also responsible for collecting the taxes. It can make him unpopular with some, but most folk realise that if Manfred didn’t do it, someone worse would. Of course, I haven’t quite gotten round to paying my dues just yet,’ he added, with a mischievous grin.

The house was on the far side of the village and the early morning villagers still gawked at Samuel as they passed. He was not as tall or strange as people had been told. Indeed, he looked much like a normal young man, sporting the beginnings of a fuzzy moustache and beard. Still, Samuel could virtually see the curiosity pouring from them.

‘Good morning, Simpson,’ some called. ‘Good morning, Samuel.’

Samuel smiled and waved back, returning their greetings.

The home of Manfred Sallow was easily the finest in the village. It was made from great lengths of timber and smooth, stone slabs, as opposed to the roughly hewn stone and mortar houses of the others.

‘You had better let me take care of this one,’ Simpson declared as he gingerly stepped down from the cart. His manner told Samuel everything. This fellow required Simpson’s personal, tactful attention.

He knocked on the door and a finely dressed man of late middle-age opened it in response. His clothes seemed almost in the style of the Empire, as if he had been plucked up from some manor near Cintar and dropped into the middle of the village.

‘Simpson, how pleasant to see you,’ the man announced.

‘As you say, Mr Sallow. I have what you ordered.’

‘Wonderful! Bring it in and put it on the table.’

‘Samuel!’ Simpson called back from the doorway and the young magician jumped down from the seat and began to drag the appropriate jars towards the cart’s edge. ‘I’m growing older and managed to injure myself a spell back. Young Samuel helps me out and has proven priceless around the farm,’ he explained to Mr Sallow.

‘Indeed,’ Mr Sallow said. ‘It’s unusual to meet any form of stranger in our village, let alone an Imperial. Some say this young man is responsible for your turn of good fortune.’

‘I’d probably agree, Mr Sallow. He’s a fine young lad and I don’t know how we ever managed without him.’

‘Especially as you don’t have any children of your own.’

‘That’s right, Mr Sallow,’ Simpson replied grimly.

Samuel stepped forward with the first great vessel cradled in his arms. He edged past Manfred Sallow and looked for somewhere to put the large container. A narrow hall led Samuel past a sitting room, into a kitchen, where Samuel heaved the milk up onto the table. On his way out, Samuel noticed there was a young lady in the sitting room, reading from a small book. It was immediately obvious that she was beautiful, with long, dark, braided hair and a sense of concentration as she scanned the lines of her book. Samuel lingered in the doorway, studying her until she looked up and noticed him. She simply smiled up at him and Samuel could feel his cheeks burning at once.

‘Samuel!’ Simpson called from outside. ‘Don’t dawdle long. We’ve plenty to do.’

Samuel nodded to the girl before hurrying off to get the other great jar.

‘That’s a fair amount of milk you’ve ordered, Mr Sallow,’ Simpson remarked. ‘I wouldn’t have marked you for such a thirsty man.’

‘Oh, it’s not all for me,’ Manfred stated. ‘If it’s as good as I’m led to believe, I’m sending a sample to my relatives in Gilgarry this morning, as a gift.’

‘That’s mighty fine of you, Mr Sallow. Good day.’ Simpson climbed up onto the cart and Samuel followed. Being their last delivery, they turned around and set about returning to the farm.

‘She’s his daughter,’ Simpson stated, not a few moments from the Sallows’ door. ‘If that’s what you’re daydreaming about.’

Samuel chuckled in response. ‘Sometimes I think you can read my mind.’

‘With that look on your face,’ the old man returned, brushing his whiskers and blowing a puff of smoke to the breeze, ‘I don’t need to.’

Samuel grinned at nothing and they continued on their bumpy way.

Samuel looked forward to the next day’s delivery. When Mr Sallow opened the door, Samuel eagerly stepped past with the single, small jar in his hands, hoping to spy the daughter once again. He peered into the sitting room, but was disappointed to find it deserted. Samuel’s heart leapt, however, when he found her waiting in the kitchen.

‘You must be Samuel,’ she said, smiling. ‘I am Leila. Leila Sallow. I’m sorry we weren’t introduced yesterday.’

‘Nice to meet you, Leila,’ Samuel returned with a smile that he could not contain. After a moment’s awkward silence, he realised he was staring like a fool. ‘Did you enjoy the milk?’ he asked quickly-too quickly. Calm now, Samuel, he reminded himself. She’s only a girl. No need to panic.

‘Oh, I didn’t get to try it. Daddy sent it away it before I could,’ she answered, smiling and rocking on her heels and toes. ‘Are you going to the village dance next week?’ she asked.

‘I hadn’t heard of it,’ Samuel replied, ‘but I would certainly like to go-if you are, that is.’

‘I am,’ she smiled. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you there.’

‘Perhaps, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘Perhaps,’ she responded. There was an energy in the air, an excitement that had his skin covered in goose-bumps and his head feeling light-almost the same as when he summoned his magic, but strange and wonderful. Magicians were not supposed to be able to feel strongly towards women, but right now, he certainly felt something he could not describe.

‘Samuel!’ Simpson called loudly from outside.

Samuel realised he was dawdling. ‘Good day,’ he said to the girl and hurried down the hall.

Simpson was waiting on the wagon and, as soon as Samuel had vaulted up beside him, they turned for home.

‘Mr Sallow says he wants to have all our milk,’ Simpson explained. ‘He says he’ll pay almost twice what I ask now so he can send it all down to Gilgarry.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Samuel said. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Of course, but I’m wondering what will happen when you leave and the milk goes back to the way it was. If I let all my customers go now so I can meet Mr Sallow’s order, I may never get them back.’

‘I can promise you, I won’t be leaving just yet. The longer I stay in Lenham, the more interesting things I find. With all the money you make from Mr Sallow in the meantime, you’ll be able to afford to hire some help on the farm once I’m gone and we can build that barn you’ve always wanted.’

Simpson thought for a time. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘That sounds fine. You’ve got a sensible head on your shoulders after all, lad. Perhaps you will make a decent merchant one day yet.’

‘I hope not,’ Samuel responded.

Simpson seemed very happy and whistled a tune for the trip home. It was the very tune Samuel had taught him.

The new arrangement began several days later. To Samuel’s displeasure, a wagon arrived on their doorstep bound directly for Gilgarry, and so Samuel did not get to see Leila at all. She had been waiting to talk with him on the last few mornings, but her father had begun noticing the fact and had kept Samuel moving along. When he enquired about the dance, Mrs Down said the village had one every month or so, so that everyone could kick up their heels and lose their cares once in a while. They rarely went themselves, being old and having no children, and Mrs Down declared herself a terrible fool for not thinking to tell Samuel of it before.

The night of the dance came and Mrs Down presented Samuel with a fine new set of clothes she had made in the local style-clothes that were not worn and stained from his farm work. His comfortable mage’s boots finished the look finely once he had polished them up. There was no mirror, but Simpson and Mrs Down both said he looked very handsome and so he had to be content with that. Samuel quickly saddled Jess and rode for the village with little else on his mind but seeing Leila.

The village square was decorated with coloured ribbons and lanterns and an enthusiastic tune was being played by a vigorous quartet of musicians. Samuel tied Jess a short distance away beside some other horses and approached the joyful gathering. Men and women were dancing arm in arm before the assortment of foot-tapping musicians. Laughter and merriment prevailed.

‘Hello, Samuel.’ A grey-haired, old couple, arm in arm, said as they approached him. ‘We are Mr and Mrs Luke,’ the old man said. ‘We thought we’d introduce ourselves-we’ve been meaning to for a while. Where are you from, then?’

‘Stable Waterford,’ Samuel said, looking over them for any sign of Leila. ‘In Marlen. Although I have spent some time in the capital.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Mrs Luke. ‘I can’t imagine what the cities must be like. And you help Mr and Mrs Down on their farm?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Perhaps you could visit for tea one day and tell us all about yourself.’

‘Of course,’ Samuel declared, but then he spied Leila, momentarily visible between dancing bodies. ‘Excuse me, please. I see a young lady I’m hoping to talk with.’

‘Of course, Samuel,’ said Mr Luke through his thick, white beard. ‘Off you go and have some fun.’

Leila saw Samuel approaching and a smile lit her face. A young man was asking her something and she shook her head, brushing past him. Grabbing Samuel by the hand, she dragged the hesitant magician out to dance. At first, he was not quite sure what to do, but he quickly picked up the gist of the movements. Within moments, they were skipping and turning playfully amongst the other village folk.

‘You’re very light on your feet,’ Samuel said, noticing how neatly and gently she moved about.

‘Thank you,’ Leila smiled. ‘And I’m quite surprised you know this dance. I didn’t think anyone outside our village knew it.’

‘I don’t, really,’ Samuel declared, feeling the warmth of her waist in his hand, ‘but I pick things up quite quickly.’ It was not unlike moving between some of the summoning stances he still practised every evening.

They danced for a time and, as Samuel’s nervousness diminished, they moved a little nearer to each other with the start of each new melody. For some reason, he was constantly aware of her hand in his. He tried to relax a little and ignore the fact, but he would have had more luck ignoring his boots if they were on fire. They twirled and danced, laughing and talking all the while about anything and everything, before finally collapsing onto a bench for a much-needed rest. Samuel could not help but notice the scalding looks from many of the village’s young men.

‘How is it that you’re not yet spoken for?’ Samuel asked. ‘All the young men seem to be horrified that I’m dancing with you.’

‘My father has been very possessive of me since my mother died. None of the men around here is good enough for him. He’s hoping to find me a lord or noble of some kind to marry, but they are few and far between in these parts-and all of them are Imperials.’

‘Is there no one suitable for you?’

‘I don’t want to live by my father’s standards. He’s kept me locked up all these years, so I’ve never had time to even meet anyone, except when he bundles me up and takes me down to Gilgarry to display me like a prize cow. Then, all those pompous asses fawn all over me, I tell them what I think of them and then Father brings me home again and won’t talk to me for days. He says if I don’t choose a suitor soon I’ll end up an old maid.’

‘I wouldn’t say you are in danger of growing old anytime soon.’

‘Couples marry younger here than in the cities,’ she told him.

‘Aye,’ Samuel said. ‘So I’ve noticed.

She sighed and looked about the crowd as if searching for someone, before returning her attention to him. ‘What is it that brings you out here, Samuel? You’re obviously well-spoken and educated, but Father says you help Mr and Mrs Down for no pay at all.’

‘I’m really not interested in money.’

‘That’s what people say,’ she said. ‘They also say you are a magician, but I don’t like to listen to such common talk.’

‘It’s true,’ Samuel told her. He was surprised that everyone seemed to know so much about him.

‘And you can do magic?’ she asked expectantly.

‘Aye.’

‘Can you do some magic for me?’

‘I thought people were distrustful of magic in these parts?’ Samuel suggested.

‘Oh, that’s only the ignorant ones and the old-fashioned,’ she explained. ‘Who wouldn’t be fascinated by the chance to see some real magic?’

‘What would you like?’ Samuel asked.

‘A blue puppy!’ she burst out with excitement.

Samuel erupted into laughter, attracting a few glances. ‘I can do magic, not miracles. I think blue puppies are the fairies’ speciality. I’ll ask them to make one the next time I see one.’

‘You’re mocking me,’ she said, still smiling, still holding his arm.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’m afraid my magic isn’t quite as spectacular as that. I cannot make a blue puppy for you, but if you find me a puppy, I could make it blue, although it probably wouldn’t enjoy it.’

‘Leila!’ came a stern voice, cutting through the music.

It was Manfred Sallow, pushing through the crowd. He stopped before Samuel and Leila, clearly furious. ‘Come back to the house at once!’ he commanded with a barely restrained temper.

Leila’s face fell as she released Samuel’s arm. She walked wordlessly past her father and through the watching crowd, not giving Samuel as much as a ‘goodbye’.

Manfred Sallow faced Samuel and spoke to him with a pointed finger. He lowered his voice, but there was still no doubt that he was straining to remain composed. ‘I’ll say this only once. Do not speak with my daughter. Do you understand?’

Samuel nodded calmly, for he was not angry. He had met many such difficult people before within the Order and he knew a planned and logical approach would solve more than attempting to meet force with force. As Manfred turned and started off after his daughter, Samuel had already begun to think of ways to overcome this new problem.

‘Don’t worry.’ It was Mrs Luke at his side. ‘No one takes any notice of him any more. It will be his fault when his daughter dies a lonely old spinster, the poor dear.’

Samuel put his planning aside and took a few moments to talk with the old couple. From their discussion, it seemed they knew the Downs quite well, but had not been to visit for some time.

‘Mrs Down, the poor woman, lost her only child when it was just a babe,’ Mrs Luke explained, ‘and they tried for years to have another without success. They both took it very hard.’

Samuel nodded in understanding. ‘I felt there was something troubling them.’

‘Families are very important in these parts,’ Mr Luke revealed. ‘I don’t know how things work where you are from, but here life revolves around the family bond. All of us in the village tried for years to console them, but we just couldn’t make up for the death of their little one.’

‘My family were all killed when I was young,’ Samuel told them in all sincerity, ‘so I know what losing loved ones can feel like.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, Samuel,’ Mrs Luke said sincerely. ‘But let me tell you-there’s no feeling as terrible as a parent losing a child, believe me. You would never wish such a tragedy upon anyone. Now, if you ever feel lonely, you’re welcome to just drop by for a nice cup of tanabil tea. We generally have some on the boil for most of the day.’

‘Thank you,’ Samuel told them.

He rode home while the night was still early. There was little to do once Leila had gone and he found that the other people of the village, apart from the kindly old Lukes, were not very enthusiastic to converse with him. When he stepped back into the cottage, he found Simpson and his wife were still awake.

‘This is an early hour to be home, Samuel,’ Mrs Down said with concern.

‘Aye,’ Samuel returned sadly. ‘I think it may take a bit longer for some of the village folk to get used to me.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘You’d think they’d have more to concern them than you,’ Simpson declared. ‘With their farms and families to worry over, they would do well to welcome you into their arms, especially with all this talk of thieves about at the moment.’

Samuel looked up. ‘Thieves?’

‘So I hear. They have been chased up by the Count’s men and have been hiding in the woods to the east. No one goes in there except the odd woodsman and trapper, but they’ve been seen lurking around at night-up to no good.’

‘Well, we shouldn’t need to worry,’ Samuel said. ‘By the way, Mr and Mrs Luke said to pass you their fond greetings and asked for us all to drop by some time.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Mrs Down said. ‘It’s been so long since we had time to go visiting.’

Simpson nodded his assent and tapped his pipe out onto the table edge. ‘That would be a fine idea,’ he said.

Samuel went to bed early that night with the face of the captivating girl, Leila, in his mind.

Samuel had formulated a plan to meet with Leila that next morning. He rode into town and tied Jess up in the square before walking the short distance to the Sallow house. He knocked on the front door, heart in his throat, and was relieved when a surprised Leila opened it.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered fearfully, looking back over her shoulder. ‘Father is here. He’ll be furious if he sees you.’

‘Where is he?’ Samuel whispered.

‘In his study.’

‘Show me,’ Samuel instructed.

Leila said no with her eyes, but Samuel squeezed his way past her. She darted ahead and pointed to a closed door beside some stairs at the end of the hall.

‘Who is it, Leila?’ came Manfred’s voice from within.

Samuel closed his eyes and concentrated, at once feeling the energy of her father in the next room. He quickly entered the man’s consciousness and set a spell. When he was done, Samuel opened his eyes and smiled at Leila. She looked terribly anxious.

‘He’s asleep,’ Samuel explained.

‘What did you do?’ she asked with some concern.

‘Don’t fret. He was tired anyway. I suggested your father take a short nap and he seemed to find the idea attractive.’

Leila pushed open the door, peeked in, and then went over to her sleeping father.

‘You can wake him if you want,’ Samuel expressed. ‘He’s only sleeping.’

Samuel was worried that she would be horrified. Instead, Leila giggled and waved her hand before her father’s face.

‘You are a magician,’ she laughed.

‘Yes. I told you so,’ Samuel said.

She grabbed Samuel’s hand and led him into the reading room where they sat down together.

‘You can’t imagine how I’ve dreamed of someone to come and take me away from Father.’

‘I’m not about to do that,’ Samuel protested.

‘We could,’ she implored.

‘I have work to do here for the time being. Don’t you think it would be best to reason with your father?’

‘He’s beyond reason. He thinks he’ll marry me to some ancient merchant in Gilgarry, but I’ll die before that happens.’

‘Don’t do that. To waste such beauty would be a horrible thing.’

Her cheeks flushed, but before she could say anything, Samuel put out his hand and cast a spell. A long, green stem sprouted up from his palm and then bright, red petals began popping into being at its top. Each grew larger, pushing together and folding outwards one by one. When he was done, Samuel had produced a slender glowing rose, woven from light and tied with magic. He quickly adjusted the spell so that Leila could hold and move it, making it feel a little like a solid creation. It was radiant and shimmering and perfect-a mingling of several common spells, yet Leila found it breathtaking. She gasped and kissed Samuel on the cheek as he gave it to her.

‘It’s so beautiful!’ she said, and with a laugh, ‘It tickles!’

‘It’s made from magic. It’s a part of me, so to speak.’

‘How long will it last?’

‘Only a few days at the most,’ Samuel said. ‘But when you hold it, you will feel happy inside.’ Samuel was speculating entirely about that.

‘It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you so much,’ she said as she turned the rose over in her hands. She kissed him again on the cheek, which was exactly what he was hoping for. ‘What other things can you do?’

‘Let’s not talk about that,’ Samuel insisted. ‘I’m not some performer sent to entertain you. I’d rather we just talked.’

A sincere smile settled on her face. ‘Samuel, you are so nice compared to the other people here. I hope you stay a long time.’

They sat together in the sitting room and talked far into the afternoon, until, with some panic, Samuel realised that Manfred could wake at any moment, for he felt his spell had waned, and he quickly kissed Leila goodbye and hurried out.

‘I’ll visit soon,’ he promised and she waved him goodbye, smiling so that her cheeks dimpled and the corners of her eyes seemed to turn up in a way that lifted Samuel’s heart.

Samuel felt light as he trotted down the street. He had never felt like this before and he felt more like a child now than ever, laughing to himself foolishly. He was glad he was not in Cintar now, for he would not really want his peers to see him in such a state.

Leila’s father often travelled to Gilgarry and so, from that point on, Samuel and Leila would arrange to meet in a glade by the river. Samuel looked forward to each short tryst and always dreaded leaving. They held hands and the first time they truly kissed, Samuel feared he might explode from excitement. He thought he was discovering a new direction in which to apply his studies, a whole new direction of life that he had never before experienced or even imagined, and one at which he planned to excel.

In the months that followed, people began to appear on the Downs’ doorstep, asking if Samuel could help them with a problem or two, for word had somehow spread that he had a way of helping with certain problems. They each left feeling healthier or stronger or more quick-witted as Samuel saw to their common ills and ailments-simple things they had no way to remedy in these parts.

Amusingly, each person, not wanting to become involved in village chatter, requested that the visit remain a secret. What perplexed Samuel the most was that these visitors often passed each other on the road up to the Downs’ house, so it was really no secret at all. Samuel overheard one fellow claiming how he had come ‘to visit old Simpson and have a chat’. When he entered the house, it was a fractured toe that was his true motivation and Samuel set a spell upon it that would soon set things right. With the numbers of visitors dropping in, Samuel thought it would not be long before a queue formed at the door.

He supposed that this is what his duty as a member of the Order really was, to help all the common folk, yet he found their attempts at secrecy humorous. Mrs Down declared it to be abominable and told Samuel it would serve them right to remain sick.

Winter took its good time coming, but they managed well on the farm. Simpson had money to spare and each day they led the animals down the hill into the valleys of the neighbouring farms and allowed them to drink their fill from the dams and small streams. When the rains began to return once more, Samuel spent much of his time with Leila. Somehow, they managed to keep the fact from her father, but Samuel dreaded the inevitable moment when Manfred would learn of their affair. Soon enough, the village folk would take notice, if they had not already, and then it was only a matter of time before word passed through enough tongues to reach her father’s ear. When that day came, they would deal with it as best they could. For now, they would enjoy every day together as much as they could.

The hills were coloured with flowers of every description as spring returned, but Samuel had little time to enjoy the sight. He was kept busy dealing with a wave of pneumonia that was sweeping the area. People from all around were coming to see Samuel and be cured. It was ironic that the people in these magic-fearing lands persecuted any magician that came wandering along, but now they had the chance to have their ailments seen to, they were all jumping at the opportunity.

Some things, however, were beyond even Samuel’s abilities. The ferocious summer was just getting started when a boy came galloping up the path towards the Down Farm early one morning, shouting loudly for Samuel. The lad had tears streaming down his face and asked that Samuel follow him back to the Luke Farm with all haste.

Jess, Empire-bred, easily outstrode the skinny gelding that bore the young messenger and Samuel was soon leaping from her back before the old farm house. The Luke children were waiting on the front steps, wailing and holding onto each other tightly.

‘We heard you might be able to help,’ said one young woman through her tears as she nursed her own small child. ‘Please let it be true.’

Samuel stepped into the farmhouse and found the room a broken mess. Mr and Mrs Luke were sprawled out on the floor. Mrs Luke had her arms folded across her chest and a strip of white cloth was placed over her eyes. She was plainly dead. Mr Luke was sitting against the wall in a pool of his own blood, with his blood-caked beard drooped over his chest, surrounded by several of his sons.

‘We found them this morning,’ one of them said. ‘It was the bandits. We’ve sent for the Count, but they’re probably deep in the woods again by now. They’ll be long gone before any of the Count’s men can get there.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Samuel stated as he knelt beside Mr Luke. The old man was very near death, with a deep wound in his chest and a great crack in his skull. His eyes looked blankly ahead and Samuel could virtually see the man’s life gushing out of him. ‘It’s very bad,’ Samuel stated plainly. ‘He has only a few moments left. I can only lessen his pain.’

Calming himself, Samuel pushed his senses into Mr Luke’s mind. He found himself surrounded by screaming streaks of agony and Samuel could only do his best to ease the old man’s pain. He could distantly feel the tears on his own cheeks as the old man’s memories began flashing before his eyes-moments of youth, happiness and sorrow all passing in fleeting images. There were only a few thin threads of life still in him, so Samuel withdrew to await the inevitable.

With his sight, Samuel half-expected to see the man’s final energies go soaring up to the heavens, but the final scraps of vitality around Mr Luke merely thinned and faded away. A few final tattered threads of life seemed to stretch out towards the body of his wife, like desperate, extended fingers, before they, too, thinned and surely disappeared.

Samuel climbed to his feet and left the building, while the sons gathered close around their father. ‘Where exactly are these woods?’ he asked the daughter on the front steps.

The path of the brigands was not difficult to follow. The woods were quite some way, but the ground had been freshly trodden by the passing of several horses and it served to mark a trail all the way there. Leaving the main path, Samuel followed the men along a narrow side track that led into the trees. Jess negotiated the narrow course well, and even seemed to evade low-hanging branches for her master.

Jess did all the things that Samuel expected from her, but she regarded Samuel as something of a pet-a rather annoying one that required too much attention. When Samuel sat atop her and urged her to ride, it was like a puppy scratching at the door to be let out. At any other time, he would have been amused by the thought, but right now, Samuel had only murder on his mind.

He continued for some time, occasionally having to stop to find the trail, but was deep within the woods when talking sounded nearby. He dropped silently from Jess’ soft, worn saddle. She was nervous and eyed the path from where they had come, and so Samuel reassured her anxious mind, suggesting she stay still until he returned for her.

Samuel crept a short distance and peered through the bushes towards the men. There were six of them, sitting around their makeshift camp, and Samuel thought at once that they looked somewhat strange. Their clothes were simple wrap-around pieces of cloth and they had dark skin, deeper even than Lomar’s. They had rings in their ears and noses and they seemed to be speaking in a guttural tongue that Samuel could not understand.

Listening to them laugh and carry on filled Samuel with anger. He was already furious that they had butchered the kind old couple, but the sight of them delighting in the fact only served to fuel his anger. He was full of rage and brimming with power as he stepped out into the clearing to face them. The thieves were taken completely by surprise as Samuel came out of the bushes towards them and, when he began to cast his spells, it must have seemed as if hell itself had opened its doors.

Samuel flung sizzling spheres of fury onto the brigands-clusters of intense magic that were filled with his anger and burned with murderous heat.

The first brigand barely had time to stand as a jet of raging magic flew directly into his face and he fell onto his back, screaming and kicking at first, but quickly silent.

The second thief had a golden ring through his nose and a face of scars and he snarled as he leapt at Samuel with a curved knife. Samuel barely noticed that mage-fire had begun dancing on his skin and the leaves around his feet had begun to smoulder. The brigand neared at a snail’s pace, as if clambering through molasses and, all the while, Samuel’s focus was on the knife, stinking and dripping with the death of Mrs Luke. Samuel lashed out with his fist using all his might and there was a flash of magic as he struck the man in the chest. Bones and organs flew out through a sudden, gaping hole in the man’s back and his spine slumped down like a tail dangling behind him. Blood and fluids boiled to vapour around Samuel’s extended fist and, as he drew his hand back to look at it wondrously, the brigand fell into a ruined heap. Samuel could distantly feel that the muscles in his face were taught and stiff, as if stuck in a wide-eyed grimace that he could not control and he later remembered how wonderful the feeling had been, how tight his cheeks had felt-locked into an idiotic smile.

Samuel turned his attention to the remainder of the horrified men. Two had found their swords and were charging at him, yelling in their guttural gibberish, as the other men fled into the trees. Samuel was again filled with such a rage as he could not contain and he forced the energy to manifest around him. A storm of magic burst from his palms like knots of lightning and threw the two swordsmen from their legs, setting them thrashing frantically on the ground. They writhed and kicked even though they were already dead, their hair scorched, their skin smoking and crackling.

The fifth man was dashing for all he was worth as spells came flying after him. He died as a knot of hissing power collided with a nearby tree, causing it to explode like a box full of fireworks. His body flew through the air, riddled with countless splinters and pieces of wood, and wrapped itself around the trunk of another tree with unnatural suppleness.

The final brigand was now well away into the woods on spry legs. Samuel could not see him for all the trees and bushes, but he could see the man’s very life, burning with desperate fear, darting away like a lantern in the night.

The fact that the brigand had dared to run so far, that he had even thought it possible to escape, filled Samuel with outrage. There was a sound coming from his mouth like a howl, but he seemed to have no control over it. He was anger incarnate, hate on two legs, and no one would escape his vengeance.

A white heat erupted from Samuel’s body, making him stagger back as it bridged from the ether into the physical world and flashed towards the brigand in a great scything arc. Every tree and shrub and bush in that direction was suddenly hewn off at shoulder height, leaving the brigand’s body stumbling away as his head tumbled to the leafy, forest floor.

As leaves fluttered down, other trees groaned and cracked and a thunderous clatter began as great trunks and branches cracked and fell all around. Some leaned to one side, creaking and threatening to fall from their severed stumps, whilst others boomed to the ground beside them. As the leaves and bark and dust began to settle, it was evident that a great clearing had been made in the middle of the woods, as if by the stroke of some furious god.

The brigand’s body lay several paces past his head, pumping its vital life-blood onto the dirt in a growing scarlet pool.

Samuel’s chest heaved with burning effort, and stinging sweat poured into his eyes. He surveyed the scene around him numbly, his wild eyes darting back and forth in search of others. Only then did he realise he was laughing like a madman and he had to struggle to close his wide-opened mouth, pushing it physically shut with his magic-sheathed hand.

When he realised there was no one left to kill, his breathing began to slow from its frenetic pace. The sweet feeling of magic and bloody revenge subsided and Samuel’s legs buckled beneath him. He dropped to his knees and began sobbing as a sudden sorrow and horror filled him. It was as if his magic had given him such wonderful ecstasy, but now a terrible emptiness was left behind in the space it had made. He continued to wail and sob, hunched into a ball, clutching himself in his arms and writhing in the dirt for what seemed like hours. Overcome by the emotions within him, he could do nothing but howl and cry until the feelings were finally vented.

After some time, dazed and somewhat confused, Samuel pulled himself up from the leafy floor and staggered towards his horse. Void of feeling, he climbed onto Jess and turned for home, feeling utterly exhausted. All he could do was lean forward in the saddle and hope that Jess knew what to do. He did not know how he had summoned such power. Such magic had been previously unknown to him-beyond even his imagination. Such things had never been spoken of within the Order. His spells had cast themselves at the beckoning of his thoughts and emotions, fuelled with a strength that had made them unholy weapons, driven by his anger and thirst for blood. He felt not a pang of guilt or sorrow for the deaths of the dark-skinned brigands. In fact, he was relieved they were now dead. He could not bring himself to forget the sight of Mr and Mrs Luke dead in their own home. The image of their lifeless bodies filled his mind the whole way home as his body cooled and stiffened upon the saddle.

The young magician sat on the rocky hilltop, watching the dry land below. He had told Simpson and his wife what had occurred and they had both wept deeply. The Lukes were old friends and it was an awful tragedy. He did not tell anyone how violently he had avenged the Lukes’ murder, or how much he had enjoyed doing it. Slaughtering the bandits had been a milestone for him. It had forced him to a new level of power he had not even dreamt of, yet it also introduced him to a side of himself he did not know, a dark and horrible side that revelled in bloody destruction. He should have shown some restraint in killing the men, but he had enjoyed it far too much. He knew he should feel some guilt or some kind of revulsion at his actions, but he simply could not.

People would be horrified when they found the bodies. Perhaps they would come to question him and he had no idea how he could possibly answer them.

Samuel looked to the clear blue sky and felt for moisture.

‘Rain,’ he commanded, whispering to himself. High above in the cloudless sky Samuel could feel something was stirring. A change had come.

A calling from below caught his attention and Samuel came scuttling down the dusty slope in response. When he arrived at the house he found a horse tied outside with the Imperial colours of blue and gold adorning its saddlery.

‘Come inside, Samuel,’ Mrs Down beckoned to him. ‘There’s a soldier here from Gilgarry-one of the Count’s men to see you.’

The uniformed man was waiting at the table. A long, sheathed sword hung from his hip and dangled to the floor. He was already sipping at a cup of Mrs Down’s tanabil tea, with his riding cap sitting neatly on his lap, and he seemed quite comfortable.

‘Oh, Samuel, is it?’ he asked. He did not bother to stand or introduce himself or dabble with any niceties. ‘I’m glad I’ve found you.’ And he took another hot sip before placing his cup back onto the table. Samuel sat down calmly opposite him and waited for the man to continue. ‘My men and I were sent up to pursue those thieves back into the wilderness,’ the soldier began,’ but it turns out we are no longer needed. It’s been said that you are responsible for their deaths.’

‘That’s true,’ Samuel confirmed with a nod.

‘That’s really quite a remarkable feat,’ the soldier continued. ‘Are you a swordsman of some description? Ex-militia?’

‘No,’ Samuel stated simply.

‘Really?’ the man continued with astonishment. ‘Then you have to be the luckiest man alive. It’s astounding that you managed those men all by yourself. I’d be very keen to hear the details. They were a rough lot-savages come from across the mountains, by the look of them. The animals had been at them by the time we came to their camp, of course, and made a nasty mess, but we’re sure they’re the same fellows who’ve been making mischief for a time. We occasionally have to harry a highwayman or two, but this lot were really digging in. They’d been clearing the woods and cutting timbers for some time, readying to build some form of fortification by the look of it, though I can’t imagine why. Did you see or hear anything of use?’

‘Not at all,’ Samuel answered flatly. ‘I found them and killed them. I wasn’t interested in hearing what they had to say after what they’d done.’

‘Well, I can understand that,’ the soldier commented. ‘Then, if there’s nothing to learn here, I may as well be off. It seems you’ve become quite the hero around here,’ he said, standing and stepping towards the door, popping his hat back upon his head and wriggling it tightly into place. ‘The Count will probably send his thanks. Good day. Good day, Madam,’ he added, tipping the edge of his hat to Mrs Down. He then turned his attention out the door and scrutinised the dark sky. ‘Well, it looks like it’s going to rain after all. I’d better hurry.’

He mounted his horse and sent it cantering down the path as the first drops began to fall.

Mrs Down stepped outside and cried with joy as the cool drops splashed upon her face. ‘Oh, Samuel!’ she called out. ‘Can you believe it? It’s raining!’ And she turned and spun like a maid at a dance, laughing with delight. Tears rans down her cheeks and joined with the rain as it splashed her upturned face

It had not been hard, after all. What could be read could also be written. The hard part was in the learning how; yet experience, experiment and determination were always the keys to learning a new skill, or so Master Glim had always told him. Some skills were difficult to master, yet others, such as this, proved relatively simple in the end, merely requiring just the right approach. That was the trick. Everything is easy once you know how.

The rain continued to grow heavier until it became a real downpour, falling in solid, roaring sheets. Simpson came in with his walking stick, wet to his britches and with a childlike smile on his face. He patted Samuel fondly on the shoulder and banged his pipe firmly on the table edge to knock out the water. It was the first time in many a summer that the drought had broken and every family in the region would be celebrating. The dams and streams would fill quickly if the rain persisted for a few more hours and the fields and pastures would burst with sudden new growth. Such a windfall would pass to even the most humble family in the district.

It was still raining the next morning, but reduced to a soft patter. Samuel went and sat atop the hill, grateful for the cooling rain on his skin, and watched the distant lightning approaching from afar. Low rumbles of thunder grumbled and echoed periodically amongst the hills. He could feel another day’s light rain following behind this one and the sense of each impending lightning bolt sent shivers down his spine. Immense energy gathered amongst the clouds high above, until it reached an intensity that the sky could no longer contain. A silver bolt would then condense and flash from the sky to the earth-incredible power released in the briefest instant-and the process would begin all over again. The volumes of energy at work were inconceivable. Human flesh and bone would turn to cinders trying to contain it. Its mere presence, even so far away, was invigorating to Samuel, making his skin tight with goosebumps.

Samuel stood and began moving through his summoning stances as the sky flashed all around him.

Samuel and Leila lay side by side on the bank of the Tricklebrook, taking advantage of the fine weather. The sun was warm, the sky clear and the grass long and fresh from all the recent rains. Samuel pushed the last piece of bread into his mouth and chewed as he felt Leila’s warm head resting upon his chest.

‘Father will discover us, eventually,’ Leila said unexpectedly.

Samuel thought a moment before making his response. ‘Then perhaps it is time we told him.’

‘I don’t know if I can do that.’

Samuel stroked her long, dark hair. ‘Then we will do what we can when the moment arrives. What if I asked for our marriage?’

‘He would send me away, I know it,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘He will make me marry one of those horrible old men in Gilgarry.’

‘Then we will have to marry in secret.’

Her face and eyes and soul were so beautiful. Samuel wished his entire existence could be spent like that, in her arms. Not for the first time, he contemplated staying with her and forgetting the troubles of the Order. The rest of the world seemed truly far away now and the threat of war and the troubles of the Empire could not touch his paradise in this tiny corner of the land-he had not even had a thought of Master Ash for months on end. For the first time in his life, he felt truly wonderfully comfortable. There, with her in his arms, it truly felt like coming home at last.

It was some months later when Samuel discovered a stranger’s horse tied outside the Down house and he recognised it immediately as belonging to the soldier who had called previously. The man was waiting inside, sitting patiently while Mrs Down sewed.

‘Ah, Samuel!’ the man called, standing. ‘I was beginning to think I might wait all day.’

‘You could have left a message with Mrs Down here,’ Samuel mentioned darkly, but the man seemed oblivious to his tone.

‘I was asked to speak with you personally. Count Rudderford requests your presence. He has arranged a banquet in your honour for tomorrow evening.’

‘I’m honoured,’ Samuel said, ‘but I am very busy here.’

‘It would be an insult not to attend,’ the man returned,’ and I’m sure you will enjoy the banquet. It’s often said that the Count puts on fine entertainment-as good as you can expect in these parts anyway.’

‘Go on, Samuel,’ Mrs Down urged him. ‘It can’t hurt to go see the Count and it’s always wise to keep the nobility on good terms.’

‘Perhaps,’ Samuel said before turning back to the soldier. ‘Very well. I have some long-overdue business in Gilgarry that I can see to at the same time. Tell him I’ll be there.’

‘Very good,’ the soldier said with a smile. He stood and placed one hand to the door. ‘I’m sure the Count will be pleased,’ he explained, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

‘Bugger the Count,’ Samuel muttered after him and went to see what Mrs Down had simmering in her pots.