Michael Foster - The Young Magician

Lord Vander looked highly confused. ‘What do you mean, High Lord Rimus? What are you talking about?’

‘Prepare for the end!’ Rimus called out, as if his words were enough to strike everyone down. He began to lift the Staff of Elders, intent on wielding its power, but a knife flew across the room in an instant, past Rimus and biting into the wall behind him. Samuel looked up and saw that Captain Orrell was standing primed, having thrown the narrow blade himself from far across the room.

Rimus reached up to his neck, where the skin was sliced from front to back. A thin, red line traced around across his throat and a gush of bright fluid burst out, jetting blood across the floor. Rimus dabbed at the wound with his hand and then looked at his bloodied fingers with disbelief written on his face. The room was silent. All were waiting with their mouths hanging open, for the wound was surely mortal.

‘Gods! ’ someone cried out.

‘They’ve killed him!’ gasped another.

Strangely, the blood stopped flowing after that first gush and Rimus’ horror became a look of amusement. ‘Oh, no,’ he said calmly. ‘You can’t kill me quite so easily. I haven’t been around so long without learning a few tricks of my own.’

Rimus then reached up and scratched at the wound on his neck and, much to everyone’s surprise, he dug his nail into the flesh and pulled away a large piece of his own throat. Instead of howling in pain, Rimus only smiled more as his face began to sag and fall away in chunks. Everyone was aghast as the flesh seemed to fall from Rimus’ face as if he had, for some reason, literally begun to fall apart.

Slowly, Samuel realised what was happening. Rimus’ hands went to his face and clawed away the dissolving flesh and skin and muck. Recognisable beneath the dripping, wax-like skin was the face of Ash. He stretched his arms back and laughed as he shook the sticky remnants of the other man’s guise from himself.

‘By the gods, Ash!’ Vander cried out. ‘What have you done!’ The stocky man darted in deceivingly quickly and put both hands on the Staff of Elders. Ash was taken by surprise and they both began to tussle over the long staff.

‘Give me that!’ Vander commanded. He was stronger than the taller man had expected and looked about to tear the Staff from Ash’s grip.

‘Damn you, you horrid little dwarf!’ Ash swore out loud.

With that, Ash drew a small vial from his pocket and slapped it so it broke against Lord Vander’s head. Vander began to scream at once. He let go of the Staff and began reeling around and clutching at his face, screeching all the while. His skin peeled back and his blood began boiling out from eyes and ears. The other councillors stepped away in fear as Lord Vander’s body fell smoking and lifeless to the ground. Even General Ruardin stood full of trepidation at the sight.

The congregation leapt to its feet as Ash laughed and drew another tiny vial from his pocket. With glee, he then tossed it up into the fleeing crowd. Panic erupted all around as the glass shattered onto a bench-back, splashing the hissing and smoking fluid all around. The room was turned to anarchy as suddenly everyone was up and scrambling to escape. They clambered over everything and each other to get up and away, and magicians began shouting and pushing up the aisle, throwing the Royal Guards aside in their haste to get out the door.

Ash only laughed again as muck continued to drop away from under his clothes. He drew out another vial and whispered into it. A white beam flashed out and turned a fleeing magician to thrashing screaming flames while those around him leapt aside, desperate to be away from the inferno.

General Ruardin had been pushed to the floor and was struggling to stand, while the councillors were all too aghast to do much of anything.

‘Come to me, fools, or be damned!’ Ash declared ferociously. ‘Now is not the time to be yellow-bellied. It’s kill or be killed!’

The barrel-chested Lord Hathen was the first to move. He shook the fear from himself and scurried to Ash’s side, eyeing the chaotic scene around him with open-mouthed apprehension. The two mysterious cloaked figures also came forward to stand by Ash and had their shields in place to stop any further attacks upon their master.

Lord Irshank stood stunned and full of bewilderment. ‘Hathen!’ he cried. ‘What are you doing?’ but the other man only scowled back at him.

‘Irshank!’ Ash declared. ‘You’re a fool! It’s too late now. You’ve been helping me all along whether you knew it or not! They’ll never believe you. Kill these fools and I will give you everything I promised. Back out now and they will have your head hanging from the palace walls, I swear to you!’

Irshank looked absolutely aghast. He glanced about at his fellows in total disbelief. Finally, he climbed up to stand beside Lord Hathen, looking quite forsaken.

‘Destroy them!’ Ash cried out, retreating behind his loyal servants. He still pulled at the last shreds of matter that clung to his face, flicking them away like stubborn leaches. Fluid and ooze dripped from his sleeves and slapped onto the floor. He carried the Staff of Elders away and vanished back behind the curtains, leaving a trail of muck behind him.

At that, spells began to fly out into the fleeing crowd, but Master Glim threw a shield spell into place. Lomar joined his spells with Master Glim’s and together they struggled to stop the volley of spells that pummelled them.

‘Well?’ Master Glim said to Samuel, and Samuel threw a spell up beside his teacher’s. The two Erics quickly followed suit.

‘What’s happening here?’ Ruardin called out, having pushed through the fleeing magicians to stand behind Samuel and his friends. People were still pushing their way out, but it would take some time yet before the room was emptied.

‘We’re trying to save everyone’s lives, General,’ Master Glim told him. ‘I recommend you and your men leave at once. This room may not be here much longer!’

‘Are you serious, man?’ Ruardin asked in disbelief.

Just then, a spell penetrated their shields and struck one of Ruardin’s Royal Guards as he was taking cover behind the benches. The man screamed and burst into dust and bones.

‘Yes, General,’ Master Glim replied adamantly. ‘I’m serious. There’s nothing you or your men can do now.’ A bench beside Master Glim suddenly vanished, exploding up into the ceiling.

‘Very well, Master Glim,’ Ruardin said worriedly. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Don’t worry, General. Just take your men and wait downstairs. Catch anyone that comes out of the tower. If they don’t stop, kill them. And if anyone but us comes out with the Staff of Elders…be prepared.’

Ruardin nodded gravely. ‘I understand,’ he said, and began to back up the aisle as fast as someone of his proportion possibly could. The magicians had all managed to escape and, with one gesture from the general, the soldiers hastened out also, leaping over bench-backs and up the aisle. Captain Orrell was the last to leave, backing out of the chamber with concern engraved deeply on his face.

‘Eric!’ Master Glim called out with some difficulty.

‘Yes?’ Eric Pot answered beside Samuel.

‘Not you!’ their teacher growled. ‘The other one!’

‘Oh, yes?’ Goodfellow responded, daring to open one of his eyes.

‘I want you to go out and help the general. Send his men to find the Lions as fast as you can. Ash may have sent them somewhere during the ceremony. He obviously didn’t want them here, lest they interfere. Find them and get them here as fast as you can. Our lives may depend on it.’

‘Yes, Master Glim,’ Goodfellow said and hurried away, looking over his shoulder as spells kept shattering against their shields. He was at the doorway and away in moments.