Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

‘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 Samuelappliedto 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.

Onceevery moteof Master Glim’s energy hadfled orbeenabsorbed intoSamuel, the roomnow seemedcold 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 himselfas 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 seatedbyher side. At the request of Grand Master Anthem, an emergency meeting had been called to discuss this latest atrocity and toformulatesome 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 Orderin the first placeto 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.’