She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (4 page)

‘Samuel!’ Eric called beside him, recoiling at the carnage.  ‘Calm yourself!  This is just the beginning.’

He was trying his best to limit the flow
of power
, but it took all his effort to keep the torrent from breaking its banks and overcoming him.  If that happened, and all the power of the ring tore through him at once, it would almost certainly be the end for him.  The Argum Stone was a difficult beast to master.

The rest of the Garten army had now sprung into motion and
they
came leaping over the bodies of their fallen,
surrounding
upon the magicians in a semi-circle.  Despite the number of dead already, barely a fraction of their total had been
diminished
so far.

Again the magicians lashed out with streams of power that cut chunks from the Garten ranks, but more men filled their places and more men
still
clambered over the broken corpses of their comrades to get at the Empire’s magicians.  Explosions began to pock the dark masses of furred men as Eric began desperately slinging knots of furious magic into them.  Goodfellow was now spraying the Gartens with sparks that leapt between them and burrowed through their flesh, burning and scalding the invaders so
that
they screamed and impeded their fellows with their fitting. 

Samuel continued
to assail
the
N
orth-men with short
,
measured bursts of power from the ring, felling twenty men with each
carefully aimed
release.  Each time he reached for its magic
,
he
felt as if
he
was thrusting his arms into boiling water, for it seemed the more he used its power
,
the more it punished him.  Such pain was too much to endure for very long and he looked at the endless tide of warriors before him with dread.  He considered opening himself entirely and unleashing a single
,
unbridled burst of the Argum Stone’s fury, but the consequences were entirely unpredictable.  He longed to have the battle finished, but he pushed the thought away and kept on at his task with stubborn perseverance.

‘I think we’ve gotten ourselves into a spot of trouble,’ Goodfellow stated, calling out above the throng.  He was already dripping with sweat and wiping it from his eyes with his mud-splattered sleeves at every opportunity.

‘Keep going as long as you can,’ Eric responded, ‘but save your last reserves so we can make our escape.  I don’t think we’re going to make much of a dent in their numbers.  It looks like their whole army has arrived.’

Goodfellow swallowed nervously, for the Garten host had already enfolded them and
,
whilst the nearest of men were attacking them, the vast majority of the Gartens were simply running by and ignoring them, set on taking the town.

‘We have to stop them!’ Eric called out.

‘We’ve bloody
well got our hands full as it is!’ Goodfellow called back.

Samuel would have joined the dialogue, but his jaw was locked shut with pain.  He could smell an acrid vapour as the hair on his arms began to smoulder, but he put it from his mind and let loose another scathing beam of power that cut a row of
N
orth-men in two at the waists.  He had not expected the spell to be so violent, and it was a tragic waste of power, but such was the unpredictable nature of the Argum Stone’s magic.

A wailing horn sounded from amongst the horde and the clot of
N
orth-men around the trio gave up their efforts and instead pulled back to form a solid wall.  They held onto their axes and weapons and snarled impatiently, barking to each other in the rough Garten tongue.

‘What’s this?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Magicians,’ Samuel responded, for the pause had allowed him to squeeze the ring from his finger and gather his breath.  With his head clearing, he could see the telltale glow of magicians making their way forward through the pack.

‘Where are they, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked, for neither he nor the other Eric possessed Samuel’s uncanny ability to see magic itself.

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
B
arrier 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
N
orth-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
N
orth-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
N
orth-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
N
orth-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
N
orth-men.