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

  ‘I don’t care, Master Glim. I will save you.’

  Master Glim then did something quite strange. His body seemed to relax, as if he had given up fighting the poison inside of him, and he managed a contented smile. ‘Sometimes we must accept things the way they are, Samuel. I am not proud of everything I have done, but I have had a good life and I think that, in small ways, I have made this world a better place. What else can we ask for? Go. Save the others. I am done.’ And with that he released his spells and the poison within him began to tear his vessels apart with sudden vigour. His heart fluttered furiously to keep the blood in his veins, but it was as futile as bailing water from a boat with a net.

  ‘No, Master Glim!’ Samuel cried out and he opened himself further to the ring.

  Its power shook him like an earth tremor and he struggled to maintain his resolve. He knew he only had scant moments before his teacher died and he had to act quickly, but he did not know where to start. He called for a tiny fragment of power to mend the veins in Master Glim’s arm, but the sudden surge of energy that came to him snapped the teacher’s bones in two, twisting Master Glim’s arm half-around in its socket. The man did not seem to notice, but Samuel was shocked. He could not control the power, and the influence of the ring only multiplied his fear, making it even harder to calm his mind.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Master Glim,’ he wept. ‘I don’t know how to save you.’

  ‘Then don’t, Samuel,’ his teacher croaked. It was incredible the man still had the power to speak, but a magician’s ability to control his own body was honed over their whole lives. Even in the embrace of death, Master Glim had enough grip on himself to make that final statement. Then, with an audible pop, his heart burst open within his chest and he died.

  ‘I will not let you go!’ Samuel hissed out. He delved his senses into the ring and called forth its power yet again. Master Glim’s life force was already dissipating into the room, but Samuel sent out his magic in a surge that made the cottage jump. He grasped his teacher’s energy with pure willpower, driven by the magic of the ring on his finger and commanded that it return into the man. All his focus and all the power from the Argum Stone was directed on somehow grasping those fleeing remnants. Master Glim’s last tatters of energy hesitated as he called to them, but they would not return to his body. They paused enticingly at the touch of his magic but, after a moment, they continued wafting away and fading, like escaping embers from a windswept fire.

  ‘No!’ Samuel screamed in desperate rage and called for even more power from the Argum Stone, beyond all consideration for his own well-being. The tiny cottage began shivering and rattling and all the books and other items began to fall from their shelves. The room was flooded with intense magic that rang in his ears but, no matter how much power Samuel applied to the task, he could find no way to grip the old man’s dying energy. He stood to his feet, heedless of the body he let slip to the floor and looked up to the dancing lights that swirled towards the ceiling.

  He clenched his fists by his sides and screamed in his head, ordering the ring to help him, but it was a lifeless object and no voice answered him. Master Glim’s scraps of life slipped through his magical fingers and would not be held.

  Finally, Samuel had no choice but to give up, for the pain of channelling the ring was now unbearable and his efforts were useless. He fell back to his knees and wept upon his teacher’s lifeless chest. He sobbed for Master Glim and he sobbed for his own misery for, with the power of the Argum Stone subsided, he was filled with anguish and bitter loneliness. His muscles felt raw and ripped and he felt fit to collapse from exhaustion.

  ‘Why couldn’t I save you?’ Samuel whispered. ‘Even with all this power, can I not save even one person who is important to me?’

  Just then, he felt a jolt in his chest and a momentary surge of excitement overcame him, breaking his pain and sorrow. Some strange energy had entered his body, revitalising him, and he looked around for its source. He looked up and found that a tiny thread of his magic still remained and it was circled up towards the ceiling like a curled asp. It had caught a few tiny motes of Master Glim’s essence and was drawing them down, not back to the body of Master Glim as he had intended, but into himself. As the embers spiralled down and were drawn within him, they joined his own power and were absorbed into it, filling the bitter gaps. The energy was saturated with the scent of Master Glim and Samuel felt warm in that moment, as if caught in an instant of reassurance from his old teacher.

  Once every mote of Master Glim’s energy had fled or been absorbed into Samuel, the room now seemed cold and empty. Samuel pulled the ring from his finger. Strangely, just absorbing those tiny bits of power had relieved most of his weariness.

  ‘I’m sorry, Master Glim,’ he said softly to the room.

  Somehow, he could not help but feel excited, despite the death of his teacher and friend. The vast power of the Argum Stone had proved useless, but he had made a remarkable discovery. It was the spell he had longed for, more than any other—even more than Eric’s Journey spell. He had discovered the beginnings of a Sapping spell. Only Grand Master Anthem knew such magic, and its very existence was the old man’s most guarded secret. It enabled the wily old magician to beat the greatest of foes, including his own Lions. He had refused to teach Samuel, but now Samuel had stumbled upon the spell without the man’s help—even if he was far from mastering it. It would only take some more practice, and then perhaps he could give the old Grand Master an unexpected surprise.

  Outside, calls of alarm began to sound. Others, perhaps returning to the school late or roused by the death throes of their neighbours, had stumbled upon the bodies of other poisoned magicians. Samuel went outside and joined them, going door to door in frantic search of any who still lived and required healing. In room after room, they met the same scene and the dormitories were like a scene from a nightmare: filled with contorted bodies. The poison had done its work, and the School of Magic had been decimated. It had been swift and deadly, even in small quantities, laced with a touch of Eldinswurt to reduce the magicians’ chance of resisting it. Samuel only wondered why, with all that he had eaten himself as he was piling his plate high, was he the only one to survive.

  ‘We have obviously not routed out the entirety of the foreign spies,’ Grand Master Tudor announced to the gathering in the great palace chamber, ‘and until we do—or, indeed, until this war is over—we must increase our efforts to protect ourselves.’

  There was a great commotion as everyone assembled began talking amongst themselves. This was the grandest of the palace state rooms, with banners of blue and gold hung between the internal pillars and enormous crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceilings. Statues and exquisite reliefs adorned the walls at every opportunity. Several rows of long tables with every seat filled stretched the length of the hall. The crowd also filled every standing space, pressed against the walls.

  The Empress sat at the highest point at one end of the long room, with General Ruardin and numerous court officials seated by her side. At the request of Grand Master Anthem, an emergency meeting had been called to discuss this latest atrocity and to formulate some plan of defence.

  Only a small percentage of the room was donned in black, with Samuel and the two Erics also present. Lords Quimbus and Nottingsworth had both fallen in the School of Magic, so the Council of Magicians had been thinned yet again. Given the heavy toll of the war, there was barely an able mage left in the city, save for those in this room. Even the eccentric Balthazar was present with several of his followers, donned in white, and the secretive Rammel himself, of Rammel’s Spellcasters, had also seen fit to attend. A small cluster of men from the Magicians’ Alliance had also been summoned, most of whom had fled the Order in the first place to avoid being sent into war. This was a critical time and all magicians had been called to stand together.

  Master Celios was present, sitting beside Lord Kalbak, and he seemed bereft of the madness that had affected him
earlier, looking on alertly. Next to Celios was the same man who had attended him previously and had cleaned up his spill but, being seated at the table like this and dressed formally, he was certainly no servant of any kind—which was something of a curious development in itself. High Lord Jacobs sat up near the Empress and he scrutinised those gathered before him as if searching for assassins amongst their own.

  ‘The Order’s loss is the Empire’s loss, Grand Master Tudor,’ the Empress spoke, hushing the din. The architects of the past had ensured the room carried sound well, and that it did not suffer from echoes or undue reverberations when many tried to speak at once. ‘And I agree that we are certainly all at risk here. We have already taken steps to protect ourselves on all possible levels, from whom we allow through the city gates, to the water we sip from our cups.’

  High Lord Jacobs stood from his seat to gain the attention of the audience and he let his palms rest on the table before him. ‘That is good news, Empress, but that will only protect your citizens for a short time. This tragedy in the School of Magic must serve to strengthen our resolve and quicken our response. We must decide, here and now, what to do about this invasion from the peoples of the Paatin Desert. The Empire itself is at stake. We, the Order, are your humble servants, but we request a decision be made swiftly. We seek retribution for our losses.’

  He retook his seat as the gathering erupted into a furore. The magicians were all quiet, but the other denizens of the room were shaking their fists.

  ‘The Order has failed us time and time again!’ roared one man. ‘If it cannot even protect itself, what are we to do?’

  ‘The Empire cannot be forced into foolish action by the loss of some troublesome magicians!’ cried out another.

  ‘The Empire will prevail!’ came from yet another, who shook his fist in the air.

  But the entire assembly fell quiet as Grand Master Anthem stood slowly in his place. He looked out from beneath his wispy eyebrows with a heavy heart and a look of thinly restrained anger. ‘I have lost many dear friends in these past days,’ he said softly, though his voice carried to each ear, ‘and I will not have any of them demeaned here...by you. The Order has saved your skins more than any of you would care to know, so pray that we continue to do so. I recommend that those with impatient tongues hold them now, for the time for banter has ended and the time to make decisions has come. I do not make threats lightly, but I will strike down the first man who speaks out of turn. My patience has worn thin and I do not like to be tested. Do I have your attention?’ and no one dared to move even the slightest as he gazed across the room. ‘Very well,’ he said, sitting himself back down. ‘Let us continue.’

  Only Empress Lillith dared to break the long silence that followed. ‘Our fellows of the Order are correct. I, too, am tired of all this bickering and arguing within my court. This latest incident cannot go unanswered. We must make a plan of action—quickly and with the strength that such atrocities demand.’

  ‘Agreed, Your Majesty,’ Chancellor Donovan, to her right, stated. ‘But like any good plan, it must be rational and well designed. We cannot set out rashly or we will be sending our precious forces to their doom, and good plans take time. If we sally out to action on the spur of the moment, we could be leaving ourselves open for attack from another direction. All things must be considered and we must have reports from around the Empire to know the true extent of the situation. These reports must be thoroughly investigated to ensure they are based on fact and have not been dispersed by the enemy. If the Paatin can sneak an army behind our defences—and they have already done this once before—it could be the end for us all. The loss of the magicians only reinforces our need to take care.’

  ‘I agree,’ Grand Master Gallivan called back. ‘Let us take all the time in the world. When the invaders are here shooting arrows over our walls, we can meet them with tea and discuss their demands over biscuits.’

  ‘The brazen nerve!’ a man to Samuel’s left called aloud, before abruptly shutting his mouth and sinking into his seat as old Anthem swung his gaze towards him.

  As a murmuring disquiet began, Grand Master Anthem calmed the room by gently raising his palms, displaying to the gathering his most reassuring expression. ‘What Grand Master Gallivan is saying, and what I must reinforce, is that we have seen what the Paatin invaders are capable of, in person. Reports have been pouring in, ever since, of our losses against them, and we have been almost powerless to react. These desert barbarians, as some have been calling them, are marching their way towards us and devouring the Empire as they go. The Empire is fragmented and weakened after the death of our revered Emperor and the ensuing war with the north. We have lost contact entirely with most of the territories. We can no longer continue to deny our current predicament. We must take action, and quickly, or we may find it is too late. The poisoning of the Order should only strengthen our resolve to act quickly, before more of our numbers are lost.’

  Again, the assembly roared with disbelief and outrage. During the fracas, Samuel could not but help notice Master Celios and his neighbour whispering back and forth to each other. The noise began gathering momentum, but this time it was General Ruardin who spoke up, quelling the noise at once with his booming voice.

  ‘Quieten down! I have sat here patiently since our Emperor’s death and watched your petty arguments decide the fate of our Empire. I had once imagined that there were few amongst you who would knowingly place your own interests before our great and noble Empire. Sadly, I have come to realise that the Empire started rotting from within the same day our beloved Emperor was slain, and that it was you here, you supposed patriots, that have driven us into our current state.’ No one dared to speak up against the general’s fury. ‘Listen, then, to the Empress. You have all been given ample time to come up with a solution, but all I hear are more excuses and delays. I have taken the liberty of speaking with Her Highness in private. Some of you here may still remember that the Empire has been placed into her care until Emperor Leopold becomes of age and her word is law. We have spoken long and well, and the decision is this: if you do not present her with a plan of action within three days’ time, I will open the gates and send the Royal Guard to war.’

  There was an audible gasp from around the chamber, but still, under threat of attracting Anthem or Ruardin’s wrath, no one dared let out more noise than that.

  ‘Please reconsider, Your Majesty,’ Chancellor Donovan pleaded to his Empress. ‘I do wish you would speak with us before making rash decisions of this kind. Without the Royal Guard, the city will be defenceless.’

  ‘Don’t fret, Chancellor Donovan,’ Empress Lillith told him. ‘We have not committed ourselves to this course of action just yet. Indeed, we would never send the entire Guard away and that comes more as a threat to you than anything. But if any more of the Empire falls, there will be precious little point in even defending Cintar. I will give you the promised three days to find a solution to this dilemma, but if a suitable plan is not presented, our threat will come to fruition. I trust you will work together and think well. You may use all the resources of the Empire to help with this task.’

  ‘I beg to correct you, Your Majesty,’ Councillor Madhaven, sitting several seats down, spoke up, ‘but Imperial edict signed by yourself states that a majority vote of your council must be gained before such decisions can be enacted. This is against your own decree and cannot be permitted, by your own word and law.’

  ‘I actually do remember most of what you put before me to sign, Councillor. I may not have Turian blood in my veins, but I do have the semblance of an education. Despite what powers you have managed to wrest from me, General Ruardin can still make such commands in times of war such as this.’

  At that, Madhaven swallowed his pompous pride and nodded graciously. ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

  ‘We shall apply ouselves to your challenge,’ Donovan announced, ‘and report our plans back to you on the third day. I agree that we have been tardy, so I think
I speak for all when I say we will commit ourselves entirely and prepare a plan of action worthy of the need. Given the seriousness of the day, I suggest we adjourn this gathering immediately and begin our work at once.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Empress Lillith returned.

  Chancellor Donovan plucked up the gavel on his desk and struck it on its block, making a resounding crack that sounded the end of the meeting.

  The congregation rose and began to meander out. Samuel was doing the same when he noticed a disturbance in the crowd beside Master Celios. He pushed his way through to see what was happening, with Goodfellow following closely behind, and found a tussle going on between Celios, his attendant and an agitated woman. The two men were doing their best to keep her quiet, but the woman was bawling and struggling against the both of them.

  ‘Give me back my husband!’ she was wailing, and the parting crowd regarded the scene with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

  ‘Keep your hands off him, my good woman!’ Celios instructed and he finally managed to pull the woman away from his indignant attendant. ‘Your husband is busy with his duties. Return to your chambers!’

  ‘That is all I have heard every day! When will he return to me? I have not seen him in months. My husband has been taken from me!’