She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 3

  A moment later and the question did not need answering, for five costumed magicians stepped into view, bearing necklaces of bones, demonic features painted upon their faces..

  Samuel could see that his friends were equally bewildered, for they had never seen magicians dressed so savagely. Yet, as he did recall, the far north was an enormous and varied land, with many simple and isolated clusters that still held to their old traditions. These were undoubtedly tribal shamans from the frozen steppes in the north of the world.

  The Garten magicians chattered to each other in hushed but hurried tongues and then at once began their work.

  ‘They’re forming a Manyspell,’ Samuel said, examining the conjoining shape of the Garten magic. ‘Be ready.’ For several weaker magicians could match the power of a greater one by conjoining their spells. Samuel only hoped the others could protect him, for he was not ready to face the power of his ring just yet. He needed more time to let the pain in his bones subside.

  Thankfully, before the Garten spell could finish, Eric had set a spell of his own upon them. One shaman fell screaming and clutching his throat as blood spouted from his mouth, but the other four dived back into the cover of their countrymen before they could be harmed. It would be difficult for them to cast their spells while being jostled and bumped in the crowd so, for the time being, Samuel and his friends could claim victory over them.

  ‘Shields!’ Goodfellow called just in time, as a volley of arrows came hurtling out upon them. Such things were easily turned aside, but the Garten archers had fired from down low, between the legs of the warriors in front of them, hoping to catch the Turian magicians off guard.

  ‘Cunning buggers!’ Eric called out.

  ‘Watch out!’ Goodfellow again cried, as an earthenware bottle crashed beside them, spilling a bubbling and steaming liquid across the blood-drenched soil.

  ‘Keep away from it,’ Samuel said, but Eric went one better and sent the liquid flying back amongst the Gartens with a flick of his wrist that carried a Moving spell. The horrid juice began burning through the men’s skin and they hollered and wailed and rolled in the dirt in a vain attempt to get the stuff off.

  More arrows came whistling in from another direction, and Samuel and his friends found themselves back to back, holding their Barrier spells at full strength.

  ‘If they charge in now, we’re done for,’ Goodfellow stated.

  ‘They can’t charge in and shoot,’ Eric declared. ‘At least, I hope not.’

  ‘You two hold off their arrows. I’ll take care of anyone who steps in too close,’ Samuel offered, jamming his hand into his pocket, but then he noticed that something had changed in the atmosphere of the battle. The countless Gartens that had passed by them had now reversed their course and were retreating, back from where they had come down the valley. The furred and bearded North-men who surrounded the trio looked unsure and, as moments passed, their fortitude broke completely and they joined the others, running as if for their lives, retreating in full panic.

  A boom then shook the earth and Samuel was almost shaken from his feet. Just then he felt it: a presence of intense magic that he had failed to notice approaching in the confusion of the battle; six magicians of awesome power.

  ‘The Lions,’ Samuel said and they each turned to the south to view the magicians’ approach.

  In Samuel’s vision, six globes of power were spread atop the rise, and they began throwing out spells that decimated the Garten forces. The potent men were recognisable from their energies alone and Samuel knew them each by name: Grand Masters Jurien, Orien, Tudor, Gallivan, Anthem and Du. They were the Lions, legendary symbols of the Order and the Empire. They had felled entire armies between them and no other men were so feared in the world. The North-men screamed out their woes as they fled in terror, leaving Samuel and his friends standing idly amongst their thinning ranks.

  ‘Well,’ Eric began, ‘that was certainly good timing. It looks like we’re saved.’

  Perhaps he spoke too soon, for a savage yell gave the briefest warning and a Garten came stumbling towards them, swinging his axe wildly and snarling with rage. He was nearly on top of them before a tangle of haphazardly gathered magic snapped out from Goodfellow and tossed the man away like a broken straw doll.

  ‘I don’t think we should stay here,’ Goodfellow advised. ‘There’s a long way between us and safety and we don’t know how long this retreat will last.’

  ‘Then let’s head back,’ Samuel suggested. ‘I’m not sure about you two, but I’m quite out of practice. I don’t think I have much magic left in me.’ His hands were still trembling from the exertion, despite his efforts to keep them still.

  ‘I agree,’ Goodfellow said warily, still watching the fleeing Gartens.

  ‘Pfft!’ Eric said in response. ‘I was just getting warmed up. Perhaps we should chase after them?’ To which Goodfellow only raised a questioning brow.

  It was true that Eric still looked fresh and ready for more. His boyish pranks and youthful air had been fading day by day as his magic matured, but he had become a magician to rival the very best. He had spent the last few years honing his craft, while Samuel had sat stagnant—bitter and fuming at his friends’ advances.

  ‘Then you stay here and warm up by yourself,’ Samuel responded. ‘We’re off.’

  With that, the three of them began beelining their way back towards the hill crest, towards the safety of the Lions. They had to swerve here and there to avoid the occasional enraged Garten, but mostly the North-men were more intent on escaping and fled from their path, lest they attract the wrath of the Lions watching on from above. Still, the odd warrior would come running for them with his axe held high, and either Eric would pick them off without too much fuss. The three magicians only paused to scoop up their abandoned robes from the mud and they then continued at a slower pace, far from the receding waves of North-men.

  A shadow flickered over them and each of the three gawked up to see one of the Lions sailing overhead, halfway through a great magical leap that had him bounding almost across the valley, where he disappeared into the sea of fleeing figures with a splash of bodies going up around him.

  ‘What a spell!’ Goodfellow gasped with amazement. ‘I thought I’d seen everything.’

  ‘I think they have a lot to teach us yet,’ Eric added.

  They were still eyeing the scene when Grand Master Anthem’s voice came booming down towards them from the rise. ‘Get up here, you damned young fools!’

  They began scrambling up the slope to where the old magician, who had guided them for so long at the School of Magic, was waiting impatiently. ‘No matter where we send you, you three somehow manage to find no end of trouble! Can’t you keep yourselves out of mischief?’

  As they stood beside the Grand Master, they could see over the crest towards their campsite and the town of Rampeny. Where there had been nothing before but ruined farmland and Captain Adell’s thinning campsite, there was now a mass of men, assembled and perfectly arranged into squads and divisions, packed tightly so there was no sign of bare earth between them. Captains were barking orders as the soldiers readied themselves for battle. Their armour was fresh and untainted by combat, gleaming in the sun. Blue and gold banners flapped in the breeze. To one side, a hundred warhorses began away, thundering up and over the crest, rallying to run down the fleeing North-men.

  ‘How did you get here so quickly, Grand Master?’ Goodfellow asked of the old magician. ‘We thought you would be much longer yet.’

  The old man looked out from beneath his wispy, grey brows and scratched angrily at his long beard as if bees were at his chin. No one knew his true age, but it was enough to say that he had already outlived most others in the Empire. He bore his age well, standing straight and tall. His mind was still as sharp as a tack and his temper was as quick as a nest of wasps, which perhaps explained why he was so feared by his foes and so respected by his allies. Of all the Lions, old Anthem was the mightiest and, when he spo
ke, it was with the voice of a man barely beyond middle age, deep and strong and filled with vigour. ‘We split General Canard’s forces from General Warren’s to make it here as quickly as we could. We had to leave behind most of our cavalry and cut across the woods, so I hope it was worth it. I understand you three were rushing out to dig your own graves just as we reached the highway. I was quite looking forward to a good rest and a cup of tea, so you can consider yourselves quite fortunate that we reconsidered and decided to come and save your troublesome skins. It was not a unanimous decision, mind you. I would much rather have had my tea!’

  Eric gave the old man his best cheeky smile. ‘You had to come and spoil our fun. We would have been done with the Gartens in another minute or two.’

  The old man guffawed. ‘Nearly done for, is more like it, from what I saw. We were already making bets on which of you would be run through first. Now, why don’t you three take note of how things are done properly? For goodness sake; you gave up perfectly good high ground and marched down amongst the enemy and let them surround you—a tactical sin of the worst degree! A blind oaf with a bucket on his head would not have stumbled into so great a calamity.’

  The three red-faced magicians returned their attention to the valley, where the warhorses were cutting down the furred North-men by the droves. Their wedged formations thundered through the Gartens, before swinging around in great arcs to come back at them from the opposite direction. The Lions, meanwhile, had spread themselves further around the valley and were picking off any individuals who attempted to scramble up the difficult slopes, with spells that shot out like flashing arrows.

  Not far from them, General Canard directed the battle, his captains and his trumpeters at his side. Master Crisp hovered there nervously, standing on his tiptoes to get a look over their shoulders at the maps in their hands.

  A flash of magic drew Samuel’s attention as a distant figure came leaping across the valley and landed crouching beside them. It was Grand Master Gallivan and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood straight, letting the Leaping spell dissolve away from around him.

  ‘It’s not over yet, Janus,’ he said, setting his marvellous black moustache to wobble. ‘They’ve more men coming in from behind. Many more. They sent the wild men in first, but Otgart’s finest are waiting behind for their turn—heavy footmen. They’ll come at us next. We’re lucky we arrived when we did.’

  ‘Then we’ll withdraw the horses once they’re done and ready the defence,’ Anthem responded. ‘General!’ he called and strode over to give his advice. When he was finished, looking contented that his suggestion had been accepted, he strolled back, placing his palm above his eyes and peering to the distance.

  ‘Do you think they’ll attack again?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘They’ve no other way,’ Anthem replied, eyeing the valley slopes. ‘These hills are steep and treacherous in all directions, covered in rifts and crevices. Unless they want to spend a week crossing them, they need to come through here. It’s just a matter of how soon.’

  Distant horns blew from the Gartens, sounding thin and faded, but it was enough to make the horsemen in the valley turn from their task and begin galloping their mounts back up the rise.

  Anthem peered towards the distance. ‘It looks like they are coming already. They are impatient to meet their deaths.’

  At the same time, General Canard’s commanders started barking orders and one of his signalmen drew a thin, patterned flag from its cover and began waving it high overhead. In immediate response, the Imperial forces readied. Hundreds of squads, each of a hundred men, raised their shields and drew their swords. Rows of lancers and axeman and pikemen readied. Packs of archers and javelin throwers checked over their weapons one last time. Behind that, more and more men awaited, packed together, promising violence.

  If the Gartens knew what lay waiting beyond the rise, they would perhaps have given up their assault and fled, for the sight of the Turian army, primed to be unleashed, was truly breathtaking.

  Far behind, the town of Rampeny waited quietly while its fate was decided. Tiny figures could still be seen fleeing at its edges and, hopefully, most of the inhabitants would soon be away, but Samuel knew the old and the infirm were often left to fend for themselves in times like these, barricaded away inside their homes.

  ‘We shall meet them here,’ Anthem explained, never taking his eyes from their foes in the distance. ‘This rise will be the deciding point of the battle.’

  ‘Will we win, Grand Master?’ Goodfellow asked nervously and, with that, the old man actually smiled.

  ‘Of course, young Master Goodfellow,’ he assured. ‘But, unfortunately, this is the kind of battle that could drag on for some time if they stand their ground. It makes little sense for us to waste our resources trying to drive them away, so we have nothing to lose by waiting it out. We are near to fresh provisions, while they have vast supply chains to maintain. Feeding their army will cost them dearly and I doubt they will be able to sustain their men here for too long. When that army begins getting hungry, dissent will begin running through its ranks. When we are reinforced with General Warren’s remaining forces, our position will be even more secure. Once they break their position and start their retreat, we can harry them all the way back to Garteny. Shame on them for not obtaining better intelligence! If they had known how defenceless the town was up until now, I am sure they would have hurried their plans and everything would have worked out differently. I understand it was your illusions that may have kept them at bay—luckily for us all.’

  ‘But why even bring the army to battle?’ Eric asked. ‘With you and the other Lions here surely we have won already?’

  ‘I wish it were so, Master Pot, but we can only do so much. The wild men of the north are easily routed once their might has been challenged, but the core of the Garten army is more disciplined and will fight on valiantly. They are experienced in fighting against magicians and will, no doubt, have brought many of their own. No, the Lions are certainly a boon for this battle, but the armies will decide its outcome. We will bide our time before we assist. If we wear ourselves out at the start, we could not counter their magic, should any be brought into play. Nevertheless, if our estimates of their numbers are correct, we will have the decisive victory, even without General Warren’s aid. Remember, too, that the war will go on long after this battle. We must keep our losses to a bare minimum so we can continue on to the Marrow River, where we hope to push the Gartens back even further. This seems to be rather a turning point in the war...at last.’

  ‘What can we do, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked, hoping to prove useful.

  ‘Sit tight, next to me. The Council’s command is to keep you from harm’s way and that order still stands. Just keep your eyes and your ears open. If I tell any of you to do something, you had better do it quickly and without question. You may not be boys any longer, but I can still clip your ears hard enough to teach you a lesson, should the need arise.’

  A steady drumbeat sounded from the north, echoing along the valley and, in the distance, another great wall of invaders loomed. Old Grand Master Anthem looked towards them from beneath his forlorn brows and he considered the sight with a heavy heart.

  ‘How can it be that it has come to this again,’ the old magician said softly, ‘that I must once again face my own countrymen? Garten against Garten. I had promised old Grand Master Vim so much more than this. How our plans have fallen into disarray!’

  ‘Not by choice, Janus,’ Grand Master Gallivan consoled him. ‘None of us would be here, given the choice. This time, it was Otgart’s decision to bring the war to us. We did all we could to prevent this.’

  Anthem sighed. ‘I’m sure he thinks he is doing the right thing. After all this time, given a chance to defeat the Empire, I can understand his decision to take the bull by the horns. If only his patience had lasted just a few years longer. We only needed a little more time to tame the ruinous Empire. Perhaps our promises did little to
make good for the past sins of the Emperor?’

  ‘We can only do what we can,’ Gallivan responded.

  It took a painfully long time for the next wave of North-men to approach, for they marched abreast and without hurry, chanting and singing to the rhythm of their drums, until they stopped short some thousand paces away. Just as Anthem has said, these men had little in common with the wild brutes that had been sent in first. They stood proudly, donned in mail and leather armour and holding their swords and shields at the ready, awaiting their commands with patience. They looked almost a match for the Turian men.

  ‘Why have they stopped?’ Goodfellow asked in a whisper.

  ‘They are waiting beyond our missile range,’ Anthem explained. ‘They will ready bowmen of their own, but we have the high-ground advantage and thus further range.’

  ‘Who will act first?’ Samuel asked, but Anthem did not answer. His mouth was hanging open in expectation and he was gazing along the rise to where his fellow Lions stood waiting, sentinels of the battle.

  General Canard’s flagman shook a blue banner high and from behind came an incredible clatter as every Turian bowman unleashed his weapon in unison. The air hummed vibrantly, ominously darkened by the cloud of arrows that soared up and overhead. The arrows arched through the air, sailing high before raining down upon the battleground with a calamitous series of thuds and clacks,but little else. The Gartens had measured their ground well and most of the arrows fell short, sticking into the mud harmlessly or punching into the bodies that already lay there, turning them into feathered porcupines. Only a few arrows managed to make the extra distance and they clanged without effect upon the raised Garten shields. Once the air was clear, the North-men lowered their shields again and began clattering their swords upon them in celebration. The sound of their beating and whooping echoed between the hills.

  ‘They seek to lure us down,’ Anthem said, ‘but time is on our side. Let’s give them a few hours to settle down and then we will see about sending you three home.’