She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (32 page)

The remaining Paatin split themselves between the magicians and the defiant Koian, raising their swords and stepping forward with their mouths hanging open.  The desert-men moved stiffly and with hazed eyes, as if the magic that had given them wings had also filled them with a poison that sapped their strength.

The Erics did not hesitate, striking out with their spells, knocking down the Paatin in succession and Horse broke the leg of one and quickly dispatched the final two with crushing blows to their chests, moving like a blur of destruction.  With each blow he landed, a silver jet of energy—visible only to Samuel’s
sight
—
flashed around his fists and feet, like sleeves of magic.  Never before had Samuel witnessed magic summoned or used in such a way, but he had no time to consider it now. 

Captain Orrell was left with nothing to do but wave his sword in a token fashion, for all the Paatin were dead.

Only then did Canyon come stumbling out of the water room.  He looked at the pile of bodies, then his fallen country-folk and lastly the magicians.  ‘This is intolerable,’ he said.  ‘Our god is in danger and these accursed winged men come in greater and greater numbers.  This fortress is lost.  We must be gone from here.’

Horse nodded and relaxed from his fighting stance, readying to follow his leader.  His knotted muscles unbunched and relaxed beneath his shirt as he took a great deep breath.  It was like watching a great siege machine being disarmed
,
its tension mechanisms carefully released.

‘Magicians, follow us,’ Canyon suggested.  ‘We will meet the others in the town as was suggested.’

‘But Ghant is not yet lost,’ Samuel refuted.  ‘These winged desert-men are slow and the magic has poisoned their blood,’ and to demonstrate the fact, he kicked at a cloaked body at his feet.  Fluid oozed out onto the stones with a sickly smell.  ‘All we need do is prevent their main force from crossing the chasm.  These men are only useful for a limited time.  They are little more than diversions.’

‘And Grand Master Tudor is still with us,’ Goodfellow asserted.

‘And Balten,’ Eric added.  ‘The battle is not over while we have them.’

Canyon seemed annoyed.  ‘Then if you insist on holding onto this tomb of rock, we will not accompany you.  As you can see, we have already lost half our number to your
diversions
.  If you would, please escort us to the mounting yard and we will ride for Shallowbrook and await you there.’

Samuel looked to Captain Orrell for agreement.  ‘Can we get there and back safely?’

Captain Orrell rubbed thoughtfully at his bristled chin.  ‘We can do it, but we must be quick.  If we are to make any difference in this battle, we must return before the odds are weighted too heavily against us.’

They agreed and started off, with Horse rushing away at the lead, so that the others had to race to keep up with him.

‘Where is River?’ Samuel asked of Canyon, seeking to test the man’s reactions.

‘She is also dead,’ the ambassador said, and pushed past Samuel back into the dining room.  He gave nothing away in his voice.

Captain Orrell slipped in front and now led the way, with his sword readied, treading swiftly and carefully along the halls.  He paused at each corridor and waved the group to pass
only when
he judged them to be safe.  As the Captain had said, they saw no Paatin and only the occasional Ghant defender, rushing by to reinforce some struggling point of the defence.

‘We’ve lost our squad,’ one declared.  ‘What should we do?’

‘Keep the halls clear,’ Orrell told him.  ‘Make your way to the command room if you can.  General Mar will need all the help he can get.’

The party finally spilled out from the fortress and into the night air.  They hurried along the stone path that followed the ravine, away from Ghant and towards the stables.  From here, they could see fires set all over the citadel, and the noises of battle echoed between the mountains. 

On the other side of the ravine, every inch of flat ground was filled with Paatin, each waiting to be across the gap.  The space across the chasm was filled with hundreds of glistening filaments; each one a strong cable that the desert-men made
their way
across as quickly as they could.  There was something broken and burning at the bottom of the ravine, half engulfed in the savage river that churned there amongst the rocks.  It was too distant and dark to see clearly, but Samuel guessed it was the crossing bridge.  If the defenders truly feared they would lose Ghant, perhaps they had thrown it down to sabotage the Paatin advance as much as they could.

‘This is not good,’ Captain Orrell declared.  ‘At this rate, they will overwhelm the citadel in no time.’

‘Then let’s get back there and help,’ Eric said.  ‘I can see no more winged Paatin in the air, so the Koians will be safe here for the time being.’

‘Ambassador Canyon, can you ride to Shallowbrook from here?’ Samuel asked.

‘The battle is lost, Samuel!’ Canyon said.  ‘Can’t you see?  If you go back in there you will be killed and who will save your Empress then?’

‘It’s not over, yet.  You are forgetting we are Magicians of the Order, and we can achieve what others find impossible.  Besides, Master Celios is still in there, and whatever reason he had for us remaining at Ghant does not seem to have happened yet.’

They left the Koian survivors where they were and sped back towards the embattled fortress.  Orrell left them within the main gate, taking the back route in attempt to make his way to General Mar, while the magicians took the direct route up the main stairs.

‘Master Celios is not always right, Samuel,’ Eric said.

‘I know, but I wasn’t about to leave anyone behind.  Canyon only wants to save his own skin.’

They came out onto a long
,
rounded wall, looking down upon a large square where Paatin and Turian defenders were attacking
each other
furiously like two nests of opposing insects.  Most of the slower, winged Paatin seemed to have been vanquished, but
they
had been replaced by their hardier comrades who had scaled across the chasm.

‘There!’ Goodfellow shouted, pointing into the throng.

Samuel followed his gaze and spied Master Celios and Sir Ferse caught amongst the battle.  Master Celios seemed to be doing little except cower, while Sir Ferse dispatched almost every Paatin that came near with supple strokes of his blade.  There was no doubt that Samuel had seen the man’s style before, for he fought with an inimitable
,
effortless grace that spoke of a master swordsman. 

‘Well
,
don’t just stand there like fools,’ squeaked a little voice from beside them, and Samuel was surprised to notice that Doonan had sneaked up on them.  The little man drew a tiny sharp object from his belt and flicked it down into the fray.  A desert-man went down clutching his neck, but his shriek was lost in the cacophony of other cries and the clanging of steel that rang out all around.

They readied to cast their spells, when a blast of trumpets called from the heights of Ghant.

‘What is that? Goodfellow asked.

‘A call to aid from General Mar,’ Doonan stated.

‘But where is Grand Master Tudor?’ Samuel asked.

‘With General Mar,’ the dwarf replied.

‘Then let’s go,’ Eric stated.  ‘They need our help.’

‘We can’t just leave,’ Goodfellow said with alarm.  ‘These men will be overwhelmed.’

Doonan offered a suggestion.  ‘If you magicians could use your spells to remove the cables that now span the chasm, the chances would swing in our favour.  It is only their constant reinforcements that are keeping us overwhelmed.’

‘Eric,’ Samuel said.  ‘What if you see to the cables?  I will go to assist General Mar and, Goodfellow, you stay here and help as you can.’

‘Agreed,’ the other two asserted.

‘You won’t get to Mar directly.  I know the way around,’ Doonan said and Samuel agreed to have the dwarf as his guide.

Eric hurried off to see to the cables, while Samuel started away with Doonan at the lead, leaving Goodfellow to throw his spells to Master Celios’ aid.

‘We must hurry,’ Doonan called, dashing along on his tiny legs.  ‘We don’t want to get boxed in.’

They hurried through chamber and hall, along terrace and stairway.  Several times
,
they had to turn back, either because they met a scene of battle or the way had been barricaded or broken.  They stumbled upon the occasional lone Paatin warrior but Doonan dispatched each one with a flick of his wrist.

‘How many of those darts do you have?’ Samuel asked as they ran.  ‘I’m assuming they’re poisoned.’

‘Deadly poison,’ he panted back.  ‘Imported.  Very expensive, too.  I’m down to my last one, so after that you had better start earning your keep, Magician.  I’m not made of money.’

They were running across a bridge that spanned two of the smaller towers when an incoming ball of magic alerted his senses and had Samuel diving to the floor.

‘Get down!’ he shouted and Doonan slapped to the floor like a dropped fish as the magic struck.

A boom sounded on the roof and the impact shook the wooden structure violently.  One of the centre beams that ran along the ceiling broke in two with a sharp crack.  It was not a spell that had hit them, however, for Samuel realised it was
actually
a magician
who
had crashed onto the top of the enclosed bridge.  With barely a pause, the person started off, bounding along the roof; each footstep was like a hammer blow, punching holes through the ceiling as the figure scrambled away.

‘A wizard!’ Samuel hissed, following the magic with his senses.

‘Om-rah!’ Doonan said.  ‘He’s here!’

Samuel gained his feet as the little man was dusting himself off.  ‘Who is that?’ he asked of the dwarf.

‘The Paatin arch-wizard.  If he is here, we are in big trouble.  He
really
hates Balten!’

‘One wizard does not trouble us, dwarf.’

‘Then you are a fool, Samuel, to judge what you have not yet seen.’

Just then, the structure groaned and shuddered.

‘Come.  We should be moving,’ Samuel suggested, but before he could start away another cluster of magic came flying in towards them.  This time, the scent of the magic was familiar.  ‘Balten!’

The second magician also landed atop their wooden structure, leaving Samuel and Doonan scrambling to hold on as it tore from its bracing and dropped several feet.  They heard Balten swear and his boots also sounded along the roof, stomping away as he pursued the Paatin wizard.

‘Balten!’ Doonan cried aloud, but the man had already gone.  He then turned his gaze to the exit they had been bound for, which was now at chest height, for the bridge had dropped by a fair amount.  ‘Run, Magician!’ the dwarf called with alarm and began scampering for all he was worth.  He reached the exit and leapt up, reaching the floor level with his two hands and dangling with his toes just shy of the floor.

Samuel was just behind and, grasping the little man by the waist, he shoved Doonan up and into the tower.  He then clambered up beside him.  Gathering his breath, he looked behind to see that the roof of the bridge was a wreck—smashed where the wizard had landed and pulverised in patches all the way along.  Somehow, he did not relish meeting any man who could create such damage with his feet alone. 

Beyond and below, the many levels of the citadel were speckled with fires and the shadows of men locked in deadly competition to win the fortress.  The sounds of the battle carried up to him easily on the wind.

‘Come!’ Doonan called, already away along the carpeted hall.  ‘We need to catch him.’

Samuel took a deep breath and started after the nimble
,
little man.  They
encountered
a set of stairs and Samuel bound
ed
up them in sets of three and four.  He could feel Balten racing ahead of them, vaulting atop the rooftops and using his spells to run along the very walls.  Furious spells spat out and the tower rocked with each booming explosion that struck against it.  They came to a set of tight
,
spiralling stairs and Samuel raced up, pulling himself up by the hands as well as his feet, such was his hurry.  He
came to
a trapdoor at the top
,
pushed it open and was out under the sky in one swift movement.