Michael Foster - The Young Magician

‘What are we going to do?’ Samuel asked. ‘We can’t keep this up forever. They’re pulling our spells to pieces!’

‘Don’t…worry,’ Master Glim responded with some difficulty. ‘We just need a little…more…time.’ Just then, a spell came sizzling toward them and Master Glim matched it with one of his own. ‘There!’ he cried with joy. ‘Got it!’ The two spells hung in the air, locked together.

Another spell came forward and Master Glim guessed correctly once more. His timing was impeccable and, again, he locked the spell in place. The air buzzed with another spell and this time Lomar had it.

‘Well done!’ Master Glim shouted.

More and more spells came at them and Master Glim and Lomar caught as many as they could, until a knot of spells began to form above them. Finally, Samuel realised what they were doing. It was the Magicians’ Game. Irshank, Hathen and the two unknown magicians also realised what was happening, and they desperately began trying to match Lomar and Master Glim’s counter-spells, for Samuel’s friends had the advantage to begin with. The game had begun, and each side kept frantically throwing out spells to catch the other’s. Whoever gained enough foothold in the game would have control over the combined power of all the spells above. The energy trapped therein was growing and, when either side fell too far behind, the total sum could be used upon them. All the while, they continued sending spells to check each other’s defences. It was a cunning and complicated game of wit.

Samuel saw a spell coming and shot up a counter-spell of his own. His aim was true and the two magics locked in place.

‘No, Samuel!’ Master Glim told him. ‘You can’t help! You and Eric must go after Ash.’

Samuel nodded, and stood to leave, but a spell flying forth had him ducking back down behind the seat in front of him. If he and Eric left, Master Glim and Lomar would be outclassed and outnumbered by the four master magicians below. The game would not last long.

Just then, a flurry of spells came pouring down from the doorway in volumes. It was old Master Sanctus who had joined the fray, hobbling down the carpeted steps with magic pouring from his sleeves like streams of billowing ribbons. There was a smile set on his face, like a mirthful boy, and he began trapping spells left, right and centre, throwing fake spells and trap spells all over to keep his opponents busy.

‘Hurrah! ’ Lomar yelled with glee.

‘Go now!’ Master Glim commanded. ‘We can last here!’

‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked.

‘Go! ’

Samuel and Eric stood and raced back up the stairs. Spells flew at their heels, but Master Glim protected them as they went, catching each spell and adding it into the game. They made through the doorway and out into the abandoned hall, leaving the hiss and flashing of magic behind them.

‘Where are we going?’ Eric asked as they sprinted for the main stairway.

‘Where Ash is going,’ Samuel replied. ‘For the Argum Stone. I’m guessing he needs the Staff to finish awakening the thing. Once he does that, he could be unstoppable.’

‘But what is going on, Samuel?’ Eric asked. ‘What has been happening? Where is Rimus?’

‘I don’t know,’ Samuel replied, jumping up the first flight of stairs. ‘Probably dead.’

They made it up into the tower proper and ran down the hall to the next stairway. The place seemed completely deserted. Perhaps General Ruardin had cleared it upon Master Glim’s warning or perhaps everyone had simply run on sight of the other fleeing magicians. They went up many levels and Samuel’s legs started burning before long and he could barely keep up the pace. He found himself quickly wishing this tower had the same climbing spells set in it as the smaller Mage Tower.

Crossing another hall, they turned a corner to find three men waiting on the stairs. They had swords ready in their hands and looked ready to kill. Samuel assessed them in an instant-they were mercenaries. Samuel and Eric stopped, labouring for breath and eyeing the men warily.

‘Turn back. To come this way means your death,’ one man told them plainly and without flourish. He had a strange lilting accent that meant he was definitely not Turian. Samuel took him as the leader.

‘Let us pass!’ Samuel ordered, his chest still heaving.

The man shook his head slowly. ‘Lullander!’ he called and a plain-clothed magician scuttled down the stairs from behind him, already preparing a spell.

The leader signalled and the other two mercenaries darted forward at the same time, brandishing their weapons. Samuel immediately cast a spell and froze them in their places.

The leader swore and stepped back defensively, unsure. ‘Lullander!’ he called out again in frustration. ‘Don’t just stand there like a fool! Do something!’

At that, the magician threw down a spell. Samuel diverted it easily with a spell of his own, but in that instant, the mercenary leader had taken his opportunity, springing forwards, quick as lightning. Equal doses of surprise and pain hit Samuel as the man’s fist collided with his cheek. Eric yelled out in pain beside him and Samuel only recovered his senses in time to see the mercenary leader dance backwards, drawing his sword, slick and glistening from Eric’s belly. Eric fell onto the carpet, howling aloud and clutching at his stomach as his blood poured free.

‘Eric!’ Samuel cried, but a flash of magic caught his attention as the magician, Lullander, spelled again. It was the same spell as before-a simple binding spell that could potentially stop some vital function of the victim. Samuel had already surmised that Lullander was a pitiful excuse for a magician and he had no trouble deflecting the spell again. And this time, he threw one of his own back at the mage for good measure. Lullander managed to catch Samuel’s spell with one of his own spell shields, but it left the man looking quite shaken.

‘What are you doing, Lullander!’ the mercenary shouted to his comrade. ‘You really are a good-for-nothing!’

‘Blast!’ the magician replied. ‘He’s too strong!’

With that, Lullander began backing up the stairs and then turned and fled.

‘Damn you, coward!’ the mercenary shouted after him. He then turned and faced Samuel. ‘Well, Magician. You have bested us all. If Lullander cannot defeat you, I will not risk my neck for this kind of venture. You can pass.’ With that, he gave another flourish and a short bow.

Samuel was unsure and readied a spell to fling at the man.

‘Your friend seems mortally wounded. Perhaps you should see to him before he loses any more of his blood. Don’t waste your time on me if you want him to live.’

‘This isn’t a trick?’ Samuel asked warily.

‘No,’ the man replied and dropped his sword onto the carpeted stairs. ‘It’s only money. I don’t know what these magicians have been up to, but it’s clear they are not on the winning side. I will gladly be out of here while you go and find whatever fate awaits you upstairs. I apologise for the inconvenience.’

With that, he stepped neatly past Samuel and strode down the hall. Samuel was certainly not bothered to chase him-Ruardin’s men would catch him downstairs-and he dropped to Eric’s side.

‘It really hurts!’ Eric said, clutching at his gushing wound. His entire front was bathed in blood and Samuel guessed from the rate of it, the injury was serious.

‘Don’t worry,’ Samuel told him. ‘I’ll help you,’ and quickly cast a spell to slow the bleeding.

‘Go!’ Eric howled out. ‘You need to go after Ash.’

But Samuel was hesitant. ‘You can’t stave off the bleeding by yourself, Eric. If I leave you, you will die.’