She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (34 page)

He looked at Doonan for a moment, as if genuinely concerned, but it was fleeting, and he turned to Samuel.  ‘This way.’

‘Have you seen the Grand Master?’ Samuel asked him.  ‘He must have come this way.’

Balten considered his answer momentarily.  ‘No, but the citadel is lost.’

‘He tried to kill me,’ Samuel said, pointing to the dead midget.

Balten looked truly puzzled.  ‘I don’t know why.  That was not part of my instructions.’

‘Then it’s something I will need to bring up with your
M
aster when I meet him.  Now, I must get back to General Mar.  Can you lead her out of here safely?  It’s too dangerous here.’

‘If that is what you wish, Samuel,’ Balten replied, and he winced, showing weakness for the first time that Samuel had known the man.  There was a tear in his coat and a dark stain around it.  ‘As you can see, I am injured—Om-rah escaped, but I managed to give him a few wounds of his own to go and lick.  Unfortunately, his blood has poisoned me, but it’s nothing I cannot withstand.  I have enough strength left to take her to safety, but I will need to rest before I am much use.’

‘Very well.’  Samuel then turned to the god-woman.  ‘Go with Balten, back to the others.’  He turned again to Balten.  ‘I seem to have accrued more than my fair share of debt with you.’

‘Be that as it may, I do what I must.’

With that, Balten left, granting the girl
in
tow no more gentleness than had Samuel.  Her eyes
,
still devoid of any expression,
trailed upon Samuel as she was dragged away
.

Samuel
hastened
off again.  It seemed as if this night would never end, and he had traversed up and down the height of the citadel more times than he cared to recall.  It was worrying that he could not sense the old Grand Master anywhere nearby, but it was easy for one man, even one as powerful as old Tudor, to become lost amongst the energies of so many others.  As he clambered along, he felt two other familiar magicians nearby and he began calling out for them.

‘Eric!’ he called and
,
for once
,
it was convenient to have two friends with the one name.

The two of them came rushing in toward him.  They both were drenched with sweat and covered in blood.  Goodfellow had black soot smeared across his face and his eyeglasses were chipped in one corner.

‘Samuel!’ Goodfellow exclaimed.  ‘The citadel is swarming with Paatin and the general is trapped within the main tower.  His trumpets still call out for help, but there is no one left to go to his aid.  We thought you would have been there by now.’

‘I ran into some trouble.  I’m off to find him now.’

‘What about the Grand Master?’ Eric asked.

‘I saw him,’ Samuel said, ‘but I passed out.  I have no idea where he’s gone now.’

‘We came this way looking for him,’ Eric continued.  ‘We felt his power rise and then vanish.  I hope he has not been overcome.’

‘I hope not,’ Samuel said. 

‘But how will we get to the general.  The tower is now filled with the Paatin.’

‘Balten seemed to have a decent method,’ Samuel said.  ‘The inside of the tower may be taken, but the outside walls are free.’

‘Good idea!’ Eric said
,
with boyish enthusiasm.  ‘Let’s go.’

They made for the closest courtyard and the three of them looked up at the towering chunk of polished stone above them.

‘We still need to make our way across the rooftops.  We can climb the smaller towers and then get across to the main structure.’

Eric agreed.  ‘Wall-walking spells will do fine.  I felt a Paatin wizard earlier, but he seems to have gone.’

‘Yes,’ said Samuel.  ‘That was Om-rah.  Balten said he has been wounded and has withdrawn, so we should not be accosted if we move quickly.’

‘I was going to try Gallivan’s Leaping spell to speed things along a bit.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Samuel said.  ‘Eric, can you manage that?’ he asked, turning to Goodfellow.

‘I think so,’ the sandy-haired magician said.  ‘If one of you goes first, I will do my best to follow.’

Eric nodded and prepared himself, summoning his power.  Then, exhaling slowly, he formed the spell and gave a great jump as he did so, springing up onto the nearest rooftop and landing with a crash and a clatter.  The spell was well
formed and Samuel was again impressed with his friend’s talent.

‘I’m all right!’ he called back
in
a slightly pained voice.  ‘Just don’t forget to brace when you land!  Why do they put all these things up here?  It’s covered in pots and pans and all sorts of rubbish.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Samuel said.  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked of his remaining friend.

‘I think so,’ Goodfellow said, with a dash of uncertainty.  He prepared the spell and hopped on the spot, landing back in place awkwardly.  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking embarrassed.  ‘I forgot something.’  With that
,
he tried again, preparing the spell and making a jump.  Simultaneously, he released his magic and successfully vaulted up onto the roof, while Eric was already bounding off to the next highest platform.  ‘Come on!’ he then called back.  ‘It’s easier than it looks.’ 

‘Really?’ Samuel asked, for it did seem quite a difficult task.

‘No,’ came his friend’s reply, and with that he cast a second spell and followed after the first Eric.

Samuel swallowed hard.  He had a nervous lump stuck in his throat, for the idea had sounded promising, but now he actually had to use the ring he was having second thoughts.  It seemed the last time he had used it, he had complete
ly lost
track of time and he had no wish to repeat such an occurrence. 

He drew the silver circle out of his pocket and slid it gently past his second knuckle, feeling the familiar rush of power that accompanied it.  ‘Here goes nothing,’ he said to himself.  He called to the ring and formed his spell, bending his legs in preparation.  ‘Just a little...power.’ 

Release.

The rushing air blinded him and whooshed in his ears.  He could feel the lack of hard stone beneath his feet and knew he must have met some success, but he only slowed enough to open his watering eyes once the initial power of the spell had burned away. 

A sense of weightlessness surrounded him.  He was thrilled with his success for the spell had worked well.  He had been thrown high into the air and had now reached the apex of his leap and was momentarily suspended in mid-air.  All he would have to do now was land.  As gravity began to do its work and t
ake
hold of him once again, he looked down with a horrible realisation, for the Leaping spell seemed to have worked a little too well.  He was far above his target; indeed, he was far above the highest tower of Ghant, above even the nearest peak.  The lights and fires of Ghant were far below through the misty clouds and he could see a string of torchlights of the Paatin army forming a river that stretched between the mountains across the chasm.  Most of the lights were from torches, but intermittently spaced along the column were the silver outlines of wizards, which only he could see.  On the western side of the mountains, the town of Shallowbrook was a cluster of tiny
,
glowing specks far away. 

The air was freezing and he was dropping like a rock, feet first, with his robes whipping up and around his face as he picked up even more speed, falling faster and faster with every instant.

Fear had no time to overtake him, for he began calling to the Argum Stone on his finger as gently as he could.  ‘
Slow me down! Slow me down!
’ he called into it, trying to pluck the tiniest scraps of power from it, lest another burst of Leaping should send him to the moon.  Below, he could see the tiny magic-lit figures of Eric and Goodfellow just landing atop the main tower and he could almost sense them complaining about him and wondering what was taking him so long.  He hoped the Argum Stone would not fail him, or otherwise he would surprise his friends more than they could imagine once he landed beside them with a great
,
fleshy splash.

Slowly, slowly the ring lent him
its
power.  He scraped the tiniest sparks of magic away from its edge and used them to forge a spell that would hopefully slow his descent.  Still, he was falling fast and he only hoped he had precisely the amount of power he needed. 

He sent the spell out below him and
,
luckily enough, it slowed him as he had hoped.  Hurriedly, he drew some more fragments of power and cast his spell again.  The tower top loomed nearer and nearer and
,
although he was slowing all the while, it still did not seem to be enough.  His legs flailed beneath him as he tried to steady himself and he wailed out loud with concern for his own predicament.  He was not in control of his own lungs, but he could feel his volume increasing in proportion to the tower’s approach.  He had time for one last expulsion of power and so he tried to ignore everything else as he cast the final spell as carefully as he could.  The magic slowed him once more, but there was no time for anything else.

The Erics seemed to be searching for the source of the approaching cry of fear, but neither had
yet
thought to look directly up.

‘Eric!’ he called from above his two friends, and just in time.  The two of them looked up to find him dropping
directly onto
them and Eric threw up a spell at the last instant to catch him.  It cradled his fall, but he still landed quite heavily.

‘I’ve got you!’ Goodfellow called, holding out his hands as if to catch a baby.

‘No!’ Samuel called, but Goodfellow was beneath him.  The two of them crashed together, leaving Samuel sprawled on top of his flattened friend.

‘Are you all right?’ Eric asked with concern.

‘Yes,’ Samuel groaned.

‘No!’ Goodfellow protested.  ‘I think you’ve broken my bum.  What were you doing up there?  I thought you were behind us?’

‘I miscalculated a little,’ Samuel said, standing and helping his bruised friend to his feet.  ‘It doesn’t matter.  Quickly.  We can climb in through the window.’

It only took a minor effort for each of them to swing over the edge and clamber into the command room.  They called out their presence as they did so, not wishing to be set upon by any nervous soldiers. 

Inside, they found Captain Yarn surrounded by the last of his men.  Bodies of Turians and Paatin lay spread about the room and it was obvious that at some stage the door had been broken in.  It was now barricaded with what little furniture has been in the room, and Samuel could easily sense the Paatin
gathering
on the other side.  General Mar lay on the floor, with bandages tied tightly around his middle.  He was still leaking blood from a wound that would soon see him dead and his face was as white as a sheet.

‘Magicians!’ Captain Yarn called out.  ‘Thank goodness you have arrived.  We must get the general to safety.’

But General Mar would hear none of it.  He coughed and clawed his fingers towards the magicians, signalling for them to come to his side.  ‘The citadel must be destroyed,’ he gasped, with wet and laboured breaths.  ‘If the Paatin have it, they will control the passage to the east.  Cast Ghant into the chasm and their path will be blocked.  Their host cannot
be allowed to
pass this way or they will have free reign of inner Turia.’

‘But how?’ Samuel asked of the dying man.

‘It was Tudor’s plan.  Bring down the walls and towers of Ghant and half the mountain will follow.  He was supposed to be here to see us through, but it seems he, too, has fallen.  He should have been here long ago.’  The muscles in the gruff general’s jaw bunched up and he stiffened in pain.  There was no way to plug up the ruin that had been done to the man.

With that, General Mar perished
,
his scintillating aura of energy swallowed up by the darkness of death.  Captain Yarn bent down and closed the dead man’s staring eyes with the palm of his hand.