The Young Magician

CHAPTER EIGHT

Samuel rode Jess through the misty valleys and along the narrow, hillside paths, heading ever downwards from the highlands around Lenham. After nearly half the day had passed, he came upon the hillside town of Gilgarry. He rode the full length of the main street, judging the town to be quite prosperous and, with several houses and a new marketplace being constructed, it seemed to be growing still. A few polite words to a passing woman gained him the directions he needed and he was off again to find the Count’s estate.

Count Rudderford’s estate was only ten minutes from the centre of Gilgarry, built against the steep hillside. Samuel announced himself to the few untidy soldiers that lingered at the entrance and they bade him enter. They were a rough-looking bunch, obviously well under-trained compared to the Royal Guards of Cintar, and they casually pointed to the main manor house when Samuel announced his intentions and then went back to their milling around.

The Count came out in the finest of garments as Samuel dropped from Jess and handed her reins to a freckle-faced maid who had appeared at his leg. She seemed to know animals well enough and so Samuel let her lead Jess away to be watered and tended to.

‘Mr Samuel, so I assume,’ the Count greeted enthusiastically. He took Samuel’s hand and shook it vigorously.

‘Samuel, please,’ Samuel returned, as politely as he could.

‘Ah, wonderful!’ the Count exclaimed. ‘You must come in. I’m so glad you could make it. Hillard will take care of you while I finish arranging the banquet. Hillard!’ he called out through the doors behind him. ‘Hillard!’ A middle-aged man trotted out, short of breath, to stand beside the Count. ‘Ask Hillard for anything you need until tonight’s banquet is ready. Perhaps he could show you around the grounds or organise some quick hunting in the valley for you.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Samuel said. ‘I think I’ll just rest.’

‘Very well,’ Rudderford responded. ‘Then I will see you for dinner. Please make yourself comfortable.’

With that, the Count disappeared back into his manor.

‘You sound like you’re from the capital,’ Hillard stated as he led Samuel in after the Count.

‘That’s right, but I was born in Marlen,’ Samuel responded.

‘Oh, really? I have a great aunt in Hayston. Lovely place.’

‘I haven’t been there,’ Samuel stated casually. At least this Hillard seemed more genuine in tone than his employer.

‘What brings you so far from home? Do you have family in Gilgarry?’

‘Not really…but there is one man I was supposed to meet some time ago-a friend of a friend, really. He’s name is Cervantes.’

‘Cervantes? Then you’re in luck. He visits regularly. I would even expect him to appear at dinner tonight.’

‘That’s fortunate,’ Samuel said. ‘I shall finally get to meet him.’

Hillard led Samuel through the overly decorated rooms and halls to a small, yet comfortable, guestroom near the back of the building. Samuel immediately pulled off his boots and lay back on the bed, feeling the tension ease out of his muscles.

‘If you need me, please ring the bell,’ Hillard instructed, gesturing to a small hand bell resting on the bedside drawer. ‘The Count has one in every room-so I may never have a moment’s rest,’ he added with a smile and he pulled the door shut behind him with a soft click.

The room had great blue, velvet curtains and a lavish, timber desk with drawers. A large, oval mirror stood angled in its stand, reflecting one portion of the room. Samuel pointed a spell and the mirror tilted straight. Content with that, he closed his eyes and prepared for a short nap.

He was called to the banquet room as the light through the window was waning. He had only awoken shortly before and had been poking through the drawers in the room out of boredom-they were filled with scarves and lace blouses and not much of interest. Hillard took him to the banquet room, where the table was already occupied by a number of men and their wives. They appeared to be a mix of local nobles, friends and relatives of the Count and they were all heavily engaged in drinking. The room was a picture of opulence-lined and decorated with all manner of expensive works of art. Carvings and paintings adorned the walls while bright cloth banners streamed and intertwined beneath the great ceiling.

‘At last! Join us!’ Rudderford called, somewhat drunkenly and Samuel took a seat next to another jolly and ruddy-faced man.

Samuel accepted a mug of wine and, sipping tentatively, found it spicy but not too unpleasant. He was introduced to all at the table and they each took it in turn to ask him question after question, which he tried to answer as tactfully as he could. They asked all sorts of nonsense about his political beliefs and his choice of tailors and which merchants he preferred, none of which he had any idea about, until he mentioned his milk and they all proclaimed how Lenham milk was the finest in all Tindal and how they had such trouble getting enough of it. Then, there was perhaps an hour of gossiping and rumouring and weightless tales, all of which Samuel tried to take as little part in as possible however they goaded him. Finally, the food was carried out by a plethora of nimble-footed servants.

‘It is my pleasure,’ Rudderford slurred, using his wife’s shoulder to help him up, ‘to announce our guest of honour.’

Samuel stood and waved his hand modestly to the cheers from the drunken table as they clanged their mugs together and swallowed their wine. As he stood, he suddenly realised he had drunk more wine than he realised, for his legs were somewhat unsteady beneath him. He had failed to notice the servants topping up his cup after every time he had taken a sip.

‘Who is he again?’ an older, overweight man called from the end of the table. ‘What does he do?’

‘I am Samuel, Sir,’ Samuel explained, his lips feeling a little thick.

The man looked to his neighbours, still obviously confused, until Count Rudderford clarified the situation. ‘He disposed of those dreadful brigands in the hills.’

‘Good show then!’ the older man called out. ‘Damned brigands! That will teach them!’

Just then, a musician strode out before the table and began plucking some kind of exotic stringed instrument that he placed on his lap, accompanying it with a song. He had a pleasant voice and so Samuel turned to watch him. The man was singing the ballad of a local hero and Samuel found the tune quite pleasant. As the musician played on, the main doors at the end of the dining hall opened and another man, whom Samuel knew all too well, walked in. Samuel’s face felt frozen with shock and he wished he could think of some way to hide, but he was bolted to the spot and could only stare in disbelief.

‘Ah, here is Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called and the music stopped as all heads turned to watch the newcomer stride in and take a vacant seat at the far end of the table.

Samuel’s dreadful surprise was well founded, for he most definitely knew the man. It was Master Ash. He looked somewhat weather-beaten and dishevelled, with his hair grown into a tangled scruff and with a chin full of grey-tainted stubble, but it was most certainly the same man.

He began methodically filling his plate with slices of meat and, when he noticed Samuel, he slowed for the briefest instant, a smile creeping onto his face.

‘I see the hero of the hour has arrived,’ Master Ash spoke out.

‘What’s that?’ Rudderford called out. ‘Do you know each other?’

‘Oh, not at all,’ Master Ash declared, ‘but this young champion sticks out like a sore thumb, compared to you lot of useless inebriates.’

‘Wonderful, Cervantes!’ Rudderford roared drunkenly, gnawing on a ham bone.

‘So you managed to kill a mob of brigands I hear,’ Ash called out to Samuel. ‘What a fine job. How many was it? Ten? Twenty?’

‘Just six,’ Samuel replied. ‘But your face seems familiar. Have we ever met before?’

‘I doubt it,’ Ash said sourly. ‘I would have remembered.’

Samuel almost believed that Ash truly did not recognise him, for the man’s attention was focussed squarely on his meal as he cut at it and shovelled it into his mouth with vigour. He may not have remembered Samuel, but for Samuel there was no mistaking that distinctive aura-somehow strange and misplaced. Even without such unique energy, Samuel could never fail to recognise the man, for his visage was burned into Samuel’s memory like the face of his own mother screaming on the night she was killed. Samuel just could not believe that he had met Ash here, on the farthest edge of the Empire. Furthermore, he could not believe that Soddan had failed to mention that Ash was, in fact, Mr Cervantes. It seemed too far-fetched to be any kind of coincidence.

‘And how goes your work today, Mr Cervantes?’ Rudderford asked, leaning over and grabbing at some roast potatoes with his hands.

Ash grew a thin-lipped smile as he looked to the Count. ‘A minor obstruction,’ he replied. ‘Nothing we could not overcome.’

‘So, the men are at work once more?’

‘Yes,’ Ash said. ‘I can be most persuasive when I want to. I think it must be my strikingly handsome features.’ At this, the gathering guffawed heartily.

‘What exactly is your business, Mr Cervantes?’ Samuel asked, calling over the lingering snorts and chuckles.

‘I am a collector of fine goods and treasures-a merchant of sorts, if you will,’ Ash replied smugly.

‘Mr Cervantes has been digging holes all over the countryside for the last year or two and it seems he’s finally found what he’s been looking for, so it is a dual cause for celebration,’ Rudderford said.

‘Oh?’ Samuel remarked with interest. ‘What was it that he found?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rudderford said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I couldn’t really care less. I’m only here to maintain order for the Emperor and keep all these savages from killing each other.’

‘It is a precious artefact,’ Ash said with confidence. ‘It shall bring me a small fortune in the bazaars of Cintar.’

‘I would be greatly interested to see such a treasure.’ Samuel stated. ‘I’m interested in such things myself.’ Whatever Ash was doing here, it was surely rotten.

‘Sorry,’ Ash said dispassionately and bit into the flesh at the end of his fork. ‘I’m far too busy to conduct tours for every vagrant that comes wandering along. Perhaps another time.’

At that moment, more music began and a troupe of musicians came striding into the room, playing a merry tune as the zither player retired. A lady and a fellow in fine green hosiery skipped after them and danced around the chamber. Rudderford and his guests seemed very pleased. Ash did not. He now kept his eyes set squarely on Samuel as he chewed through his meal.

Halfway through the entertainment, Ash stood quietly and came over, putting his long hand firmly on Samuel’s shoulder. ‘I’ve met you before, haven’t I?’ he whispered into Samuel’s ear, before leaning even closer so that their skin was almost touching. ‘I am on a mission for the Order, so keep your mouth shut and forget you saw me. This is secret business.’

‘The Order?’ Samuel said. ‘Perhaps I could help you then?’

‘No. My work is nearly complete and I don’t want any young fools taking the credit for my efforts.’

‘Very well then,’ Samuel conceded. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

Ash patted Samuel firmly on the shoulder as he departed. He gave an unconvincing smile and returned to his place for the rest of the performance, watching the dancers prancing around and waving a leg of chicken in time.

The guests were all falling further and further into their cups and so Samuel announced he would be retiring while he had the chance. Rudderford objected, but finally, after Samuel had insisted several times, the Count summoned Hillard to lead Samuel back to his room. Ash ignored him as he left, seemingly captivated by the performers as they all cavorted around the table.

Samuel awoke early and had a simple breakfast, supplied by a chatty servingwoman, alone in his room. He went outside, bracing himself against the bitter wind, and roused the stablehand-a boy this time-who soon had Jess readied. He was still shocked to have come across Ash here in Gilgarry. He only wished he had killed the man on sight, but he had been too surprised and full of wine to even think about it. And he could not even guess why Soddan would have sent the magician here. Soddan had told Samuel to meet with Cervantes for assistance, but surely he had known of Samuel’s hate for the man. Was this some kind of reward for Samuel or some kind of trap? He was utterly confused.

‘Do you know of Mr Cervantes and his work?’ Samuel asked of the stable boy.

‘Aye, Sir,’ he nodded. ‘He’s got men out by his campsite near the vale. My pa’s doing some work for him, digging holes and the like.’

‘Which way would it be then?’

‘That way, sire,’ the boy pointed. ‘Down the way to Willow Vale. You canno’ miss it. It’s near the ruins of the old keep. The field is full of great big ’oles and there’s tents and shovels and whatnots.’

‘Thank you,’ Samuel said and began down the dusty track, following the directions the boy had given him, curious to see what Ash was up to.

After a short ride, the campsite became visible in a field to the side of the road, overlooked by some decaying ruins on the hillside. Samuel rode down the crumbling and broken path toward the site and dismounted. Men were rousing themselves slowly from tents and warming their frozen hands over the stirred embers of last night’s fires. Others were arriving by horse and foot and it was evident that work would be beginning again soon. The field was, indeed, pockmarked with diggings of various dimensions. Wisps of frost inhabited them and clung to the hollows. All but one such hole seemed to have been abandoned, for it still had buckets and shovels and ropes and all manner of tools lying around its circumference.

Samuel wandered over to the raised edge of what was some form of digging, and discovered it to be a well-constructed shaft of about twenty strides across. The sides had been reinforced with boards to keep them from falling in. Peering down, Samuel could see a large object protruding from the earth at the bottom. It was still half-buried, seemingly partly encased in stone. From what he could see, the thing was circular, like a great coin of some kind, and had some lines marking its face, but they were too difficult to see clearly from this angle and the thing was covered with scraps of mud. Samuel enhanced his sight, but the artefact seemed to have no magical properties at all.

Samuel looked towards the camp and noticed a few men gesturing and looking towards him, so he started casually back towards Jess. He remounted the eager animal and set her away at a trot before he could be questioned.

So, it seemed that Ash was intent on retrieving this buried object. Whatever it was, it was obviously of considerable value for Ash and the Circle to have been searching for it for so intently and for so long. There was something about it that sparked a faint memory, and Samuel’s magician’s instincts took control of him. He was sure there was something about the object in his notes and the thought of discovering some ancient relic had him so excited as to temporarily set aside his revenge of Ash. The thing was still trapped firmly in stone and would not be going anywhere for a while at least. Samuel guessed he would have time to do some research before returning to finally kill the man who had slain his family. The thought had him spurring Jess on with excitement.

Samuel was home by midday. He could hear Mrs Down pottering around inside as he removed Jess’ saddle and laid it across one of the round wooden beams beside the house. Jess whinnied and Samuel stroked the soft sheen on her neck and whispered to her reassuringly as she slurped from the water trough eagerly. The sun had warmed enough to dispel the morning chill and the crickets were chirping in unison all around. High on the hill, animals were milling around in small groups, as they liked to do. A faint, cracking noise echoed up from one of the far and misty valleys, where someone was felling great giants of trees to make way for more pasture.

The door creaked as Samuel stepped inside and Mrs Down looked up from her new spinning wheel. Her hands busily stretched out the wool on her lap as it was pulled into a long strand and wound around the large bobbin. Her foot was in an ever-pumping motion, sending the smooth wheel around and around for hours on end.

‘Samuel!’ she exclaimed. ‘How was it with the Count?’

‘Fine,’ Samuel returned with a smile. ‘I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I see to something.’ He went immediately to his old satchel that hung in the corner. He drew out his wallet of notes and scrawlings and began to quickly search through the pages. There was something familiar about that artefact, and Samuel was sure he had seen it before, perhaps in some tome within the Great Library. He hoped he had possessed the sense to make a note of it at the time. ‘Is Simpson up on the hill?’

‘Of course he is,’ she answered, pulling off the swollen bobbin and replacing it with another.

It was there, the object, scribbled on the tattered corner of a page-a rounded tablet bearing a six-pointed star, fatter in the middle and thinner at the edge. Samuel could not be sure, but it looked to be the same thing that Ash had found. He quickly read his notations that circled the drawing. He had found a few passages on it long before in the book of Garrum. The Argum Stone, it was called in the Old Tongue. From the little that Samuel had recorded, it seemed to be some relic from the Age of the Ancients. He had jotted a note confirming that the relic was a seal-stone-only a locking piece for another item that it could provide or reveal. Without having a way to unlock the Argum Stone, the true power within it was dormant and useless.

‘What makes you look so grim, Samuel?’ Mrs Down asked.

‘I have to return to Gilgarry tomorrow,’ he replied.

‘You enjoyed it that much, then?’

‘On the contrary. It’s a dreadful place, but there is something I must attend to.’

‘Very well, then. Why don’t you go see your young lady friend? That should cheer you up.’

‘I hope so,’ Samuel agreed.

He left shortly. Normally, he would have been grinning from ear to ear at the thought of seeing Leila, but today, a feeling of dread was hanging over him like an ill omen.

Fortunately, Leila’s father was not at home and so, with a giggle from Leila, they went outside for a walk together, darting between the homes and following the narrow, muddy paths between each wall.

‘How was your visit with the Count, Samuel?’ she asked as they strolled down toward the river.

‘He and his court are just a bunch of old drunkards,’ Samuel declared.

‘Of course,’ she affirmed, shaking her head at his ignorance. ‘All the nobles are. What else do they have to do, but count their money and drink themselves silly? Why do you think I don't want to marry any of them?’

Samuel smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

They went down to the river and lay on the grass under the warm sun. They began kissing, and, one thing leading to another, it was not long until they were naked in each other’s arms with the sun on their bare flesh.

It was barely an hour later, as they were still entwined in each other and Samuel was half asleep, when the sound of hoof-beats approaching from up near the road roused them both. The two of them began pulling their clothes on in a frenzy, with Leila giggling almost hysterically as Samuel became tangled in his own trousers, nearly sending himself rolling into the river. Two men began leading their animals down towards them and Samuel and Leila tried to look innocent, each sharing a smirk.

They stood and greeted the strangers.

‘Good day to you, gentlemen,’ Samuel greeted. ‘What brings you to this beautiful spot?’

‘Actually, we came looking for you,’ one man said, ‘if you be Samuel. The village folk said you might be found this way.’

He was a middle-aged and burly man, with a crooked nose and long white scar running from his eye down to his neck. His companion was younger and much scrawnier by comparison, with an Adam’s apple poking out from the front of his neck like a child’s fist.

‘Yes, I am,’ Samuel said, holding Leila’s hand. It irked him somewhat that their whereabouts seemed to be widely known.

‘I understand you may be able to help me with an awful ache in my joints. It’s been said that you have quite a way with such things.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Samuel said, hoping to see the pair off as quickly as possible.

He let go of Leila, who sat back down to watch the river crawl by while Samuel did his work. The scarred man stepped closer for Samuel’s inspection, while his scrawny companion took hold of their horses.

‘If you could take a look at my knee,’ he said, wincing and bending to roll up his trouser leg. ‘The rotten thing’s been awful sore for some time.’

Samuel nodded and bent over to look closer. Strangely, the joint seemed perfectly fine. His aura was clear and untarnished, and Samuel was just thinking ‘that’s strange’ to himself when a movement caught his eye. A dagger came up towards his belly and Samuel flung himself away, just barely escaping. A scream sounded from Leila and Samuel twirled around, off balance, to see if she was harmed. She had her palms by her half-open mouth. Her face was pale with fright, for she had turned just in time to see the attack.

‘Damnation!’ the man swore, holding the long knife in one hand. His scarred face was screwed up with anger and he flicked his trouser leg back down around his ankle before coming after Samuel. He took another swing with the gleaming blade and Samuel contorted away once more, ducking and twisting to keep out of reach. The man was a skilled killer, judging by his actions, but Samuel was quick as a rabbit if need be. Years of moving in the strange ways of the summoning stances had forged in him excellent balance and coordination.

The other scrawny man still held the horses and grinned with missing teeth. ‘Aha, Bardick!’ he called out. ‘He’s spryer than you, for sure! Catch him, quick!’’

Samuel had barely a spare instant to think as the scar-faced man continued with a flurry of jabbing and waving attacks, grunting with each effort.

‘Samuel!’ Leila yelled, clutching her hands to her chest.

‘Stay back!’ Samuel spat out. Thankfully, it seemed they were only interested in killing him and were not interested in her. Rolling aside, Samuel had enough time to gather himself. In the space of a heartbeat, instinct took over and he shot out a spell that held the man fast-as rigid as a statue.

The scrawny man gawked in disbelief as Samuel calmly dusted himself off before taking the dagger from the man called Bardick’s rigid hand.

‘What’re ya doin’, ya fool?’ the scrawny man yelled out, before Samuel spelled him as rigid as his companion.

It took only a moment to enter both their minds and begin sifting through their memories as easily as flipping through the pages of a book. Shortly, Samuel withdrew from both of them to find Leila sobbing at his side and calling his name.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told her calmly. ‘They can’t hurt us now.’

Leila gave a shriek as the scrawny man began moving, turned, and walked away, leading his horses back up the slope and towards the roadway.

‘Samuel,’ Leila cried at his side, clutching Samuel's arm. ‘Where is he going?’

‘Back to Gilgarry. These men are assassins, sent to kill me. I have put a spell on that man and now he will try to kill his master instead-a magician called Ash. I doubt he’ll succeed, but it will be a fitting end for whichever of them fails.’

‘What about this man?’ she asked, looking at the one called Bardick with alarm.

Samuel took Leila squarely by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Listen to me. Go home,’ her told her darkly and pulled her hands away as she tried to cling to him. ‘Please. Your father will be home soon. I will send word later. I need to be alone with this man for a time. I’m going to give him something he deserves and I would rather you did not see.’

She stepped back and nodded, sensing the venom in his dark mood, and gathered up her shoes. She hurried from the riverbank and up towards the road without turning back.

‘You have no choice, but to answer me,’ Samuel said to Bardick, pointing a finger to the man’s nose. ‘I want you to listen carefully to every word I say. Do you understand?’

Bardick nodded as well as he could-as much as Samuel’s spell would allow him. When inside another being’s mind, time can pass strangely, and a host of memories can be observed in only a moment. This man had committed foul deeds aplenty in his life, as Samuel had learned. Such vile acts filled his past that Samuel wondered how the man could live with himself, but Bardick had enjoyed every moment. There had been an image of Ash, talking to Bardick and to the other scrawny cut-throat-Olliander.

‘Some magician has turned up from the Order,’ Ash had said. ‘I want you two to go and find him and get rid of him. I don’t want any trouble. He looks harmless enough-just a young upstart, but you had better take care of him quickly, just to be sure. Stick his body in a ditch somewhere or do with it as you will-I don’t care about the details.’

At that, Olliander had turned to Bardick with a perverse smile, and Bardick’s mind had filled with gleeful expectation.

There had been all kinds of other thoughts and memories flashing around in Bardick’s twisted mind, but somehow Samuel’s attention had been drawn to one particular scene of grisly murder. It had become apparent that Bardick and Samuel had already met, many years before.

Bardick had changed over the years-older, uglier, meaner-but time had not been able to fix his crooked nose or erase the long, white scar from his face that had flashed in the moonlight on that night long ago.

Dark memories of his mother’s screams and his father’s blank, staring eyes came back to Samuel like a creeping ghoul. He could feel the bitter taste of hatred rising in his belly.

‘When I was a boy,’ Samuel said, choking back tears, ‘you helped kill my family. Do you remember that?’

Bardick's eyes showed no recognition.

‘You came into my house and you killed my family. You tried to kill me, but I jumped into the river and escaped. I was just a boy at the time, but I’m sure you remember-I saw it in your head. Do you remember who I am?’

Slowly, realisation appeared on the man’s face and Bardick managed to nod just a fraction.

‘You were the boy,’ Bardick gasped, compelled by Samuel’s spells to answer. ‘-the boy that escaped that night.’

‘I was. What has happened to the rest of you-the others that killed my family?’

The man’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He was fighting Samuel’s spell, trying not to answer

‘Answer!’ Samuel demanded.

‘Some are dead,’ Bardick said, shaking his head slowly. ‘The others…I don’t know,’ he trailed off. Tears began to run from his eyes.

‘How many others have you killed?’ Samuel yelled, feeling the wetness of tears flowing down his cheeks. ‘How many others have you murdered!’

‘Many,’ the man gasped, with drivel dripping from his lips.

Bardick’s mind was breaking under the force of the spell. He was resisting the compulsion to answer and it was destroying his mind. ‘What do you know of Ash’s plans?’ Samuel then asked, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand, trying to keep himself composed.

Bardick shook his head in confusion. Perhaps he did not know a man called Ash.

‘What of Mr Cervantes?’ Samuel asked, but Bardick could not answer.

The cut-throat gave a rattling gasp and slumped to the ground, stone dead.

Samuel shook his head. He had done his best to set a suitable spell of control, but the human mind was just too complicated and fragile. He kicked Bardick’s body over with his boot, over and over until it rolled into the river with a splash and began floating away with the slow waters. Samuel picked the man's cursed dagger from the grass and threw it in after him. He did not know if the other scrawny fellow, Olliander, would also suffer such a fate, but neither did he care. The man would either kill Ash or die himself and Samuel could quite happily live with either of those outcomes.

Leila! Samuel suddenly thought, turning to look up the grassy slope and shielding his eyes from the bright sun. At once, he clambered up to the dusty road and broke into a run. He raced as fast as his legs would carry him until he reached the Sallow house and burst in through the front door.

There was a shrill scream as he bumped straight into Leila.

‘Shh,’ she said, putting a finger to her lips. ‘Father's out in the yard. What happened to that man?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘I was so worried,’ she whimpered, throwing her arms around him. ‘I thought they would kill you.’

‘A man in Gilgarry sent them to kill me. He will keep trying until he succeeds.’

‘What will you do?’ she whispered into his ear and Samuel could feel her heart tapping against his chest.

‘I must kill him first. I will go at once. I don’t think his men will be so easy to overcome the next time. They will be better prepared once they realise I am not as harmless as they assumed.’

He drew himself from her embrace and took a step away. ‘Take care, Leila,’ he told her. ‘I would never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you. I will return soon.’

She had tears in her eyes and stepped after him, but Samuel backed away.

‘I must go,’ he said, and stepped out the door. He had wanted to hug her again, but if he had his way, he would never have left her embrace. At a time like this, other issues demanded his attention. It was time to kill.

He walked down the street to where he had left Jess and did not look back. Some village people greeted him as he passed, but Samuel could only nod to them in return. As he rode out of Lenham, Samuel realised that the entire village must know about his relationship with Leila by now. It was painfully obvious to anyone but a fool, with all his comings and goings from her house and their frequent meetings. It would not be long until her father found out and then there would be another problem to deal with-but that was another matter for another time. First, he would deal with Ash.

It was well after dark when Samuel crept near the camp. Small fires were burning around the tents where men drank and ate their dinners or crept off to relieve themselves in the chilly paddock. Samuel carefully probed the encampment with his senses, but he could feel no trace of magicians or Ash’s curious aura. With little else to go on, he turned his attention to the artefact in the pit. The moon was only a slim crescent overhead, and so Samuel walked casually to the digging’s edge, hoping no one would pay him any mind in the darkness. Looking down, he could see the shape of the tablet below, reflecting in the moonlight. The great round shape was completely revealed now, lying flat on the pit floor, chiselled free of its stone prison. No one had yet noticed him, so he took hold of the nearest ladder and descended into the pit rung by rung, until the last step had his boots crunching onto the gritty soil and stones at the pit’s bottom. Down here, the pit seemed much deeper than it appeared and all sound from above had ceased. The temperature had dropped considerably and Samuel felt a shiver dance up his spine.

He squatted over the object and carefully ran his hands over its cool surface. It seemed to be made from some perfect, grey stone-almost metallic in texture- cold and hard to the touch. Even this close, the object still revealed no trace of power and Samuel wondered if the thing was really the artefact from his notes, or just some old decorative sculpture of fanciful design. His fingers traced the edge of the six-pointed star. There was no hint of magic to the thing, but to Samuel’s instincts it still seemed somehow…powerful.

Carefully, Samuel formed a Lifting spell, and cast it around the great object, for he intended to raise the artefact and turn it over for further scrutiny. Strangely, his spell slipped right off, leaving the object sitting firmly in place. He tried again, intensifying his efforts, but again his weaves would not hold. Intrigued, Samuel leaned closer to examine the thing. He dared not try a more powerful spell, for he did not want to raise the attention of Ash or his men. If he was caught down in this pit unprepared, he would not stand much of chance.

Tapping its surface with his fingers, Samuel could only feel awe at such an artefact, for it somehow could resist his magic altogether. He was beginning to believe it really was the Argum Stone, for he had never before heard of anything that could defy magic in such a way. It was little wonder Ash was after it. If someone could learn the secrets of its magic-defying properties, it could have great consequence upon the world. For now, however, there was nothing Samuel could do. Only ropes and hard work would be able to raise the thing. Being able to do little by himself, Samuel decided it was time to return his attention to killing Ash.

Samuel climbed out from the pit and went back to where Jess was waiting. It seemed Ash was not here, so he would have to search elsewhere for the man. After Ash was good and dead, Samuel would be able to study the mysterious object at his leisure. He mounted Jess and made for the Count’s estate through the chill evening mist.

Entering the banquet hall, Samuel found the room filled with most of the same men and women he had seen the evening before, all talking gregariously and quite obviously all as drunk as ever. None of them paid him any attention as he made across the room to the Count.

‘Rudderford. I need your help,’ Samuel told the drunken man.

‘What are you talking about? Who are you?’ Rudderford slurred. ‘Oh, it’s that Samuel fellow. Come. Join us.’

‘I just want to know where I can find Mr Cervantes,’ Samuel said, speaking slowly and clearly to the befuddled man. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘There’s still some wine and ale and liqueur I think and there’s plenty of meat left as well,’ Rudderford continued, throwing his hand out towards the table to demonstrate.

Samuel was getting frustrated. He tried entering the old fool’s mind, but Rudderford’s thoughts were all turned to slurry from the wine and could not be brought into focus. Forcing himself to calm for a moment, Samuel asked the man once more:

‘Where…is…Mr Cervantes?’ he asked carefully.

There was a loud noise as the great entry doors slammed shut behind him. Samuel spun around to find Ash standing there with a score of armed men at his side. ‘Am I too late for dinner?’ the tall magician asked of the room.

‘Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called out, standing and holding up his mug, spilling wine all over. ‘At last you’ve come! Come! Eat! Bring your men. There’s plenty for all!’ Rudderford then fell back into his seat and continued chewing on a slab of beef.

‘Ah, my good friend, you’re here!’ Ash said as he strode forward, spying Samuel. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again. That was a pleasant surprise you sent me. Then again, I do suppose that one good turn does deserve another, doesn’t it? I suppose we must be even, then.’ Ash came over and took a seat at the table, leaning over and casually filling his plate while a servant filled his cup.

Ash’s men also began helping themselves to everything on the table, filling their plates noisily and going back to sit against the wall while they ate. They had swords by their sides and some of them eyed Samuel carefully as they dug their teeth into their meals.

‘Come, now,’ Ash called out towards Samuel. ‘Don’t just stand there pouting like a fish out of water. Won’t you join us for dinner?’

Samuel gave the man a dark look. ‘I will not,’ he replied firmly.

Ash stood up and came over to Samuel with his plate held in one hand. He stood painfully close and looked down at Samuel as he picked at some of the morsels in his hand.

‘You’d think I’d be angry that you sent one of my own men back to kill me, wouldn’t you?’ Ash said softly. ‘I’m assuming that Bardick is dead, too? Actually, it doesn’t matter to me in the least. What’s important is that I get my work here done. I admit, perhaps I was a tad hasty in ordering your death, but my task here is nearly finished, and I didn’t want anything ruining it at the last moment.’ He pushed some flesh into his mouth and continued talking while he chewed down upon it. Samuel remained silent and continued glaring at the tall man all the while. ‘Very well, I regret that I tried to kill you. I’m sorry. Are you happy? My mission here requires complete secrecy and is of the utmost importance. I’m under instructions not to take any chances, for the good of the Empire and all that-I’m sure you understand.’ He stuck a few cherry tomatoes into his mouth and smiled as they popped inside his overstuffed cheeks, letting red juice and tiny seeds spill between his lips and down his chin, which he then mopped up with his sleeve. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he managed to say. ‘You go back to your little village and continue doing whatever you are doing there. In a few days, I’ll be gone. How about that?’

Samuel glowered at the man. ‘Actually, Soddan sent me to find you,’ he stated factually.

Ash stopped chewing and raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah,’ he said and made a slight chuckle. ‘Then I guess I did overreact. If you’d just said so at the start then none of this would have happened.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t quite forget so easily what you’ve done,’ Samuel stated, squeezing his fists by his sides.

Ash seemed surprised by this and retaliated ferociously, holding his plate in one hand and shaking a finger of the other at Samuel’s nose. ‘Then listen to me, you little upstart!’ he said, now hissing with anger, spittle and pieces of half-chewed food flying free. ‘One word from me, and my men will cut you to pieces! I’m offering you a truce from the goodness of my black heart and if you don’t want to accept, I guarantee that you will be the one who comes out worse for wear!’

Ash’s men began setting their meals aside on hearing his raised voice. They put their hands to their weapons and stood, watching closely. Samuel eyed them warily. He began readying his magic, summoning it into himself with a long silent breath. He felt he could take care of Ash here and now, but the armed men were another thing. They were not lazy and dishevelled like Rudderford’s sorry lot. Their boots were polished, their armour was firmly strapped, and their swords looked clean and sharp. They were Empire-trained and could probably cut him down before he had dealt with even half of them. He eyed them all, desperate for some solution to come to mind. Finally, with a great exhalation, Samuel released his power once again.

‘Very well,’ Samuel finally decided, raising his hands before him. ‘I will go.’ There was little else he could do.

He carefully began moving back towards the door, which a pair of Rudderford’s servants began opening for him. Rudderford and his guests were all still drinking and talking merrily, as if they had not even noticed a thing. As Samuel edged his way outside into the hall, Ash gave him a wry smile.

Full of bitter disappointment, Samuel sped back towards Lenham atop Jess. He damned himself once more for not killing Ash and he damned himself for running like a fool. He kept running over in his mind what would have happened if he had just killed Ash when he first had the chance, and what could have happened if he were not such a coward.

Samuel was bothered little by people needing cures or advice over the next few days and so he spent as much time with Leila as he could, enjoying every moment with her. They had taken to sitting in an isolated glade much further up in the hills, even though the days were frosty and chilly, where they were less likely to be bothered by friends or strangers alike. Here the river was only a narrow stream, which coursed quick and shallow along its pebbly bed.

Ash would, no doubt, be finished with his work in Gilgarry by now and have headed back to Cintar. Samuel had abandoned any fantasies of riding back there to try and kill the man. Every time he had tried to avenge his past, it had only brought him more trouble. Now, he had a future to think of. He had a chance to forget about all the woes of his past and begin anew, forging a new life here with Leila.

As they sat arm in arm, the thought came to him that he would like to marry her as soon as possible. He would devise a plan to present to her father in order to gain his blessing. Manfred was the type who would only accept such an offer if it ensured his daughter and himself a prosperous and wealthy future. Samuel’s skills should not make that too difficult.

‘Do you love me, Samuel?’ Leila asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Samuel looked deep into her eyes and took in every detail of her beautiful, perfect face. They sat like that, looking into each other, until Samuel had to pull her close and hug her fiercely.

‘Yes, of course. I do love you, Leila,’ he whispered to her, his eyes now closed tight. He could feel her soft body pressed against his and smell her hair in his face. ‘I love you so much. I could never be happier than I am at this moment with you. I can’t believe I have you, that I have found you at last.’

Her arms pulled tighter and he ran his fingers over her head and through her long, dark hair. He kissed her ear, gently, and she pulled away, again looking into his face with tears in her eyes. Samuel was about to open his mouth to speak when she pressed a finger against his lips to keep him quiet. Then, she leaned forwards and replaced her finger with her lips and they fell back, kissing in a tight embrace upon the soft grass.

‘Would you marry me if you could?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, of course-if I could,’ she replied, looking up at him. Her full lips revealed a heavenly smile. Her raven hair caught beams of the sun.

‘But your father will only let you marry someone rich…someone influential…someone with powerful friends-with a house and a considerable estate. Isn’t that so?’

‘So he always says.’

‘What if I became that man? I could get some money very easily and we could buy some land. We could start a farm or any kind of business he pleases. What do you think of that?’

Leila’s smile dropped away as she contemplated his suggestion. ‘I’m sure it would impress my father if you were all those things, but he also wants his daughter to marry into an influential family and you cannot create one of those with your magic. Can you?’

Samuel made a sly smile. ‘Actually, it would take a little planning, but…’ then he laughed. ‘Seriously, I’m sure your father would overlook that if I could provide everything else he wanted. He’s been waiting long enough and he hasn’t found anyone suitable for you yet. You’re almost eighteen now. Soon, there’ll be only old men to marry. I’m sure we can convince him to our way. He must want you to be happy, after all.’

‘He’s been thinking of a few old merchants’ sons in Gilgarry and York. I’m sure they’re ghastly. I want to marry you.’

‘Next week-’ Samuel began, when something at the corner of his vision caught his eye. It had seemed like a murky shadow, lurking at the edge of Leila’s aura, but it fled immediately as he tried to focus upon it, dissolving like cleansed oil. Rubbing his eyes and blinking, he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination and returned to his previous thoughts. ‘Next week, I shall go to Merriwell,’ he continued. ‘I hear that there’s a silver mine there. If I can find a few new deposits for them, I’m sure they’ll pay me handsomely, and then we’ll have easily enough money to buy some land of our own.’

‘You can do that?’ she asked, moving around behind him. She circled her arms around his waist and leant her chin upon his warm shoulder.

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied. ‘Easily.’

‘What’s it like being a magician? Do you feel special?’

Samuel thought for a moment. ‘Not really. It’s just what I do; what I am. It’s my skill-as a blacksmith or a baker has their skills, but I know I couldn’t be either of those. Instead, my skills are with magic. I can use it to do all sorts of things, but I accept it like anything else. It’s even rather mundane now. As I learn new things it is exciting, but once you’ve done anything enough times, it becomes matter-of-fact. It’s all I’ve practised for so long, I don’t know what else I could do with myself. I’d probably have to beg, or go back to being a stableboy.’

‘You were a stableboy!’ she laughed, but stopped herself abruptly. ‘What can you do with magic, Samuel?’ she asked, trying to undo her lack of tact. ‘Can you do anything you want?’

‘Who knows?’ Samuel responded. ‘We now know only a tiny fragment of the magic that was once known, but new discoveries are always being made. We have the power to heal; we can influence the rocks and the waters and the skies. Some can move objects. Perhaps in the future, we can make ourselves fly, or eradicate all disease and hardship, or even learn to live forever.’

‘But should you discover such things, Samuel?’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, drawing her around to face him. The stream continued gurgling and washing by on its way.

‘Well, for all the power that the ancient peoples once had, for all the magic things they could do and for all the knowledge they once knew, what has happened to them? Where are they now? It cannot have served them too well.’

Samuel thought about this for the first time and realised that there was more than a speck of truth to her reasoning.

‘Do you know,’ Samuel began, musing half to himself, ‘someone once told me that I was going to kill the Emperor? Can you imagine that? Me?’

Leila laughed softly. ‘That doesn’t sound like you, Samuel. How could you kill anyone?’

‘I guess we never know quite what we are capable of until the situation arises.’

‘I have another idea!’ she announced, changing the topic altogether. ‘If my father does not take your offer to marry me, we can simply run away together. We’ll see how he likes that!’

‘Do you mean it?’ Samuel asked. ‘I thought you wouldn’t dare upset your father?’

‘Of course! He can’t run my life forever. We’ve a wedding to plan and a family to begin! He’ll forgive us eventually. He’ll have to!’

‘There’s just one more thing. When I first became a magician they told me I wouldn’t be able to have children-even that I wouldn’t be able to fall in love.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true, Samuel,’ she told him. ‘You can see it’s not.’

‘Me, too. I mean, I’m sure it is true for everyone else, but just not me. For some reason, I can still feel everything just the same as I did before. Being a magician hasn’t changed me the way it should have at all.’

‘Then that’s wonderful, Samuel. Don’t question such fortune. It’s a wonderful gift you have, and I have you-what more could either of us ask for?’

Samuel laughed and they hugged each other tightly once more. It was perhaps the happiest moment he had felt in all his life.

Evening found Samuel sitting at the table, reading over his notes yet again as Mrs Down sewed and absent-mindedly hummed a soft tune. Simpson was out on the hill, watching for dogs that had been prowling these recent nights. Samuel had been unable to keep his mind away from the strange artefact Ash had unearthed-the Argum Stone-and he scoured through all his notes from top to bottom and back again, desperate for any further hint as to the object.

‘Spring of clarity,’ he read from his tiny jottings, damning himself for making such brief and cryptic comments.

He kept flipping back to the diagram he had copied. He was sure it was the same object from Ash’s pit. Why else would the man work so hard at unearthing it? The Staff of Elders was the only known remaining artefact from the Age of the Ancients. Another such relic, whatever its power, would gain its owner considerable fortune or power. Whether Ash was working for Lord Jarrod or for the Circle or merely for himself, Samuel did not know, but any way it still smelt of a conspiracy. Shaking his head, Samuel finally closed his journal and thanked his stars he would not be returning to Cintar to involve himself in such a mess.

A knock came at the door and Samuel looked up, suddenly aware of another magician standing just outside the house. He should have felt the presence earlier, but he had been consumed in his notes and he damned himself for his mistake. A magician at his door in this part of the world could only signal misfortune.

Mrs Down put her bundle carefully on the table and pushed back her chair. ‘How strange for someone to call at such an hour.’

‘Don’t move,’ Samuel ordered and Mrs Down was stopped by the tone in his voice. ‘Go into your room and don’t make a sound unless I call for you,’ he instructed as he stood and carefully approached the door. Mrs Down hurried into her room and closed the door softy behind her without question.

There was definitely a magician standing just outside the door. Whoever it was, he was scanning the room with magic. Samuel could see the spell come floating across the room heedless of his presence. He crept up to the door and opened it wide.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

The mage was dressed in all black in the manner of the Order, with a thin cloak that hung down to his knees wrapped tightly around him. He appeared somewhat startled to have Samuel suddenly standing before him and had obviously been absorbed in his spell work.

‘I’m looking for the magician,’ he said humourlessly, quickly recovering his wits. ‘Where is he?’

Samuel felt a spell form. He recognised the spell from his own short experience with mind control, and quickly blocked it before it could take hold. The magician’s face showed puzzlement, then realisation and, lightning fast, a blade came up from under his cloak.

It was now Samuel’s turn to be surprised and he fell onto his backside as he desperately evaded the attack. The magician stepped into the house after him and Samuel spelled a barrier between them that ran from wall to wall.

The mage stopped short and put his hands up to feel the invisible barrier. He was thoughtful for a moment; then he stepped back and began channelling power with his hands held forth in the way of the Fourth Matrix. Magic burst forth and Samuel could feel the weaves of his barrier screaming as they were torn apart. He clambered to his feet before too much damage could be done and hurled himself at the mage, dropping his spell at the last instant and crashing into the man. Glinting steel skittered across the floor as they both tumbled outside and onto the ground. Before either could act, they both sprang away from each other and onto their feet, each surrounding themselves with a flurry of shielding spells and protections. Samuel could see at once that the magician’s defences were powerful and expertly constructed, making his own efforts seem outright amateurish in comparison. The spells would protect him from almost all direct magical assault and Samuel took quick mental note as to their design.

Realising his own shields would not outlast his opponent’s, Samuel sought inside himself for the raging magic he had used to slay the dark-skinned brigands. For some reason, it would not come, no matter how he beckoned or reached for it. ‘What good is such magic if it only comes when it chooses?’ Samuel thought to himself darkly.

The other magician had not been entirely idle in these few moments and had summoned himself a sizeable reservoir of energy, ready to begin his attacks.

The stars shone clearly above in the moonless night sky and the light from within the house cast the men in a ghoulish yellow light, one half of their faces lit, the other swathed in perfect darkness. As the magician took a cautious step, Samuel could feel his defences being tested and measured, and so he threw out a hissing sphere of magic at the man before his spells could be scrutinised too closely.

The magician prepared himself to absorb the blow by strengthening his shielding spells to his front, but was clearly surprised when Samuel’s attack struck with only a flash of light. He only realised the ruse as Samuel’s arms snaked in from behind, pushing slowly through his spells and locking around his neck. The magician was not so easily caught, however and snapped forward at the waist, tossing Samuel over his shoulder and onto the ground. Samuel’s breath was knocked from him and the mage, quick as an eel, wriggled free and away. The man seemed to be as experienced with combat as he was with magic, which was unusual for any mage.

Samuel was back on his feet in a moment, but had to quickly defend himself as a stream of knives came whistling towards him, flying out of the magician’s hands in a flurry. Each one was sheathed in a spell and carried by magic. Samuel formed the Harmony Stance and made the Second Matrix with his fingers and his shielding spells bloomed back into life. The knives struck in a volley, one after another, and were deflected onto the earth with a spray of silver sparks. Each one took a chunk out of Samuel’s defences, but none made it through.

Barely a moment after the last blade had been parried, Samuel twisted into Forward Stance and shot his arms out into the butterfly position. His spell ignited with a flash, sending a blast of heat and wind roaring at the other mage, two spells intertwined as one. The magician was engulfed in the sudden roaring bonfire that sprang up all around him. Samuel’s head buzzed and felt light from the sudden flow of power, but he kept shoving magic into the spell as fast as he could, making it burn hotter and higher.

It was a powerful spell, to say the least, but still nothing like the magic he had summoned against the bandits. The effort of summoning already had him dripping with sweat and shaking with exertion after only brief moments. Still, this fire spell was of masterful proportion-much greater than he could ever have managed in the past and much greater than even he had expected. His teachers would be impressed with his abilities if they knew-perhaps even horrified. Soddan had been right in some ways at least.

Samuel let his spell burn a while longer before allowing it to cease and the roaring flames dissipated as if blown away by the wind. He looked for the other magician, but could see nothing remaining in the darkness. The bright light of the flames had scarred his vision, leaving him trying to blink away the coloured stars in his eyes and adjust to the darkness once more. Even his magician’s sight could not help, as the scene was a twisted melee of spent magic.

He took the moment to catch his breath and rub his salty sweat from his eyes. Slowly, a darker blot in the blackness became apparent. The magician was squatting down on the ground with his charred cloak smoking behind him. He was clutching at his face but, surprisingly, he was still alive.

Samuel carefully stepped closer.

‘You are powerful,’ the man rasped through his hand. He had the accent of a northerner, sounding eerily similar to Eric Pot. ‘I salute you. I thought I was the best, but I see now it was a mistake to underestimate you. I could not sense your power, so I was unprepared for such a wonderful spell. Tell me, how did you manage to hide your presence so well?’

‘That’s a secret I’m not so willing to share,’ Samuel said. He formed a spell to scry the magician’s mind, but the man was well guarded. He needed some kind of distraction. ‘Get him! Now!’ Samuel commanded out loud, and a hundred armed men came charging in upon the mage from out of the grass. The air was filled with a roaring and clamorous noise as they bore down upon him with their swords raised.

The mage was a little startled as he strengthened his defences and Samuel caught the few flashing memories that came tumbling out.

‘Damn you!’ the magician spluttered as he realised he had been fooled. The charging men passed through him from all directions and vanished once more.

‘Your name is Tabbet,’ Samuel told the magician with some satisfaction, ‘and I see we do, indeed, have a mutual friend in Master Ash.’

‘So,’ Tabbet said, still cloaked in darkness. A toothy smile appeared there. ‘I see you are curious to know what I know. Is it true? Do you really want such things?’ Tabbet then dropped all his protective spells and a flood of images came exploding out into Samuel’s still-probing mind spell. It took Samuel completely by surprise and he had no time to cut off his magic. The other man’s memories came spilling into him, overwhelming him.

In that instant, Samuel saw all that Tabbet had been up to that day. He had come up from Gilgarry, asking after ‘the magician’ and he had read each person’s mind in turn. He had met a pretty young lady who had been crossing the street with a smile on her pretty lips and had been greatly amused to learn who she was. Samuel even felt the grin that had crossed Tabbet’s face as he instructed the girl to go and kill herself.

‘No!’ Samuel uttered with despair as the scene played out before him. ‘Not her!’

‘You see,’ Tabbet informed Samuel, struggling to his feet. His hand came away from his face and Samuel could see hand and face both were burnt raw. ‘I had won before I even faced you. Your girl is dead. No magician should ever take a woman. It is heinous and unnatural. See what your actions have wrought? Your feelings have killed you both.’

A spell formed and Samuel was powerless to protect himself, still overcome by horror as he was. The ground underneath him exploded upwards, sending him flying limply into the air like a doll and his mind filled with reeling vertigo. He saw some speckled lights-stars-and it returned some sense of direction. ‘No!’ he thought to himself, trying to claw sense from confusion. ‘She’s not dead! It’s a trick! A spell! It’s not too late. It can’t be!’ If he did not act, he was done for, but the realisation was slow in coming. Maybe she wasn’t dead and if he could just finish Tabbet quickly he could reach her in time. It was his only hope and he clung to it for all he was worth. Yes! I can save her!

Samuel filled with magic as if his senses had been reborn. A click sounded in his ears, followed by a roar as power bloomed within him. He launched himself even higher into the air with a burst of lifting, up towards the star-filled sky. High above the roof of their little house and barn, Samuel hung momentarily. He could see Tabbet waiting below with a blazing spell ready in his hands, searching amongst the soil as it rained down all around him. High up in the pitch-black night, nestled in the dark, Samuel was invisible.

Tabbet turned as something moved behind him and desperately threw out his spell. The grass there flashed and was incinerated, but Samuel was not to be seen. The man screamed with fury as he realised he had been fooled yet again and he twirled about frantically, urgently readying another spell.

Samuel landed lightly on his feet a short distance away, blazing with magic. Tabbet spun to face him at the sound of his footfall, desperate to have an end to this affair.

‘I have no time to waste with you any longer,’ Samuel hissed. His words crept from his mouth like a column of spiders.

‘We shall see, boy,’ Tabbet returned and dropped into the low, Horse-rider’s Stance. He then twisted his toes in and circled his arms around into the crusader position. It was a very difficult and powerful stance, capable of drawing vast volumes of power in the right hands. Few men could hope to spend such power without threatening to destroy themselves. ‘You should have run when you had the chance.’

Tabbet sent forth a wall of magic and Samuel took a determined step towards it. The force of the spell fell upon him with the weight of a house, but Samuel was not found unprepared. The air was knocked from his lungs, but his defensive spells held firm. Again, Tabbet cast his spell and again the massive weight struck, booming like thunder and scattering the grass out into the darkness. Samuel, however, could only hear the galloping roar of his own unbridled power growing in his ears-it was as if he could hear the universe in motion, frantic drums of mayhem in his head. Another blow struck, but Samuel lifted his foot and took another stubborn step, leaving a deep impression behind. Tabbet had his fingers desperately twisted into complex formations, far more involved than the normal matrices that Samuel had learned so far. He could only guess where Tabbet had learned such things, for the dark magician’s aura flashed and folded with each movement, concentrating and redoubling with each spell he hurled.

‘Why won’t you die?’ Tabbet screamed with frustration. ‘What kind of a magician are you?’ He threw spell after spell and Samuel took step after step towards him with his jaw set defiantly. Each spell was more powerful than the last as Tabbet drew great gulping volumes of power, ignoring the toll it would surely have on his body. An oily shadow now surrounded his aura, clinging to him like sodden fabric.

As Samuel took a final step, barely an arm’s reach away from the man, Tabbet realised he was lost and turned to run. It was a fatal mistake, for the magician was now defenceless, stumbling away on rubber legs.

Samuel held his upturned palm towards Tabbet and made a crushing gesture. With a series of loud snaps, Tabbet folded in every direction he should not; a knotted clump of barely recognisable bone and flesh jutting from black rags.

The joy of magic vanished as Samuel released his hold on the ether. Tears poured from his eyes as if erupting free from his sockets, but he had no time to feel such things. The burning in his bones and the stinging in his muscles would have to wait. He ran over to Tabbet’s horse and swung himself up onto the saddle. Its mind had been paralysed to hold it still and Samuel quickly untied the spell. He kicked the animal in the ribs and spurred it on as fast as it could go, carrying him at breakneck speeds under the pale starlight. He denied what he had seen, refused to believe what could have happened. Thoughts raced through Samuel’s mind on how she could still be alive, but terrible images flashed before him as he drove Tabbet’s horse for the village with everything it was worth.

Samuel’s heart filled with choking dread when he saw a small crowd gathered outside the Sallow house. He tried to climb down from Tabbet’s horse, but his limbs had become leaden and he fell from the saddle onto his face. He could hear some commotion and some shouts from the house, but the noises were buzzes and drones in his ears.

Climbing awkwardly to his feet, he staggered on and pushed his way past men and women alike, struggling inside the house and into the reading room. The sight that met him struck like a blow, as if an unseen fist had punched through his chest and seized his heart in its steely grasp.

Manfred Sallow was sitting on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching the body of his daughter desperately in his arms and sobbing wildly. Despair boiled up into Samuel’s throat, choking him. He shook his head and tried to somehow dispel the scene before him, but it would not go. A knife lay at Leila’s feet, slick with blood, and she and her father were literally covered in the same scarlet fluid, almost as if they had been bathing in it. Her face seemed quiet and peaceful despite the scene, but there was no aura around her at all. She was long dead.

Samuel scrambled desperately down to Leila’s side. He knew he was shouting something, but he had no control of himself or his words. He tried to take her in his arms, slipping and skidding on the floor, but her father would not let her go and other arms grabbed Samuel firmly and pulled him away. He struggled futilely against them, but he had no strength left with which to resist.

‘No! Leila! No!’ he heard himself screaming.

Manfred Sallow’s horror-twisted face looked towards the onlookers with reddening anger. ‘Why did she do this?’ he sobbed, trembling and shaking with his daughter still in his arms. He hugged her body close against him and continued sobbing, letting out a long howl of despair.

Samuel was empty. He hung limply in the arms of whomever or whatever was holding him. There seemed to be a block of ice clotted in his chest and the blood had frozen in his veins. She was dead.

Manfred laid his daughter down and then, grunting and with the great effort of a fattened hog heaving itself from the mud, he clambered to his feet and came lumbering forward like a madman. Samuel made no effort to move as Manfred’s fists came crashing into his face-he barely noticed the fact at all. His head was knocked aside and about, and he felt something that was once pain, but his eyes stayed locked on Leila’s gentle face as the room turned sideways and he struck the floor. Warm, salty blood began to pour through his nose and mouth.

More hands lifted him and a heavy-set man turned Samuel around to face him. ‘You’d better leave, son,’ the man said, sounding like a voice in a dream.

Samuel nodded dumbly and took an unsteady step towards the door. He stopped for a moment, letting the doorframe take his weight so he could turn and take one last look at her. The stark image of Leila lying so peacefully, as if she were having some wonderful dream, and the great stains of blood and bloody handprints all over her pale white dress seemed to burn into Samuel’s mind. He felt that his heart was trying to climb up in his throat and he had to take a great gulping breath as the air just did not seem enough. There was nothing he could do. He felt drowned in helplessness and sorrow. Manfred Sallow was screaming and having fits, fighting the men that held him, clawing to be at Samuel, but the young magician barely noticed at all. As he staggered out of the house, his mind could not escape its continuous, torturous knell-she is dead, she is dead, she is dead…

The Downs were waiting in their house filled with worry when Samuel finally returned. Simpson had come down from the hill when he had heard the ruckus only to find a hole he could bury a couple of cows in at his steps and an inch of soil spread over the house and barn, not to mention the mutilated body lying nearby. He had found his wife shaking and sobbing under their bed and he still had no idea of what had happened.

With a stuttering tongue, Samuel managed to explain the event with Tabbet and what had happened to Leila. Mrs Down broke down in tears and even Simpson, stoic at the worst of times, had red-rimmed eyes as he tried to comfort her.

‘What will you do now, lad?’ Mrs Down asked.

‘I am a damned fool,’ he said, choking on his words. ‘I should have killed that bastard Ash three times over by now. Now, he has killed Leila. I’m going to go find him and I’m not coming back.’

‘Just think carefully, Samuel,’ old Simpson said. ‘You’ve lost a lot already and you may go getting yourself killed, too.’

Samuel pushed his notes into his satchel and gathered his things with unsteady hands. He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I’m going.’ He stopped and looked at the old couple squarely. ‘I’m going to kill him at last.’

‘Take care, lad,’ Simpson said and Mrs Down crushed Samuel in a great sobbing hug.

‘You should play some music to the animals from time to time,’ Samuel instructed. ‘They like it. I’m taking Jess with me, but there’s another horse outside-the magician’s. It’s Imperial stock and sturdy enough.’

Lastly, he pushed his long-neglected magician’s robes into his bag and left the house. Simpson came out onto the steps as Samuel hurriedly readied Jess.

‘You know you’re welcome back any time,’ old Simpson noted. ‘We can never repay you enough. You gave our sad old lives some meaning at last. You’ve been like a son to us.’

Samuel pulled the last leather straps tight on Jess’ halter and, after quickly checking things over, threw himself up onto the saddle. ‘It’s I who can never repay the both of you. If not for your kindness, I never would have stayed here-I never would have met her. For the first time in my life, I was free of the death of my family-I finally had the chance to actually live; I escaped from my past. I loved every moment here with all my heart and I will miss you both more than I can express. Goodbye.’

Samuel kicked his heels and set Jess cantering away, only pulling to an abrupt halt at Tabbet’s ruined corpse. Vaulting down again, Samuel tied the body to a saddle ring with a length of old cord. He would dump the wretched thing in the woods where the animals could have it. As Jess trotted down the stony winding path, Samuel raised one hand in brief goodbye and left the Down farm behind him, with Tabbet’s body snaking behind across the stones.

At the end of the path, where the Down house was but a distant light on a hill, Samuel brought Jess to a snorting halt. The animal whinnied, her breath making frosty clouds and she stamped her hooves impatiently. Samuel looked to the farmhouse one last time and sighed. He then pulled Jess around and they began along the long, circling road that hugged its way down the hills to Gilgarry, dragging the dead magician behind.

It was just before first light when Samuel passed through Gilgarry and, shortly after that, he reached Count Rudderford’s estate. The temperature had plunged overnight and a sheet of frost lay over everything. Roosters were crowing and smoke hung low in the valley below. A servant was returning with a cart of firewood, ready to stoke the day’s oven.

Samuel had ridden through the night and felt wooden in his saddle. All he cared about was killing Ash-preferably, in some gruesome and most painful fashion. Leila was dead-he could not deny that fact-but the thought still felt strange and numb. For now, it was just an empty statement, void of substantial meaning. Leila is dead. He would never again hold her hand, stroke her skin or hear her laughter. The promise of sweet revenge was the only respite from such thoughts and he clung to them like a drowning man to a clutch of twigs.

Samuel had no idea as to Ash’s strengths or the number of men and magicians at his beckoning. In fact, he had no idea if the man was still in Gilgarry at all. If Ash had more men like Tabbet at his beckoning, then Samuel’s task would not be so easy. Then there were the soldiers to deal with. Samuel did not mind dying at all, but he could not bear the thought of Ash escaping once more. In order to even the odds, he would need some men of his own and Count Rudderford was the only one who could provide them.

He rode into Rudderford’s stable and left the sleepy, young stablehand to care for Jess and his satchel. He then crossed the frosted courtyard and opened the door to the Count’s manor. His soft-heeled boots tapped softly along the short hall that led to the banquet room.

The banquet table was being stripped by several servants, all carrying away the plates of half-picked bones and goblets of spilled wine from the night before. None questioned Samuel, nor made any attempt to stop him as he made across the hall and headed for the Count’s chamber. Having found it, he kicked the door open and crossed the rug-covered floor to beside Rudderford’s lavish bed. Rudderford was sprawled asleep, still snoring next to his wife who was now wide awake and watching Samuel with eyes aghast.

‘Get up,’ Samuel told her, ‘and get out.’ She nodded and crawled from beneath the covers, pulling on a robe and hurrying out, leaving the door open behind her. ‘Wake up,’ Samuel said, leaning over Rudderford and shaking his shoulders. Having his love murdered and no sleep along with it gave Samuel very short patience.

Rudderford groaned and finally opened his eyes. ‘You’re going to do exactly as I say,’ Samuel said, asserting his influence upon the man. ‘We’re old and fast friends and you will do everything you can to meet with my approval.’

‘Of…of course I will,’ Rudderford stammered. His mind was thick from the night’s wine and he was still half-asleep, so Samuel’s spell took its good time taking hold. ‘You don’t have to tell me twice, old friend.’

Samuel could feel that a few subtle braids of magic had already been placed in Rudderford’s mind, designed to make him more manageable. Samuel replaced the spells with his own, noting the handy work of Ash or one of his men, although he sensed the taint of Tabbet.

A number of men in various states of undress then stumbled in through the doorway, bearing swords. One man even held up a large wooden ladle defiantly.

‘What are you doing?’ Rudderford demanded of his men, sitting up in his bed. ‘What brings you charging into my chambers at this early hour?’

‘But the lady said that…’ the foremost guard began to reply, but Rudderford cut him short.

‘Oh, tell her to shut up and all of you go back to your beds,’ the Count said and returned his attention to Samuel. ‘What can I do for you, my good friend? How wonderful for you to call on me. It’s Samuel, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Samuel said. ‘Let’s have some breakfast first. I’m starving.’

‘Of course. Please forgive me. I’m afraid I had too much to drink again last night. My head is ringing like the bells of Saint Veddum’s.’

The servants were obviously taken by surprise when the Count appeared so early for breakfast and they all hurried to prepare his meal. His wife poked her head nervously from around a corner before shaking it in confusion and disappearing again.

After Samuel had eaten what he could, he turned to business. ‘What has Mr Cervantes been doing all this time in Gilgarry?’ he asked.

‘He’s been digging all over the place, as usual, looking for old ruins, treasures and such.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘I do believe so,’ Rudderford stated thoughtfully.

‘Do you know his real name?’

‘Of course. He is Mr Cervantes, collector and merchant of fine and exquisite goods.’

‘That’s what he told you?’

‘Yes. He’s a fine man. But he goes through workers like you wouldn’t believe. They’re terrified of him.’

‘Does he have many men with him here? Any magicians?’

‘Oh, he has many men at his camp by the site. Most of them are local peasants, but he has his guards and a few men from Cintar, too, although I have never seen any magicians in Tindal in all my time here.’

Samuel thought a moment. ‘When does he plan to leave?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. He was adamant he was going to leave a few days ago, but he still seems to be having some problem.’

Samuel thought about it a moment. Perhaps the relic was still proving difficult to move.

‘What I would like for you to do, my good friend Rudderford, is to get all your best men in here with all their sharpened swords and cudgels and whatever else they like to hit things with. Then, I want you to send a message to Mr Cervantes that one of his men is waiting here for him, wounded, and when he comes in, we’ll all bash him to death. How does that sound?’

‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ Rudderford asked. ‘He has paid me very generously after all, and he has the Emperor’s blessing.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Oh, I see. Very well.’

‘See to it at once,’ Samuel instructed and Rudderford immediately called for a servant to convey the orders.

‘Should we charge him with something?’ Rudderford asked sheepishly.

‘He is a traitor and a murderer,’ Samuel explained.

‘Ah,’ Rudderford said with a satisfied nod. ‘Then we certainly must have him punished.’

It took several hours for Samuel’s plan to be organised. Rudderford had about thirty men on his estate and Hillard had been sent to get more from Gilgarry. It was taking them much longer than expected to arrive and word soon came that Mr Cervantes and his escort were already approaching. Samuel could barely contain his joy when Ash bustled in to Rudderford’s hall with only six men at his side, none of them being magicians.

‘Where’s my…’ Ash began, but stopped short on spying Samuel leaning against the banquet table. ‘You fool, Rudderford! What do you think you are doing?’

Rudderford signalled and his guards rushed in and lined the room. A couple of servants had already drawn and barred the entry doors behind them from the outside, trapping Ash and his men inside.

Ash’s men drew their swords and stood ready around him.

‘Disarm your men, Mr Cervantes!’ Rudderford called. ‘My good friend, Samuel, has told me of your heinous crimes.’

Ash put his hands on his hips and laughed. ‘Your good friend?’ he repeated mockingly and laughed aloud. ‘You are a weak-minded fool, Rudderford. Very well. Put down your weapons,’ Ash told his men and they hesitantly placed their swords onto the floor. ‘You fool Magician!’ Ash then told Samuel. ‘You’re meddling with the Emperor’s business! What do you think you are doing?’

‘I’m killing you,’ Samuel replied.

‘Then I suppose you have me. Do as you will.’

Samuel opened his mouth to speak, but as quick as lightning, Ash thrust an unseen dagger into the ribs of one of his own men. The others stepped away, horrified as Ash continued to perforate the man as he fell, frantically stabbing the helpless soldier over and over so his blood was spurting all over.

‘By the gods!’ Rudderford declared beside Samuel.

Ash had a crimson-edged grin set on his manic face as he raised his palm towards the fallen man and shouted out in a strange and foreign tongue. Samuel braced himself, for he could feel something coming through the ether. As the spell manifested itself, the dead man’s blood sprang up from the floor and, as it met with Ash’s outstretched palm, it changed into a billowing scarlet mist.

‘Kill him!’ Samuel cried out, too late, for his ears were ringing with magic and an enormous spell was coming after the first.

The vaporous cloud bellowed forth, seething with purple-hued magic, transforming into a screeching fire that instantly filled the room. Samuel barely had time to cast a shield around himself and Rudderford, pushing all his power into it to protect them against the magical firestorm. The room vanished as the enchanted flames licked all around them, making a thunderous noise, as if hell itself had engulfed them. Samuel continued to pour his power into his shielding spell, for the strange fires pulled his weaves to scraps on contact. As the spell dissipated, the banquet hall was revealed once again through acrid smoke. Everything was charred and ruined. Blackened flesh and melted steel dotted the room. The banquet table and chairs were withered, smoking blocks. Every painting and sculpture and ornament had been turned to charred and molten waste. No one was left standing in the room besides Samuel and the Count-only smouldering shafts of bone gave their fates away at all.

Rudderford surveyed the scene around him with astonishment. ‘Oh, my!’ was all he could say.

The entry doors hung open, broken on their hinges and Ash had surely fled.

‘Quickly!’ Samuel shouted, springing into action. ‘If your other men ever arrive, hurry them to Mr Cervantes’ camp.’

‘Yes, of course,’ stammered the cowering Rudderford, still looking at his ruined chamber with dismay.

Samuel ran across the hall, his boots hissing with each step upon the scalding floor. Outside, a distant horse-borne figure could be seen galloping away towards his campsite. The other horses still stood tied to the nearby watering trough and Samuel quickly untethered the nearest one. He leapt upon it, yelling and spurring the animal after Ash. It lurched forward with a snort and was quickly galloping across the frozen and sludgy grounds in pursuit. A light snow had begun sometime that morning and a thin, white sheet had formed all over the bare hills. The tiny specks of drifting ice disappeared on contact with Samuel’s flushed skin and he could already feel the cold working its way into his cheeks and knuckles as he rode. He was woefully underdressed for such weather, but was not prepared to turn around and go back to fetch a cloak, and neither was he willing to waste even a drop of power warming himself. Instead, he gritted his teeth and forged on determinedly.

Ash was already far ahead and his animal was proving much faster than Samuel’s, disappearing away between the hillsides.

Past the farms and fields Samuel flew. In the icy wind, he kicked his steed over and over until it frothed at the mouth. As the campsite rounded into view, Ash could be seen shouting and calling his men from their tents and breakfasts and a heavy wagon was quickly being harnessed. The great shape of the Argum Stone could be seen, roped flat upon it.

As Samuel neared, Ash’s men armed themselves with picks and shovels and came running towards him. They were clearly not trained soldiers and Samuel had no time to squander dealing with them. He sent a spell ahead of himself-a compression of air that hit the men with a whoomp, kicking up a jet of snow and knocking them senseless to the ground. His horse jumped clear over them and continued on.

Ash was climbing upon the wagon while the last of his men finished hitching the horses. ‘Keep your distance!’ he roared as Samuel pulled his horse to a stop. ‘You’re proving to be a thorn in my side, Magician!’

‘You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this,’ Samuel called back. He actually felt a smile on his face. ‘Say goodbye to whatever evil gods you worship.’

Ash drew a small vessel from inside his cloak. He held it up a moment, scrutinising it closely. A greenish liquid could be seen slopping around inside.

‘Suddan-ani!’ Ash then spoke and pointed a long finger towards Samuel.

It was all the warning Samuel needed and he threw himself from his horse at the faintest gathering of a spell. A brilliant beam of light shot out from the vial as Samuel rolled to the ground. With a screaming shriek, the horse dropped beside him in two kicking halves. Its steaming innards spewed out from its severed body like enormous, lurching worms boiling from their nest and Ash laughed aloud at the sight.

Samuel had no time to ponder the strange spell. He regained his feet and sprang high, powering his leap with magic, kicking Ash in the teeth and landing atop the roped artefact. The tall magician recoiled, clutching his bloody mouth with a wolfish yelp. Samuel kicked him again and Ash toppled headfirst from the wagon onto the turned earth. The remaining men had now scattered from the wagon and were bolting up towards the roadway as fast as their legs would carry them.

‘You think you’re so great,’ Ash hissed from the ground, spitting blood and climbing back onto his feet, ‘but your pathetic Order of Magicians is nothing. I have the power of the Ancients in my grasp! Amun-morbayah!’ He yelled the last word, an ancient word trembling with age-old power, and Samuel felt his feet fill with pain as the artefact beneath him was suddenly white hot, scorching the wagon and searing his boots; hissing like quenched iron and burning straight through to the soles of his feet. Samuel leapt from the wagon and tumbled into the snow, shovelling it around his feet by the handful to quell the pain. As the feeling eased, he found Ash had already drawn another vial from one of his hidden pockets. Its luminous contents could be seen splashing around inside as the tall magician murmured furiously into it.

‘Nothing will stop me from killing you!’ Samuel said defiantly, standing and flicking flecks of ice from his garments. He settled his mind and began to gather energy as calmly as he could. He would be ready when Ash struck next. ‘You killed Leila and you killed my family! No matter how many strange spells you employ, your time in this world has come to an end.’

‘Very dramatic, young man, but I have no idea of what you are talking about and you obviously have no idea of what you’re dealing with.’

Ash then called aloud another incomprehensible word and another beam struck out from his vial. This time, Samuel was ready. His magical shield flew into place to protect him from the spell, doubled and fortified as he had learned from Tabbet, but it was still not enough. The screeching beam began piercing his defence like a finger poking its way through sheets of wet paper. Samuel realised he only had moments before his spell was completely broken, so he concentrated all his remaining power into that tiny spot where the beam was focused. At the last moment, he thrust his shield aside with all his mind and might. His plan worked and Ash’s beam skipped off to his left and struck the ground with a great explosion, throwing up dirt for a hundred paces and creating a long, dark furrow amidst the pale snow.

‘Impressive,’ Ash noted. ‘Little wonder you managed to best Tabbet. I guess I should have let you be in your little village, but it’s too late for that now.’ The man opened his palm to reveal another small vial-this one seemed to contain a blackish fluid that clung stubbornly to the glass around it.

Samuel would not let the man have any more time to ready his strange magic and sent a half-dozen spells of burning energy screaming towards Ash, but it was already too late. Ash only had to whisper into his hand and an unholy wind sprang up. The distance between them was too great and Samuel’s spells slowed in their path, then stopped as the magical wind became a howling gale. They struggled vainly against the mad wind, until finally reversing their course and flying backwards, passing overhead and landing in the fields far behind him, exploded with dull booms in the roaring wind.

He desperately tried to think of some spell to negate the wind, but Ash’s magic was alien and would not be turned. Grit and ice bit into Samuel’s face, blinding him. He tried to cast a spell, but all he could see and hear and feel was the almighty wind, striking him and biting him on all sides. A sudden shape loomed before him through the swirling sand and Samuel had no time to act. He tried to escape aside, but the thing smashed into him, cracking bones and throwing him backwards. A great weight began piling up on top of him and squeezing the life out of him. Above it all-above his own cries and even above the thunderous noise of the wind-Ash’s laughter echoed on and on until there was nothing left but darkness and utter screaming silence.

Voices came distantly to Samuel. Cool air touched his skin and entered his desperate lungs and hands were pulling him from under the earth. He coughed up sand and dirt while hands lifted him and brushed away the soil from his face. His body felt pain with every movement and he felt as if his ribs were poking through his skin.

‘Samuel, my good friend,’ someone called. ‘Are you alive? Oh, this is terrible! What has Mr Cervantes done to you? Shall we go after him?’

‘No,’ Samuel wheezed. They would only be slaughtered. ‘I will kill him…myself,’ he managed before passing out with pain.

Samuel had long and uncomfortable dreams. He dreamed of Ash leering over him and Leila. Ash kept trying to pull her away, but he held onto her with all his might. Then Leila and Ash were gone. Dark shadows awaited at the corners of his sight and always he was being pulled downward through the earth, being sucked under where nightmarish creatures waited. Howls of laughter echoed all around as he desperately clawed at the earth that worked to swallow him. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of something huge shambling towards him. It was a terrible and evil thing, immensely powerful and full of hate. It was coming-day by day it drew nearer-and it would eat the world.

‘Father! Father!’ the thing was calling out in a dry and raspy voice as it trembled closer. ‘I need you, Father! Don’t die! Don’t leave me here alone!’

Samuel was frozen in place and, as the thing neared, he could see that it had a human face atop its enormous misshapen body-and the face was clearly his.

‘Father!’ Samuel hissed.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the roof as thunder sounded from the storm outside. The room was grey and empty of life. He recognised it from before-the velvet curtains, the drawers, the tall oval mirror. He was in Rudderford’s guest room. Lightning flickered outside and lit the room for an instant as the rain spattered and tapped lightly against the window.

Father is dead, Samuel thought and continued to stare up at the ceiling. Leila is dead, too. Time passed slowly and the rain continued to fall outside.

Pale morning light shone into the room when Samuel next awoke. He went to roll over, and a sharp pain quickly told him his chest was badly hurt. He lay still, taking shallow breaths until the pain had lessened, and then he formed a spell to examine the injury. Several ribs were cracked and broken and his skull was also rimmed with fractures. They were all many days old. He set some spells in place to help remove the dead and clotted matter and to help speed his healing. His head ached with every tiny movement and he found it difficult to ignore the pain.

He would go after Ash as soon as he could, but it was pointless unless he could formulate some kind of defence against the man’s bizarre magic. Healthy, he had proved much less than a match. Injured as he was, he was helpless. If he had just been able to summon the same power he had used against the brigands, then he was sure Ash would have been no match. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the loss of Leila. Whatever it was, he had just not been able to find the power he had needed. At the one time in his life he really needed to be strong, he had failed.

He would have to wait until he was sufficiently healed, perhaps another few days at this rate, and he would then return to Cintar. There, he would no doubt find Ash gloating over his new treasure. This time, Samuel would be better prepared. There would be no more surprises. Ash would pay for all that he had done. Not even hell itself would stop Samuel from extracting his revenge. When the man was dead, and only then, would Samuel allow himself to rest. Until then, every thought, every breath, every heartbeat would be dedicated to the death of Master Ash.