The Young Magician

Ordi’s patience again looked strained, but he managed to remain composed. ‘Tell me, Samuel, what can you tell me about this device? What do you know about it?’

‘Almost nothing that I’m sure you do not already know. Even if I did, I would not share such things with you.’

The Archmage sighed and took another moment to survey the room. He stood straight-he would have been quite tall and athletic in his youth-and took his weight from his staff. ‘Very well. Then you are of no use to me,’ he said, showing a thin smile, more forced than genuine. ‘I was hoping you would come to your senses, but I see Anthem’s nonsense and the Circle’s deceptions have left you addle-headed. As you are, you are far too dangerous to be left to your own devices-far too dangerous. I have one last question for you, Samuel, and then our meeting will be at an end. Tell me, why do you think that Lord Jarrod wanted you killed? What did the mysterious representative of the Circle tell you to bring you under his spell?’

‘They said there was a belief that I would do something…something no other magician was capable of doing.’

‘Yes,’ Archmage Ordi said with interest, almost leaning in towards Samuel to have the answer. ‘Tell me what that was?’

‘That I would kill the Emperor.’

The Archmage’s smile return. ‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’

With that, the Archmage raised his staff and it blazed with silver-hewn magic. Instinctively, Samuel began to form a spell shield, but the power of the staff shredded his weaves to nothing and slammed into him like the weight of a toppling wall of bricks. Samuel’s breath was pulled from his lungs and his mind was overwhelmed by foreign magic, leaving him devoid of logical thought. All became black and silent and numb and deep.

Samuel awoke. He was lying on a single blanket that was spread out upon the floor. He turned his head and knew immediately that he was a prisoner, for there were bars in the small window above him. A tiny room surrounded him, with a thick, handleless door set into the wall. He climbed to his feet and examined it, but there were no edges to grip and there was certainly no obvious way to open it. He readied to cast a spell and was horrified to feel that he was blocked from reaching the source. This could only mean one thing. He was inside the Mage Cell-a tiny prison used to confine magicians. It had been built and laced with countless, powerful spells by the first Magicians’ Council. While within its walls, a magician could not summon at all. Samuel went cold with dread. Try as he might, his attempts to reach the source were futile.

He turned and looked out the window. The palace grounds were far below, and beyond lay the throbbing city. The open spaces of the School of Magic could just be seen to the north-east, standing out amongst the tall walls and narrow streets around it. There, his friends would be missing him by now. At least, he hoped so. He damned himself for venturing out alone into the city and only hoped someone would find a way to save him before he met some awful end.

His head still ached terribly. He had been foolish not to recognise the Staff of Elders, and its magic had overcome him instantly. The power within it had been awesome. It would take more magic than any one magician possessed to even begin to match it; perhaps even many magicians. It seemed that the Argum Stone was still holding onto its secrets, but once awoken, it meant there would be two formidable vessels of power in the land. At present, it seemed that the Archmage was the one pulling the strings, but such things could change quickly and there would surely be parties envious of such power waiting in the wings. Whoever possessed both ancient relics would be a force beyond reckoning.

A simple meal, pushed through the space beneath the door, was brought to Samuel as dusk settled. He ate some of the thick and tasteless porridge and then threw the tray into the corner with disdain. The night was long and cold and he awoke from nightmares throughout, shivering and pulling his blanket around himself tighter. He still wore his robes, with the hood pulled up around his head, but the chill air seemed to penetrate everything and his clothes were still damp from his adventures in the rain. He tried to spell himself warm, but the ether was utterly unreachable. Samuel rolled over to face the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and hoped that the dawn would come soon.

It was still dark when a bolt was drawn with a resounding clank and the cell door creaked inwards.

‘Samuel?’ came a questing voice.

‘Who is it?’ Samuel asked, sitting up as the hooded figure waited in the doorway.

‘It is I. Come, we must quickly be away.’

Samuel stood, untangling himself from his thin blanket and peered closely at his rescuer. ‘Tulan!’ he exclaimed as the figure became discernible in the dark.

Tulan put his finger to his lips, signalling for quiet and Samuel immediately nodded in understanding. The moustached magician stepped aside and Samuel followed him into the short dim corridor. The sweet tang of magic came immediately rushing back as Samuel passed over the threshold. He spelled away the cold and discomfort that had seeped into his bones over the night and at once felt like a man born anew.

Several guards lay immobile on the floor. They were awake, but held tight in a cocoon of spells, unable to move, see or hear.

‘I must admit, I was surprised to hear you had returned to Cintar,’ Tulan said in hushed tones as they stepped through a second door and began down the many stairs of the Mage Tower. ‘But I was more surprised to learn you ventured out so foolishly. You’re only lucky that the Archmage decided to lock you up. He must have further plans for you, given that he could have just killed you on the spot.’

‘I owe you my thanks,’ Samuel returned. ‘When we’re good and safe I will tell you everything. Now, how will we get out of here?’

‘I can’t risk being seen with you and I only have a scant few moments to spare. You will have to make through the kitchens and find your way out the palace gates. I have a friend waiting there, a short fellow with a green cap. You can’t miss him. He will lead you somewhere safe, but it’s better you don’t speak with him. Once safe, don’t show your face outdoors for any reason. I will send word of your whereabouts to your friend, Master Goodfellow. Keep hidden. If you pass any magicians in the street, don’t panic and run away like a madman this time. You have some time up your sleeve before your escape will be discovered, but you should certainly not dally.’

Samuel made an apologetic smile. ‘I’ll try to remember that. No one has escaped from the Mage Cell in a long time, as far as I have heard,’ Samuel said, ‘so I expect it will cause quite a stir.’

‘No one has been put in the Mage Cell for a long time,’ Tulan corrected. ‘And, yes, the Archmage will stop at nothing once he finds that you have escaped.’ Tulan stopped as they reached the base of the tower. ‘Now, you go on ahead. This is where I must leave you. There is one more thing. If you are discovered, no matter what happens, don’t mention my involvement. I have a lot to risk over this- more than you could know.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel said.

‘It’s very important. Tell them you overcame the cell guard yourself-tell them anything, but don’t tell them about me. It is only because we are good friends that I dared to help you at all.’

Samuel nodded again. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Very well,’ Tulan said, looking over his shoulder nervously. He went to walk away, but stopped once more. ‘You should leave the city at once. Go back to wherever you have been, for your own sake, Samuel. It is far too dangerous for you here.’ Then he afforded himself the luxury of a smile. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ With that, he quickly strode down the side passage and away.

Escaping the palace was surprisingly simple. Once he neared the kitchens, Samuel began meeting more and more palace staff, but no one paid him more attention than a ‘My Lord’ or a quick curtsey as they hurried on with their duties. Even when he passed through the kitchens themselves, where teams of burly cooks with stained aprons were sweating over pots and chopping boards, he was afforded barely more than a glance.

Once out through the kitchen entrance and into the gardens, Samuel thought he should make his pace seem less hurried, and tried to adopt some kind of elongated stroll. It seemed to achieve at least some of the desired