surface, crushed on all sides by the cold and heaving power. The strength of the magic all around him squeezed the air from his lungs and pushed the blood from his palpitating heart-making his thoughts formless and nonsensical.
He paled before the incredible strength the relic kept pushing into him and he struggled to keep it all from washing over him and smothering him, as it had done with Ash. Its weight was incredible and it pushed in at him from every side, trying to force its way inside him, trying to invade every particle of his existence.
Then, something wonderful happened-an epiphany of sorts-as if some divine presence, in one sweeping gesture of its arms, had parted all the pain and anguish and confusion that now surrounded him and everything he had ever sensed or learned or experienced then coalesced into an atomic mote of clarity, and from this single fleeting point of omniscience, sprang a simple train of thought:
Magic is a strange and wonderful thing. When pressed to describe or define magic, most Masters have a different opinion. Master Sanctus had expressed it as simply a form of energy, while Master Glim called it ‘the manifestation of the will’. Others believed it was the essence of our spirit and some even said it was a gift of the gods. Of all the opinions he had heard, Samuel now recalled what his friend Lomar had once told him and, strangely, he could recollect the man’s words precisely, as if reliving that very moment in time. He could almost feel the great branches of the oak tree from the School of Magic reaching up above them, lending them both its shade.
This is what he said: ‘Magic is a rare and beautiful talent that some of us are lucky enough to possess. Try not to think of magic as something that
It was pointless attempting to resist such rampant power as Samuel found in the ring. To do so would have corrupted him and blasted his mind and body. Instead, he relaxed and let the force all around fall in upon him. He welcomed it and joined it, letting it push him all about with its currents, washing over him and within him at the same time. He became one with that ocean of power, a sea of no bounds or dimension, a sea that filled everywhere and everything, until there was no
Samuel opened his eyes, finding himself still standing upon the stormy tower top, with Ash still standing opposite him, the Staff of Elders poised in his hand. The entire experience within the magical folds of the ring seemed to have taken forever but, in reality, barely a heartbeat had passed. Indeed, if it had taken any longer at all Samuel may have been too late, for it was at that very moment that Ash struck out, sending a white-hot stream of power erupting from his staff.
What happened next seemed to occur so slowly, as if the time-thickening properties from within the Argum Stone had followed out after Samuel and enshrouded him. Each instant in time was enough for him to see every minute detail in every tiny thing around him.
Sparks and mage-fire flickered from all over Ash’s body, bursting from his skin, from the black holes of his eyes and from his wretched gaping mouth, as the beam slowly, slowly burned its way towards Samuel.
The Elder Staff was certainly powerful, but Ash was no magician. He was a being-no longer even a man- attempting to guide powers he could not begin to understand, while Samuel was now a perfect nexus of magic.
Magic erupted from Samuel’s outstretched hand and met Ash’s beam, throwing out squealing sparks in all directions. Ash staggered back, but Samuel stood calmly as their powers met; he now clearly understood the nature of magic-for it filled his every pore-and he knew that Ash had lost. The energy around the man was still vast and intense by normal standards, but a black greasy rim now encased it, like a rot that signalled his inevitable demise.
‘Ash,’ Samuel said. ‘You wanted to be a god, but you are only a child playing with grown-up’s things. At another time, I would tell you of all your follies, but time is short and I am beyond tired. You have done many foul things to me and to countless others, so it is time you received due punishment for all that you have done. Damn you, Ash. Damn you for bringing me to this place.’
Samuel pushed his power along the path of Ash’s beam, filling its intense, pure white with twisting streaks of gold and blue and red. Ash held his staff desperately with both hands, with terror building on his ruined face. The streaks carried up the beam until they met the Staff in Ash’s shaking grip and there was a blinding flash of magic being un-made. The Staff of Elders, ancient icon of the Order of Magicians, screeched and turned to dust and spilled out through Ash’s clutching fingers. Indescribable horror covered his face and he turned to run on wooden legs. His hands were clutched over his face and he was screaming and sobbing as he blindly ran away. Without a source of magic to sustain him, there was nothing to hold Ash’s desiccated form together. An awful howl emanated from his throat as he continued running out over the tower’s edge and toppled down into space. Dust and glowing embers trailed behind him as he tumbled towards the waiting earth below.
Samuel looked down after Ash and readied a spell to send after the man-a final blow to finish him should some miracle happen to save him but, as Ash fell, his howls became hollow and empty, fading to nothing as his body disintegrated into ashes and was blown away by the wind. At last, there was nothing left to strike the earth but a few scraps of fluttering, black cloth.
Samuel stepped back from the tower’s shattered edge. He could feel the final remnants of energy balancing out around him as the flows and weaves in the air all around settled back into near equilibrium. He looked up, for the first time feeling the cold night air, and could see the clouds already thinning above him, with tiny bolts still flashing reluctantly in their depths. The wind had dropped to a soft breeze, carrying the salty scent of the Euclidean Sea.
He looked at the small, silver ring on his finger, smooth and gleaming. With the Staff of Elders destroyed, this was now the only great relic in the world. He could feel the magic within it almost humming, waiting to be released. He had certainly not expected the Staff to be destroyed, but it seemed the power of the Argum Stone had greatly overwhelmed it. Dragging the ring from his finger and tucking it into a smouldering pocket, Samuel staggered to the large, heavy trapdoor on the tower roof, raised it and fell through.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Samuel found the tower now completely deserted as he staggered down its many stairs. His body had been almost ruined, but the power he had found within the Argum Stone had supplanted it, somehow sustaining him when he should have been destroyed. Even the wound that had pierced his abdomen seemed to have healed almost completely. The power he had touched had been incredible. It was no wonder that Ash had been overcome by the force of the Elder Staff. It seemed that the moment Ash had reached into that vast source of power, it had changed him, smothered him completely. In mind and body he had no longer been a man, but something else-something horrible, something craving only more and more power. It had overwhelmed him. Ash’s lack of understanding had been his downfall, just as much as Samuel’s depth of understanding of it had been his salvation.
Samuel passed down several levels and, with each, his legs became heavier and heavier as if slowly turning to stone. He passed the Argum Stone chamber, where the doorway still smouldered, broken and twisted in place. Floor by floor he descended the mighty tower, until he heard someone coming up tentatively from below.
‘Samuel?’ came a cry and Lomar appeared, rushing up the stairs at the sight of him. ‘You’re alive!’
‘Yes,’ Samuel replied, utterly exhausted.
‘Everyone fled the tower. We thought the whole thing was going to come down.’ Lomar came to Samuel’s side and held him by the arm, supporting him.
Samuel nodded. ‘What happened with you and the others?’
