closer. ‘
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.
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.
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.
CHAPTER NINE
Samuel looked out over the rolling sea crests. The bitter ocean showered his face with freezing sheets of spray as the ship drove through each heaving wave, one after another. Still, he did not afford himself the luxury of sheltering below deck. Somehow, the discomfort seemed fitting.
He was at least a week behind Ash-it had taken that long for his body to heal enough so he could hold himself atop Jess.
Rudderford’s men had arrived just in time to see Samuel blasted into a shallow digging and buried alive by Ash’s gale spell. They had rescued him as Ash had sped off atop the wagon, bearing his prize away with all haste. They had been wholly amazed when they found Samuel still living, covered in debris and earth. They were even more astounded to see him riding away again a week later, almost as if nothing had happened.
Jess had carried him to the small riverside town of Heathshed, where Samuel had hired a river-barge to carry them both downstream, throwing down a pile of Count Rudderford’s coins to the wide-eyed boatman. The magician’s dark mood brought few questions from the tattered old man, and the slow-flowing river did nothing to soothe the burning hatred in Samuel’s heart.
They had eventually arrived in the port town of New Garlen where, locals said, a great vessel had arrived, like none they had ever seen. It had been enormous, with more sails hanging from the great masts than many of them could count. A strange fellow had then appeared, accompanied by a dozen armed men. They seemed to be guarding some precious thing lashed to his wagon, but no one had been able to get near enough to see what it was. The vessel had bloomed into life and scores of men had hurried ashore in their longboats to help recover the men and their cargo. As soon as they were aboard, the many great sails all rose as one and the ship had surged out from the bay.
It had taken most of Count Rudderford’s purse, but Samuel had finally managed to buy passage for himself and his beast on the only vessel leaving that day and he quickly set out after Ash-for Cintar.
Samuel spent his time looking over the waves and pondering Ash’s strange new form of magic. Never before had he heard of magic being drawn from fluids. The trigger words that sparked the spells were strange and charged with power-which made Samuel suspect they were from the Ancient Lick. If so, it meant Ash had somehow discovered a key to unlocking the lost tongue. Spells born from the Old Tongue or tethered by willpower alone would be of no match. To defeat Ash, Samuel would need to plan carefully. If he could only gain some power of the Ancients for himself, or even learn to control his evasive, terrible outbursts of power, then perhaps he could finally kill the man. Samuel savoured the thought for a moment, envisaging killing his enemy painfully and deliberately, before reality spoiled his delightful diversion. Logic foretold that a methodical and meticulous method would be best. Ash had proved cunning and resourceful in more ways than one, and there was no way to gauge exactly how powerful a magician he was. Chances could not be taken. As it was, the strange purple weaves of his magic tore normal spells to shreds. Samuel did not want any more surprises.
With so much time and so little to do but sit and gaze out to sea, Samuel spent long hours thinking of Leila. He could not help it. He wished he could somehow shut her out of his memory altogether, for the vivid image of her blood-soaked body made him choke with sadness, but he could not. Not even his disciplined magician’s training could stop dreadful thoughts from charging back into him without warning, flooding him with sorrow, overwhelming him. He could not believe she was really gone.
Sometimes, he almost thought he could feel her tender touch against his arm, and would catch himself looking for her, mistaking a sound for her voice, a creak for her steps. His heart ached and the stinging salt mixed freely with his tears on many occasions. The sailors observed his behaviour and kept well to themselves, whispering and muttering about him all the while.
At the tiny island port of Pallem, Samuel changed vessels as the Pride of Jerrod would take him no further north. It took a good deal of persuasion, but Samuel finally managed to gain passage for himself and his horse on a ketch with a shifty-looking crew, called the Southern Bird. The captain was familiar with Cintar and knew of the Order; he gladly accepted Samuel’s payment.
Samuel had considered compelling the man with a spell to grant him passage, for his purse was now emptied. However, it was becoming more evident to Samuel that even the slightest meddling in a person’s mind could have dire consequences. Animals seemed to suffer little ill effect, but human minds required meticulous attention for even the tiniest alteration. Just the act of entering a man’s mind seemed to create a cascade of changes within. The only safe way to alter the thoughts of another was via passive suggestion and that would only work if the subject was not resistant. The magician, Tabbet, had broken those rules within the mind of Count Rudderford, altering the man’s mind in exact and expert ways. Then again, Rudderford had been an extremely simple man. The difficulty of manipulation seemed to rise in direct proportion to the complexity of the mind. Magicians, Samuel postulated, with their lifelong mental training would be nigh on impossible to affect. Samuel sighed and nudged the foot of some railing with the toe of his boot. There were so many facets to magic. He would need the span of several lifetimes to even begin to master them all.
Jess was nervous on the deck as the little ship groaned and rolled, but Samuel soothed her mind with a lullaby and managed to keep her calm. The sailors aboard the Southern Bird seemed to sense something unnatural about Samuel and, as the voyage wore on, the men skirted him with greater girth. They made no attempts to converse with him, but that suited Samuel fine. Work went on around him as if he were a fixture, with the crew throwing dark glances and muttering, even making the occasional gesture to ward off evil. Samuel did not care to
