She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) Read online

  She Who Has No Name

  For my mother and father

  With special thanks to:

  Mitchell and Roxanne,

  Ormé Harris,

  Luke Harris

  and Ted Ward

  THE LEGACY TRILOGY

  The Young Magician

  She Who Has No Name

  The Ancient Ones

  SHE WHO HAS NO NAME

  The Legacy Trilogy—Book Two

  Michael Foster

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.

  SHE WHO HAS NO NAME

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2009 by Michael Foster

  Except as permitted by the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other means be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or be broadcast or transmitted without the prior permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Published 2009 by Dragonfall Press

  Reprinted 2010

  www.dragonfallpress.com

  Cover by Steven Schaffert

  ISBN: 978-0-9806341-1-2

  We'd love to receive your feedback on this novel: [email protected]

  PROLOGUE

  From the darkness, a single tiny point of light appeared. It hovered for long moments and then flitted about like a firefly dancing within an inky void. As it fluttered, it began growing in intensity, transforming from a pale, lingering mote to a fierce and angry butterfly that flashed red and yellow. The wavering flame grew and a pale face became illuminated just above it, wide-eyed with amusement, cast in shadow from the flickering light. Fire was dancing on the watcher’s finger, but it did not burn or consume him. It seemed to spring from and burn from nothing and this no doubt explained the young man’s delight.

  ‘By the gods, Marrag!’ came a gasp of disbelief from somewhere in the room. The scene was utterly black, except for the face, the finger and the fire.

  ‘What you said is true!’ said another voice, sounding from beside the first.

  Marrag then opened his hand, palm up, and the flame spread to each of his fingers. The light still clung to him stubbornly, making him seem to be just a head and a hand floating amidst a void. ‘Of course it’s true,’ he declared, with his eyes still locked in fascination upon his fiery creation. Then he glared up towards the first speaker who had broken the awed silence. ‘And as I shall also show you, there are no gods—none that would challenge us, anyway. What the Council has told us are lies.’

  Shutters were thrown open, filling the room with blazing daylight and transforming it from a darkened mystery to an unremarkable dwelling in the blink of an eye. Furniture and figures leapt into being at the flick of a wrist.

  It was a simple and functional living space and the man called Marrag was sitting at the central rounded table with one elbow resting on its surface. The fire upon his hand was now scarcely visible—barely a shimmering of the air—as the daylight was invading the room with such ferocity. Still, Marrag regarded the marvel in his palm with delight, engrossed as it danced and moved amongst his fingers like a throbbing, living thing.

  ‘This is forbidden, Marrag!’ the first speaker affirmed, stalking over from beside the windows. He was dressed in an expensive suit—the very fashion of the day—but somehow the effort was wasted on his thin and gangly frame. His nose was bulbous and his hair thin and combed in an effort to cover his balding and liver-spotted scalp. He moved erratically and nervously, rubbing his chin and scratching at his scalp in the same movement. ‘This is beyond the laws. You will be condemned for this!’

  ‘But it is incredible, as you said,’ stated the second man, much younger than the first and looking much smarter, despite being clad in only simple garments. He stood purposefully and with confidence, with faultless posture. Two more opposite men could not possibly have inhabited the same room.

  Marrag closed his fist deliberately and, with flawless concentration, he willed the flame to vanish; its final blue-hued gasp escaping between his fingers. With sweat on his brow, he stood and faced the other two. ‘But why is it forbidden, Poltamir?’ he asked of his more unfortunate-looking companion. ‘Why are we not allowed to do such wonderful things? Such feats are ever whispered about and alluded to, but never attempted—all because of the Council’s stubbornness. I have gathered up every inkling of knowledge I could find, and now, after all these months, I have achieved the forbidden—the incredible! What the Council of the Wise said was futile and impossible has proven within reach. Why would they want to deny us this wonder?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ agreed the third man.

  Poltamir looked set to boil with frustration. ‘Why? Why, Thann?’ he asked. ‘Because they are the Council of the Wise. That is why they are the ones who speak and we are the ones who listen. Who are we to ask such questions? Such knowledge and actions are forbidden and that is that!’

  Marrag slowly shook his head. ‘I do not think so. I think, rather, they are jealous of anyone who can do such things. They deny us the opportunity to explore our potential, while they are ever-reliant upon their wands and machines and devices. This first achievement is just the beginning. Who knows what we may be able to achieve given time? We can draw power from the heavens!’

  ‘This is insane!’ Poltamir declared, throwing his hands up in frustration.

  ‘Can you show me how to do this?’ Thann asked eagerly, ignoring Poltamir altogether.

  Marrag nodded solemnly. ‘I’m sure I can teach you. Now I have mastered the first difficult steps, it should be a simple task to teach others. I have so many new ideas already on how to direct this power, but each one leads to so many others. The possibilities just keep popping into my head. It’s so exciting!’

  ‘It’s madness!’

  ‘Oh, calm down, Poltamir,’ came the honey-dewed voice of Rei as she stepped from the corner of the room. She moved over and snaked her arms around Thann’s waist and, pouting, looked at Poltamir. ‘You are always such a spoilsport.’ She was as beautiful as any woman could possibly be, with soft flaxen hair that nestled over her shoulders, and Poltamir fell to pieces under her demure gaze, already shaking and trembling on the spot.

  ‘You knew about this?’ Poltamir responded with obvious disappointment.

  ‘Of course I did,’ she replied, a self-contented smile on her cherry-tinctured lips. ‘Marrag tells me everything.’

  ‘I cannot stand for this. You must stop at once.’

  ‘Oh, please, Poltamir,’ she pleaded. ‘Let Marrag teach us what he has found. We have nothing to fill our days and we sorely need something to keep us amused.’

  ‘Just because our parents are on the Council does not mean we will not be punished.’

  ‘They will not find out,’ Thann stated, holding onto Rei’s arms around him. ‘Who would tell them?’ and he eyed Poltamir purposefully.

  At once, the gangly man began nervously shaking his head. ‘Oh, I won’t tell anyone,’ he promised.

  ‘Then, will you join us?’ Marrag asked him, pinning the man with a serious gaze.

  ‘Of course I will,’ Poltamir confirmed, now nodding furiously.

  ‘Good!’ Marrag declared with a sudden smile. ‘Then we can begin immediately. I will need all three of you to help.’

  ‘We are yours to command,’ Rei responded dramatically as she kissed at Thann’s neck.

  Marrag reached under the table and drew out a small cage, which he placed before the others. Kept within was a small kitten, which was lying quiet and still.

  ‘Veron? Wh
at’s wrong with her?’ Rei asked with concern, coming out from behind Thann and peering in at the motionless animal.

  ‘She’s tired,’ said Marrag. ‘I’m afraid I have used her too much.’

  ‘We need a kitten to work these wonders? What is this about?’ Thann asked with surprise.

  ‘Not a kitten. Anything will do.’

  ‘She doesn’t look well,’ Rei said. ‘What if it hurts her?’

  ‘Then we’ll find something else,’ Marrag replied with a shrug. ‘Any living thing will suffice. The bigger the better, so it doesn’t tire as quickly.’

  ‘Let’s go out and find something else so poor Veron can have a rest,’ Thann stated.

  ‘This is really quite worrying,’ Poltamir put in.

  ‘Oh, stop being such a sourpuss,’ Rei told him and he shut up at once.

  ‘Then it’s settled. I, Marrag Lin, will teach the three of you what I have learnt and together we shall discover this wondrous new power,’ Marrag spoke.

  ‘What shall we call this strange new thing that we have discovered?’ Thann asked of the group.

  ‘Oh, it has a name already,’ Marrag replied. ‘It’s called magic.’

  ‘Magic?’ Rei asked. ‘What a silly name. Nevertheless, let’s set out and learn this magic and see what fun it can bring us. We shall keep it a secret between just the four of us.’

  ‘We shall do all sorts of wonderful things!’ Thann declared.

  ‘And when we get sick of it, we can just give it up before the Council learns of anything,’ Marrag pointed out. ‘No one will be any the wiser.’

  ‘Of course,’ Poltamir agreed, now somewhat warming to the idea. ‘It does sound like this magic has the potential to become quite an entertaining distraction. And, as you say, what could possibly go wrong?’

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Plight of the Empire

  Something was coming. From across a vast ocean of separation it came—clawing its way towards him—and, inch by inch, moment by moment, it was steadily drawing nearer. Samuel could feel its presence weighing down upon the pattern of existence like a fat and swollen spider lurking at the centre of its sticky web. The power of the thing was intimidating, frightening, threatening; as if it could consume the world—yet he was compelled to look towards it, despite his own good sense, as surely as if someone had grabbed his face and turned it towards the blinding sun. If he were a normal man, he would have been terrified, but he was a magician and, as such, he was gripped by a terrible fascination. He could not imagine anything capable of possessing such power, such mind-boggling potency. Somehow, he knew that its arrival was imminent and also, whatever it was, it was coming with one distinct purpose in mind—to find him.

  He had been having this dream almost every night since he had slain the man called Ash. Ash, who had infiltrated the Order of Magicians, who had slain Samuel’s family and who had stolen nearly enough power to ruin the world. Ash had been transformed into some kind of hideous god as they had struggled together, each wielding immense power, but, of the two of them, only Samuel had survived.

  While Ash had been a common man coming to terms with his god-like state, Samuel had been developing and refining his own powers all his life. Finally, Samuel’s experience and knowledge of magic had proven victorious and Ash had been destroyed. The whole city had been witness to their great battle of magic atop the High Tower—a battle that had almost split the heavens in the process—and, through his victory, Samuel had become a champion within the Order of Magicians, placing him almost akin to the legendary Lions of Cintar.

  The Saviour of Cintar, some now called him. It felt a hollow title, for he had not been facing Ash out of any noble or valiant cause. It was only his desire for revenge that had driven him onto that windy tower top, and it was only his hatred for the one who had continually escaped and frustrated him that had forced him to persevere. In the end, Samuel had satiated his thirst for revenge, but a void had taken its place. He had been exalted to the status of a Lord for his efforts. Yet now he was without purpose and was finding it difficult to be so revered by an Empire that he had little love for in return.

  That had been two years ago and the continent of Amandia had been transformed in the time since; it had fallen into a war that had left the once-great Empire tattered and trembling. It had been saved from decimation at the hands of Ash, but with the Archmage and Emperor both dead and with the Staff of Elders, magical icon of the Order, destroyed, the Turian Empire had received a staggering blow.

  The Order of Magicians had been forced into action in a desperate attempt to keep the Empire from collapsing altogether, following the very path of violence it had struggled to avoid for decades. With the forces of Garteny pouring down from the north, the magicians of the Empire had been left with no choice but to offer up their skills for warfare. If they had not, the war might already have been over, for the Garten armies had been cutting swaths of destruction across the Turian Empire. Its forces were skilled and readied from generations of preparation, having long been planning for an attack that had never arrived from the Empire.

  After untold years of expansion, after almost conquering all the civilised lands of Amandia, Turia itself is now in the unthinkable position of impending collapse. The once-unbreakable Empire is now on its knees. Its last remaining armies and a few spread-thin magicians are all that are keeping the Gartens at bay and these days mark the final great clashes of Garten against Turian.

  Fortunately, those few remaining magicians are some of the most powerful the world has seen, with Samuel and his two closest friends considered chief among them—but the Order has no wish to sacrifice its greatest symbol of power. Much to his disgust, Samuel has been kept far from the front lines; relegated to giving speeches to the troops or making token displays of magic, before being ordered away back to safety before the true conflict began.

  Since the war with the north had been renewed, Samuel had been sent out from Cintar many times to rally the spirits of the men, but not once had he seen direct combat with the enemy. While all he craved was the opportunity to launch himself onto the Gartens and unleash his greatest spells, he had been allowed nothing of the sort; kept on a leash by the Magicians’ Council’s strictest commands; ushered away at the first sign of foreign forces.

  Even the Erics, his two closest friends, had seen their share of battle, with Eric Pot being a veteran of a score of conflicts, while Samuel had seen none of it. Perhaps it was for the best. With the ancient relic that he had wrestled from Ash, the Argum Stone, on his finger, he had access to unspeakable power, but it was a power he was yet to master; wild and brutish; slippery and deceiving. The battle with Ash had left him shaken and unable to access his own magic and so the ring, kept secret from all, was the only thing that kept him a magician.

  ‘Come to me, Samuel,’ came a voice though the dream, distracting him from such thoughts of war and Leila appeared before his eyes, just as he remembered her. She was wearing the same clothes as on the day they had first met: a pale summer dress and slippers, with a comb in her hair. She looked as beautiful and fragile as she did then—and he missed her deeply. Just the thought of her had him flailing towards an escapable pit of sorrow.

  ‘Why are you keeping me waiting?’ she asked, with a pout on her lips. Her face seemed to glow in every detail. Her smile was so pure and perfect. He still loved her with all his heart and, after such dreams as this, he found it difficult to accept that she was dead, another victim of Ash’s ruthless crusade for power.

  Other magicians could not feel love or hate or any of the strongest emotions, for using magic had a toll on the heart that could not be reversed, yet Samuel was still cursed with these feelings and he had little control over them.

  Sometimes, he would wish that he could remain forever in this dream world, casting off the truths of reality for the sweet embrace of his fantasy; but morning always came and morning ruined everything. No matter how he tried to keep his eyes locked tightly shut, or how hard he tr
ied to stop himself from waking, daylight would surely force its way under his eyelids. Then, his heart would be gripped by a suffocating sadness and he would become entombed in bitter regret.

  ‘So you’ll keep me waiting once again?’ he imagined her asking, as she caressed his cheek with a gentle finger. ‘Don’t worry. Morning comes and I must leave you to your affairs. But the day passes ever so quickly. We can be together when night falls once again. You can dream of me forever, until one day you find a way to bring us together. I’m sure you can find a way. If anyone can, it will be you.’

  With that, Samuel could no longer ignore the sounds of the day that were competing for his attention, and he opened his eyes with great reluctance. He had been hoping the noises were part of his imagination, but unfortunately, that was not the case. Eric Pot was standing over him and looking down at him with a mix of urgency and annoyance. It seemed that all the shouting and carrying-on he had been doing his best to ignore were, unfortunately, very real.

  ‘I said get up, Samuel!’ the neat magician repeated, dressed in his resplendent, black Order cloak. ‘Quit your dreaming. Captain Adell says we’re leaving as soon as we can.’

  It took Samuel those few moments to recall where he was. They had been camped outside the town of Rampeny for three weeks, preparing the town’s defences. The men had been digging, building, fortifying and so forth, while Samuel had been dutifully reciting the patriotic speeches that had been drafted for him by the Council.

  It struck him as quite ironic that neither he nor the Erics were true Turians, for all three had been born in the outer nations—territories that had themselves been conquered by the Empire long ago. Still, it no longer bothered him as much as it once did. Their true allegiance was to the Order of Magicians and, in turn, to all the people of Amandia, whether they be Garten or Turian or other. They would do their best to end the war and usher in a long-sought time of peace. It was a worthy goal, but, quite ironically, it seemed that an awful lot of bloodshed was required to reach it.