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

  ‘Please forgive me, Grand Master Tudor, but what if Master Celios and the rest are all mistaken?’

  The old magician gave Samuel a knowing wink. ‘Everything is possible, young Samuel. Assume the best, but be prepared for the worst. I think that is perhaps the best advice for this situation.’

  The first couple of weeks passed quickly and Samuel had done a fine job of avoiding the Koians and their croaking, many-costumed crone. He was quite surprised when one of the Koian men, the ambassador called Canyon sidled up to him as they were waiting atop their mounts—Captain Orrell had drawn the column to a halt as he discussed their best route with Lieutenant Valiant—and startled Samuel from his thoughts.

  ‘We haven’t had much opportunity to speak, Magician,’ he said, granting Samuel his most reassuring expression. ‘You seem to be avoiding us. I hope we haven’t offended you.’

  The man’s eyes were barely slits in his face; his nose was barely a nub. His Old Tongue was punctuated with unusual pronunciation that had Samuel struggling to understand the context of his words.

  ‘You haven’t offended me. I am only quiet with my thoughts. We magicians are solitary folk.’

  The Koian seemed to accept that. ‘So it is. If you feel the need to speak your thoughts, I am happy to talk with you. This road is long and, despite the beauties of your land, we also find ourselves getting bored as one valley leads to the next. Some conversation would ease this tiresome journey.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  The Koian looked back to his party, where Eric was laughing merrily with the three other men. ‘Your friend is not as solitary as you. I perceive that you are not on such good terms. It is unfortunate.’

  ‘I thought your people didn’t tolerate magicians?’

  ‘This is your country. We are guests here. We will not judge your choices.’

  ‘I do remember you mentioning “putting to death”.’

  ‘We are not a savage people, Samuel. Magic is not tolerated in my homeland for good reason. Our history was marred by magicians seeking to further their own interests at the expense of society. The Royal Family had them outlawed. I understand something similar almost happened here only recently,’ he added with a knowing smile. Eric had obviously told him of the time when the Emperor had tried to put all the renegade magicians of the city to death.

  ‘Almost. Luckily, it did not,’ Samuel told him with a steady tone.

  Ambassador Canyon seemed to sense he would have no more productive conversation from Samuel and dropped back to rejoin his party. ‘Very well. I hope to speak with you soon,’ were his parting words.

  The party had travelled long and were far from Cintar and central Turia. They had left the highways and were now crossing overland to make the best time. The trip had been uneventful and boring, and it came as good news when they heard they did not have far to go. Samuel had said few words to Eric and spoken only with the Koians when necessary. He spent most of his time with Goodfellow throughout the course of each day and Tudor and Captain Orrell besides, but he had no real wish to speak to Master Celios or his aloof companion.

  Canyon attempted to converse with Samuel on several instances and, on noticing the rebuffs Samuel gave him, old Tudor suggested that Samuel should return the attempt to befriend them. Samuel, however, was stubbornly upset by Eric and, by association, the Koians with whom Eric was getting on so well. Sighing once more, Samuel checked that the Argum Stone was sitting tightly in his pocket and began guessing how long it would take them to reach the next rest stop.

  After a few more nights, they stopped in a logged clearing. The Koian women were settled into one large tent together and they had requested water and clean cloths so they could wash themselves. They could be heard talking softly inside, whispering and giggling in their womanish ways. There was no sound of the hag’s ear-piercing voice and, for that, Samuel was thankful.

  Orrell’s men were setting up tents and Samuel took the opportunity to speak to Sir Ferse, who was standing idly by while the others busied themselves around him. He seemed intrigued by the nature of their individual tasks. Samuel had avoided the man the entire time, but now, with little else to do, he decided to accept old Tudor’s request to be more civil to his companions. He was not in the mood to force a conversation with the Koians, so he thought the eccentric attendant might be a good start.

  ‘Sir Ferse,’ greeted Samuel.

  A well-practised smile flashed onto the moustached man’s face. It was the look of an experienced salesman or merchant, executed with precision and designed to put the recipient at ease, and Samuel already found the man to be frustratingly charismatic.

  ‘Ah!’ Sir Ferse returned. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with you yet, young Lord Samuel. This journey is so demanding on us physically that it leaves little energy for the common pleasures of conversation. Master Celios demands so much of my time. I was hoping to corner you eventually for a friendly chat—but it seems you have beaten me to it.’

  Samuel was taken aback, for he had not heard more than a few words from the man before. Despite the friendly tone, there was just something disconcerting about the nuances of this man. On top of that, Samuel had the feeling he had met or seen him before and hearing Sir Ferse speak only reinforced the feeling. He was very good at recalling names and places, but in this instance he drew a blank. ‘You know who I am?’

  Sir Ferse raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘How does one not know the Saviour of Cintar? Any magician who can achieve as much as you have must, indeed, be great, Samuel. And I’m sure you are destined for even greater things. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  The statement had Samuel feeling awkward. ‘I’m not sure. What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be coy. The city itself talks about you. Your two young friends are quite gifted, yes, but they don’t hold a candle to you—oh, no. Why else would the Paatin Queen want to meet you? To see the best, of course!’

  Samuel shifted in his boots, trying to ascertain what the man was on about. Such unabated flattery was not something to which he was accustomed and the words just kept rattling from the man’s tongue before Samuel could garner a decent response. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that.’

  ‘What’s that? They haven’t told you? Well, I can understand why. It would do no good to risk spoiling it for you, or letting you get a big head about it. Your Outlander modesty is part of your charm.’ Samuel did not know where to look, for he was altogether embarrassed by Sir Ferse’s volley of compliments. He was already regretting his decision to speak to the man when Sir Ferse stepped closer and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. ‘You know, I heard something very interesting about you, Samuel—something I think only you can confirm for me. They say that when the Emperor died, someone was holding the Elder Staff. Some say it is quite uncanny how those dreadful Gartens managed to sidestep the Emperor’s magical shielding just at that critical moment, when he had been unassailable time and time again before that. Some people say it was you, holding the Staff, Samuel. Imagine that. Why would they say such a thing?’

  Samuel stepped back and felt the colour drain from his face. ‘I...I...well—’ he muttered, not knowing what to say.

  ‘I’m sure it’s only speculation, my dear young friend,’ said Sir Ferse, with a dismissive wave of his hand, ‘and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions based on speculation now, should we? Even so, it would be interesting to know the truth of the matter, wouldn’t it—to be a fly on the wall of the palace that day?’

  Just then, Master Celios turned from his conversation with Grand Master Tudor and came scampering over with alarm at the sight of Samuel and Sir Ferse conversing.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Sir Ferse. How many times must I tell you not to bother anyone? Every word you speak is pain to my ears! Come away from poor Samuel,’ and with that Celios dragged the protesting Sir Ferse away by the arm.

  ‘Samuel,’ Goodfellow said, arriving at his side just as the other two peeled away. ‘You look like you’ve seen a
ghost. What’s wrong?’

  Samuel, in turn, took Goodfellow’s arm and led his friend away from the small clearing to the base of the trunk of the nearest great pine that grew a few yards away. ‘Sir Ferse,’ he began. ‘He knows about me.’

  Goodfellow was confused. ‘He knows what? What do you mean?’

  Samuel looked about for any eavesdroppers, but the Koians were already in their tents and the soldiers were engaged in their duties. ‘He knows I killed the Emperor.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel. You didn’t kill the Emperor. The Gartens did.’ Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Perhaps he knows that we had planned to kill him? Some of the old Masters could have talked. Grand Master Anthem was afraid of that.’

  ‘No. I did kill the Emperor.’ But Goodfellow only looked perplexed. ‘I haven’t told a single soul about it, so everyone thinks the Gartens were responsible. You weren’t there, but I actually got my hands on the Staff of Elders. I used it to remove the Emperor’s defences. If it weren’t for me, the Emperor would still be alive now. No one knows except Grand Master Anthem and even he has never mentioned the fact since that day.’

  Goodfellow took a moment to digest what he had heard. ‘But, I thought the Gartens killed the Emperor?’

  ‘I know, you dimwit, but only because of me!’

  Samuel immediately regretted raising his voice to his friend and took a moment to calm himself.

  ‘Very well. I believe you. So how does Sir Ferse know about it?’ Goodfellow asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t, but from the way I reacted, I’m sure he knows now, for certain.’

  ‘Do you think he will tell anyone? I mean, he is a Turian, isn’t he? So he wouldn’t be very pleased about you killing the Emperor.’

  Samuel shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I guess we have to wait and see.’

  Ghostly scenes haunted Samuel’s dreams that night as he tossed and turned under his blankets. He saw two cloaked figures, barely more than shadows dancing on the landscape, as they hopped madly amongst an ocean of foes. Dark faces leered and screamed, and they followed the elusive pair with a thousand swords. But no matter how many of the wild desert-men came after the pair, the two seemed untouchable and flew about like rags upon the wind, cutting their way into the north.

  The vision faded and he saw a figure waiting for him, sitting on a padded chair. It was a woman and she looked up, as if noticing Samuel watching her through the dream. Her face was elusive and seemed to change with the moment. At first, it was an unknown woman, beautiful in every way. He knew he should know her, but for some reason he could not recall her name. Worry was on her face. She looked closely at Samuel and, as her skin darkened, she became sultrier and more seductive, with a knowing smile upon her lips. Her features slid away and she was now Empress Lillith, smiling contentedly at the boy in her arms. Her hair fell into golden tresses and she laughed brightly as her features shifted again. Although the woman at first seemed a stranger, he knew it was Jessicah.

  He had not seen his cousin since they were both barely into their teens, but he knew from her laugh alone that this woman was Jessicah, grown into her prime. Just thinking about her reassured him and took him away from other dark thoughts, for she was his bastion of self—the only thing he had not lost in his sorry life. He had not seen her for many years, but in his dream he realised he had perhaps avoided her purposefully; keeping her at arm’s length so she would not be lost like the rest of his loved ones. Just knowing she existed was enough.

  She held her arms wide and beckoned for him to come to her, and she had transformed into Leila.

  ‘At last,’ she said to him, ‘you’ve come. It’s been so long since we’ve been together. Your dreams have been too busy for me.’

  She gave him that warm and loving look that only she could give him, but he could not reply. Something else was tugging at the edge of his dream, keeping him from forming his thoughts. He tried to hang onto Leila’s presence, but she faded away along with the chair and the room and only a voice called through the darkness.

  ‘Father!’ it called. It was a boy’s voice. Samuel had not heard it in many months, but the calling was never far away; always ready to torment him. ‘I’m sorry you died. I would put things back the way they were if I could, but everything has changed. Why do things have to change so much?’ He could never tell if it was his own voice pleading in his head or that of another, but he only wished it would leave him alone. His own father and mother had been killed when he was only a boy, and he missed them more than he could bear, even after all these years. He wished that he could put those feelings behind him, and perhaps the voice would leave his dreams.

  He awoke and found himself tangled in his blankets, hot and sweating. It was still the dead of night and the tent was dark. A night bird called from the woods and he heard someone coughing from another tent across the campsite. Kicking off his stifling blankets, he rolled over and hoped his sleep would take him quickly and deeply.

  It must have been the middle of the night when a ruckus outside the tent awoke him. He dragged on his boots and stumbled out into the night air to see what was causing all the commotion.

  The clearing was still dotted with numerous campfires, but it appeared that Orrell’s entire company was rushing about, in and out of the woods and in every direction. Goodfellow came out of the tent after Samuel, sleepily adjusting his spectacles into place.

  ‘Samuel,’ Celios called. ‘Come over!’ and with that the two magicians joined the others beside their fire.

  ‘The Koians have lost their god,’ Grand Master Tudor explained. ‘And they’re in quite a fluster.’

  ‘Lost what?’ Samuel asked. ‘That ridiculous woman?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tudor continued. ‘It seems her attendants took her into the trees for her to relieve herself and the next thing they knew, she’d disappeared.’

  ‘So their gods need the privy, too?’ Eric put in. ‘That’s good to know.’

  But Celios threw him a blazing glance, and all trace of amusement fled from Eric’s face. Samuel would normally have found the remark amusing, but he was too tired and was not willing to give Eric the satisfaction of a supportive response.

  ‘Orrell’s men are all out looking for her,’ Tudor continued, looking somewhat dishevelled in the firelight, ‘but we should do our best to help. As you know, she shares Samuel’s lack of presence, so we have no way to find her magically. We can only help them the old-fashioned way, by walking around and shouting a bit. Perhaps make them a few lights. She can’t have gone far, so let’s just help the Koians with this so we can go back to bed.’

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ Samuel groaned.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is Sir Ferse?’ Samuel then asked, noticing the obvious absence of the man from their group.

  ‘He’s still sleeping,’ Master Celios replied very matter-of-factly. ‘I tried waking him, but he sleeps like a log. Leave him be. I’m sure we can deal with this.’

  ‘Go on,’ Tudor finished and gestured out into the darkness. ‘It’s safe. Not even the wolves are awake at this hour.’

  Samuel shrugged and did as he was told. They all stepped away into the trees in different directions and began calling out. Without having a name to call, no one knew what to shout, so they cried out ‘hello’ and ‘over here’ and the likes. It was worse for Orrell’s men, for they could not even speak the Old Tongue. Anything they would shout would be incomprehensible to her; but Samuel figured it would not make much difference. She would only have to hear their noises to find them and that was all that was required. How she could have become so lost, when she was so close to such a large number of men, was beyond him.

  He could feel the two Erics summoning some mage-lights, so he decided it could not hurt to attempt the same. As he walked amongst the dark trees, atop the thick carpet of fallen pine needles and scattered cones that littered the ground, he slipped the Argum Stone onto his finger and readied himself. He
thought he had tapped only the tiniest trickle of power but, as he released the spell, a host of glowing spheres shattered the darkness with their blazing light. The woods bloomed into an eerie, flickering daylight, and dozens of Orrell’s guards were frozen on the spot, looking at the lights with alarm.

  ‘Sorry!’ he called out to them, realising his spell must have half-blinded the men and he pulled the ring from his finger to extinguish the spell. He was only channelling a small amount of magic from the ring, so he had thought nothing of taking it off, but the sudden release of energy that snapped through him stung him and made him start. He reminded himself not to be so flippant in future, for his connection with the ring had to be reduced as much as possible before it could be removed. The separation from any amount of power could be traumatising.

  He would have to do without his spells but, with such a bright moon, he would not have too much trouble finding his way. Wandering further into the deepening woods, he began calling out for the woman, calling ‘god lady’, ‘old woman’ and ‘vile old wench’ in as pleasant a tone as he could muster. He did not bother using the Old Tongue, as he did not really care if he found her or not. His thoughts were firmly set on his tent and blanket, and he assumed he would just have to wander around for a bit until one of Orrell’s men stumbled across her.

  After some time, as the shouts of Orrell’s men became fainter, he was surprised as some nearby shrubs rustled and someone came stepping out towards him. It was Horse, the Koian.

  ‘Magician,’ he said. ‘I have found you. We can’t find our god anywhere. I thought I had tracked her in this direction, but now I am not sure. I will go that way towards that rise, but can you look over there, towards the stones?’ The man’s grasp on the Old Tongue seemed intermediate at best and he struggled to speak some of the words in their entirety.

  Samuel agreed half-heartedly and started off as directed, not at all amused with the task. It was inconvenient that they could lose their deity so easily. What kind of god was she supposed to be anyway?