magic vanished.
‘For the Order!’ came another cry, and magic began flying out of the old magicians in every direction at once. Soldiers, who moments before had been slashing and hacking with wild abandon, began to fly aside like rag dolls. Seeing this and realising that all was now not going to plan, the Emperor began hurrying up the stairs with his wife and bodyguards in tow.
‘Take care of this, General!’ he commanded over his shoulder, dragging the alarmed figure of Empress Lillith by the hand. ‘Finish it quickly!’
The councillors had scattered away from the fallen body of Archmage Ordi and they were all scurrying up the stairs after the Emperor. In their hurry to save their own skins, not one of them had thought to pick up the Staff of Elders from where it lay, beside the body of the Archmage, covered in blood upon the palace steps.
‘Kill them! Kill the cursed magicians!’ came a cry from the Royal Guard. A group of bowmen darted up along the stairs and readied themselves to launch their missiles into the crowd of black-cloaks.
‘Run!’ Eric cried out.
Some of the old men had sense enough to defend themselves with spells, but others had either no time or no such spells, and were hit by deadly missiles or hacked down by nearby swords. A group of nearby soldiers flew into the air with cries of fear as Grand Master Anthem waved them away with a gesture and spell.
‘Go now! Break through!’ Anthem called out.
Samuel and his group fled out through the opening the old Grand Master had made and a tide of old magicians followed behind them, like black sand spilling from a cracked vase.
‘What is Tulan doing?’ Eric shouted beside Samuel. ‘First he damns us; then he helps us!’
‘It’s his plan!’ Samuel called back, ‘He’s given us a chance! The Archmage is dead and the Emperor is on the run.’
The two of them stepped away from the pack of magicians with a cluster of soldiers hacking at their tails. Samuel could see General Ruardin and his men cutting at the five Lions, but the wily magicians could not be felled so easily and were matching them, spell for stroke. If they could just be given a chance to gather themselves, the five old Grand Masters could begin blasting away at the soldiers in earnest.
‘We must get to the Emperor before more troops arrive!’ Grand Master Anthem hissed to Samuel. ‘Now is our chance to kill him!’
‘How?’ Samuel asked, spying the Emperor and his group already nearing the top of the palace stairs.
Despite the assistance of their spells, the magicians were sorely outnumbered and were falling under sword strokes, being peppered by arrows or skewered by spears by the dozen. Armoured and cloaked legs hurried all around as the conflict fell into bedlam in every direction. Spells blistered through the air and bodies from both factions lay everywhere.
A horn sounded from the great palace gates, which began to swing open, letting even more soldiers into the palace grounds. A magician appeared beside them, dropping deftly from the top of the great wall and throwing a spell onto the opening gates. The great structures began to close again as if by their own accord, while the guards all struggled in vain against them. The gates boomed back together and held firm, leaving just a handful of men inside the grounds, pulling fruitlessly to open the gates once again. Samuel could not recognise the magician from this distance, but he could recognise the spell-it was Master Glim. The man began sprinting about as if he were twenty years younger, throwing spells left and right as he darted between spear and sword alike.
Samuel quickly looked about to see if his friends were safe. Eric was a short distance away. Two swords hung in the air beside him and defended him from a duo of armoured guards, spinning and cutting through the air as if possessed. He looked worried, but not nearly as worried as the two soldiers, for they regarded the magical swords with terror, barely able to defend themselves.
Grand Master Anthem was deftly avoiding a flurry of spear thrusts; then, turning over his shoulder, he dropped the soldiers around him one by one with his knotty spells. As soon as one fell, however, another filled his place and more soldiers were rushing in from all around. Anthem was a master of magic, but he was old and even he had his limits. Just when Samuel thought the old man was about to be overcome, a surge of magic burst out from him and the ground thundered violently. The men all around the old Grand Master dropped to their backs and lay still as if dead. Anthem stood at the centre of the scene, surveying the litter of bodies around him.
A number of guards had observed this and with one riotous battle cry, they charged in around Anthem, their weapons raised. The old man disappeared amongst them with grim defiance set on his face.
‘Go, Samuel!’ he bellowed from beneath the men. ‘Get to the Emperor! Do what you must!’
Samuel momentarily feared the worst for the old man, but the Grand Master’s furious curses could be heard above the shouts and cries and tumult of weapons that issued around him, so Samuel knew the old magician was not done for quite yet.
A shrill woman’s cry drew his attention and Samuel looked to the palace stairs once more. The Emperor was now hurrying back down towards them. His bodyguards were gone and a score of plain-clothed men were bounding down after him with swords held high. The Emperor stopped and turned about, drawing his sword and decapitating the nearest man in one spinning movement. The others slashed at him, but the Emperor was bound in such spells that their blades found his flesh as hard as iron.
Darting through the melee, Samuel made his way to the foot of the stairs. He heard a great crack and a quick glance over his shoulder showed the palace gates open once more, and a horde of armed men was pouring through, all shouting as one as they charged in to join the fray. General Ruardin and his closest men had bounded up the stairs to help their Emperor, leaving the five Lions free to begin throwing their spells out towards the incoming soldiers. They each threw spells like a child throws stones at an ants’ nest, with each clot of magic exploding amongst the soldiers and dropping them by the dozen. From somewhere else, a Great Spell bloomed and a mountain of earth drew itself upwards from the palace grounds, forming into a giant monstrosity of rock and soil that began swatting at soldiers with its great fists. It was a mighty spell, but Samuel had not a moment spare to even begin considering it.
He leapt up stairs by threes and reached a small pile of black-cloaked and armoured bodies. He dropped to his knees and began pulling them aside until he found what he sought. Slick and warm with blood, the Staff of Elders seemed to be humming, almost as if waiting for him. He grasped its haft and stood tall, looking up towards the magic-encased Emperor with determination.
The relic in his hand felt ready. It had been waiting and now, someone worthy had found it. Such power ever begged for release-to be rid of the confines of its imprisonment and be vented into the world. Such power could be hard to resist for any magician, but Samuel had no intention of even trying.
He opened himself to the ether, but something unexpected caused his mind to reel. The power in the Staff leapt into him, surging up his arm and into his chest, filling his body and burning its way into his core. He could not have foreseen such a feeling and, once summoned, he had no way to stop the power from filling him. The sky above swam drunkenly and the great marble walls of the palace twisted and turned in place. The death cries and battle cries behind him sounded like long, slow moans. His heart made a crashing sound as it boomed within his chest, sending a surge of blood along his arteries and veins. Looking at his fingers, he could see the tiny capillaries bulging inside them. Smoke came hissing from the wood beneath his skin. Samuel looked up at the Emperor intensely, feeling the power of the Staff of Elders erupting inside him.
General Ruardin was bounding up the last stair to defend his Emperor. Beads of sweat were dripping from his brow and into his eyes and the man’s last footfall seemed almost frozen in time, as he hollered and squeezed his sword tightly in his hand, holding it forth to defend his charge.
The Emperor was calm and defiant as he faced his attackers, splitting the air crossways with his weapon, slicing open a man’s belly and letting his innards come spilling out at their feet. Another man was stepping in beside him; a man Samuel knew. His face was set with desperation, for his fellows all lay in their own blood around him. His eyes were wide as he desperately took his one chance to kill the man he loathed. His thoughts were set on this one moment of opportunity. He had his sword raised high and he was bringing it down upon the Emperor with all his vigour, like a beggar leaping onto a sudden stray scrap of bread. He had no green cap on his head today, and he was dressed as a palace servant, but Samuel knew the man’s face well.
Confidently, the Emperor began to ready his sword to pierce his assailant’s stomach, bringing its razor point around and up from the previous strike. His intention was not to defend himself, for he was invincible in his layers of spells, but to gut the man before him. He was not concerned with any sword stroke he could receive. He had lured these assassins back out onto the steps, away from the Empress and his unborn heir, and now he would kill them
