The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (59 page)

‘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.