She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (7 page)

Just then, a shudder in the pattern had all the magicians looking to the east along the hilltop, where the weaves of Grand Master Orien abruptly ceased.

‘Gods!’ Anthem swore.

Gallivan, beside him, looked beyond belief.

‘What is it?’ Goodfellow asked.

‘Grand Master Orien is dead,’ Samuel replied.

‘How?’ Eric asked, keeping his head down, but Samuel only shook his head in response.  He did not know.

‘I will go,’ Gallivan said and almost simultaneously he bound up in to the air, propelled by his Leaping spell in the manner of a huge flea.  As he sailed through the air to where Orien had fallen, a dark sliver spiralled up from the ground to meet him.  It found him in the air and snapped tight, like a length of rope, and all Samuel could see through the dust and haze was Gallivan falling to earth like a rock, trailing tatters of ruined magic.

‘Assassins!’ Anthem hissed.  ‘The Lions be warned!’

‘What is it, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked, but the old man looked ill with dread.

At that moment, the battle fell upon them as the Gartens breached their defences and spilled up over the hill.  Samuel was bowled to the ground with the Erics atop him.  A defiant roar from Anthem cleared the area of Gartens, but it took time for the three younger magicians to regain their feet.  When they did, there was no sign of Captain Adell at all.

The line on the hill had completely broken and men were now fighting all over in disorganised clumps.  There was no sign of General Canard to the south, but it was clear his forces had retreated, so now the Turians were fighting back to back, with Gartens on either side of them. 

Grand Masters Jurien and Tudor then came hobbling out of the fray towards them.  Jurien’s robes were torn and singed and he looked full of alarm. 

‘We must make a channel,’ he gasped, bent over with age and lacking his stick to aid him.  ‘We need to save as many of these men as we can.’

A Turian soldier had found the old man’s staff and came hurrying with it to his side.  The withered old magician had just started to reach for his trusty aid, when the soldier thrust his hand up into Jurien’s neck, stabbing him ferociously with a hidden blade.

Samuel nearly leapt out of his skin in fright, but Anthem acted instantly, killing the assassin before he could flee.

‘A spy,’ Tudor said, sounding every bit as old as he looked.  He shook his head forlornly at the corpse of old Jurien.  Bending down, he plucked up the abandoned walking staff and rolled it over in his leathered hands.  ‘Curse this day—and it is just beginning.’

Gallivan came looming out of the haze from the opposite direction.  He also looked haggard, but at least he had somehow escaped the trap meant for him.  ‘We are the last three,’ he declared with woe.  ‘The other Lions are dead—already overcome.’

Anthem nodded solemnly.  ‘This battle is lost,’ he told them.  ‘We are pinned between two much greater armies and it is evident they came prepared to kill us Lions in particular.  It seems we have been proven the fools.  We have underestimated the Gartens greatly.  Levin, you must get these three to safety,’ and Grand Master Tudor nodded.  ‘I will stay and wreak death and ruination upon these men, and give them reason to regret they found us.  They may have won the battle, but few of them will live to tell of it.’

Gallivan stepped up to the old Grand Master proudly.  ‘And I will join you, Janus.’

‘Let us stay,’ Samuel implored them.  ‘We can stand together.’

But Anthem only scolded him.  ‘Don’t be a young fool, Samuel.  We’re not staying just to throw our lives away.  We can do far more here without you three to worry about, and of most importance is keeping you out of harm’s way.  We Lions are old and have far outlasted our golden years.  You three are the future of the Order, but you will not live to see your potential if you do not live out this day.’

Gallivan then spoke up and he was even more dramatic.  Even at such a dangerous moment, it seemed the regal Lions could not abandon their grandiloquent habits.  ‘The Lions have had their moment in the sun, and today will forever mark a place in history!  Whether we win or lose, our foe will remember this hour, and it will strike fear into their hearts forever more!’

Shouts of panic drew their attention, just in time, to some great shape leaping upon them.  A reptilian face and a long
,
scaly body flashed past, crashing into Grand Master Gallivan and dragging him away with it down the hill.

Even Grand Master Anthem was bewildered and surprised, looking utterly lost for words.  Gallivan and the creature had already disappeared into the smoke and so there was nothing anyone could do.  ‘We need a clear view of this situation,’ he finally stated.  ‘I don’t recall the Gartens ever having such beasts as this.  Something is amiss.’

While the old man pondered further, Samuel saw the opportunity to be of use.  He slipped the Argum Stone onto his finger and summoned its strength.  A surge of adrenalin made his heart leap and at once he began throwing out the weaves and spells that would move the air and clear this smoke.  At first, it felt as though all was going well, but the magic of the ring would not be quelled when he wished it.  As he began to worry, more and more magic forced its way out and into his spells.  Too much power overwhelmed him and then the magic went wild.  He struggled desperately to regain some control, knowing the others were watching him, but it was already too late.  A spell of enormous proportions had been released
,
a spell of Moving of sorts, and it gripped the air above them and shunted it away with a single
,
colossal heave that made the hills around the valley shiver as if stricken with fear.

The wind that hit them felt like a wall of stone and it struck with a sudden terrible violence, tearing every man on the crest from his feet and tossing them away like dried leaves, leaving only the magicians holding
fast
to the ground for grim fear of death.  Those on lower ground dropped to their bellies lest they share the same fate, and they were saved from the full force of the gale.  The roaring noise was deafening and it blinded them and pulled at their clothes and skin as if to strip them bare.  Sand and specks bit their faces and filled their lungs.

‘That’s enough, Samuel!’ Anthem screamed into his ear, digging his fingers into the earth to hold on, but Samuel still could not control his spell.

He could feel the power of the ring burning its way inside him, creeping its way down his arm and towards his core.  Only the hardened discipline of all his years in the School of Magic enabled him to focus his mind and he began separating himself from the Argum Stone piece by piece, closing off its power as well as he could.  He had nearly met with success, when a nearby surge of magic caught his attention.  A Great Spell had formed somewhere close by, for it was the only kind of magic powerful enough to distract him at this point.  He felt it coalesce and gather unto the point of realisation and then, in a single gulp, it was gone. 

Despite the distraction, he had no time to ponder the cause and Samuel fought back against the oppressive power of the Argum Stone.  As quickly as it had come upon him, the onslaught of magic ended and he pulled the ring from his scalded finger and threw it back into his pocket before anyone could gain their wits.

With the spell ended, the wind died away almost at once.  As Samuel shook himself off and stood, he saw that the smoke and dust and haze of the battleground had cleared; blown away with the wind.  Grand Masters Anthem and Tudor were still beside him.  Goodfellow was lying dazed some scant yards away, but Eric Pot was nowhere to be seen.

The silence was eerie, for perhaps half a million men all around—a sea of humans as far as the eye could perceive—had dropped to their stomachs for cover.  Slowly, they raised their heads as they realised the hell-storm had passed and those that scrambled to their feet and readied their weapons the quickest had the first chance to strike those beside them.  The quiet rose back to a roar and in the space of three heartbeats the battle had returned to full intensity.  By now
,
there was barely half of the Turian colours left, huddled together in a
bunch
around the magicians and along the rise.  Somehow, despite the Turian losses and the fact they faced overwhelming numbers, the battle continued in all directions.

The gore-covered form of General Canard appeared nearby, emerging from a mound of shields and bodies, and he staggered towards them.  His armour was gone, somehow stripped away, and he had been fighting bare-chested and wounded, true to stubborn Turian form.

‘Come to me, Turians!’ he rallied and dozens of his men hurried to defend him.

‘Curious,’ Anthem stated, ignoring the general’s call altogether.  ‘The Garten forces from the north and the south have reached each other and seem to be battling one another.’

‘What can it mean?’ said Tudor, stepping up beside him to see, still holding onto Grand Master Jurien’s staff.

Anthem shook his head and scratched at his wispy old beard.  ‘I have no idea, but it still does not help us.  We are still stuck in the middle of this mess.  He then turned back to Tudor.  ‘Take these two—up into the hills.  I will give you as much time as I can.’ 

‘What about Eric?’ Goodfellow asked with alarm, looking around them.  ‘Where is he?’

‘If I find him, I will take care of him,’ Anthem replied, ‘but
,
for now
,
we can only hope he is still alive.  You have your own skins to save.’

‘Follow me as closely as you can,’ Grand Master Tudor told the two of them, and he cast the walking staff of Grand Master Jurien back to the earth beside
the
body
of his friend
.  ‘Hurry!’  And with that he was away, speeding on remarkably spry legs and Samuel and Goodfellow followed.

They had almost made it fair across the battlefield, with old Tudor blasting a path before him, when something made Samuel stop and turn around.  Anthem had set himself into a casting stance and had thrown his arms apart, unleashing a flood of magic into the air before him that tore the pattern to shreds.  An otherworldly scene was visible for the briefest of moments, a vision of hellfire and horror, until another spell from the old man sealed the rift shut once more and the air was returned to its normal state.  Such a spell was truly a wonder to behold.

‘A mighty spell,’ Tudor mentioned, waiting at Samuel’s side, ‘but not at all delicate.  He is in too much of a hurry.  I hope he can control whatever he has brought.’

Samuel was about to query the comment when the meaning became clear.  In the
few, brief
moments that Anthem had bridged worlds, he had brought something through and it was now beginning to materialise.  The air shimmered and a hideous behemoth of demonic proportions came into being, covered in billowing fire, crushing a hundred men beneath it as it appeared.  The creature roared out with wrath as it beheld its surroundings, and it reached out with its enormous muscled arms and began plucking up the men
in its path
.  The multitude of Gartens around it dropped their weapons and crushed against each other in
their
frantic effort
s
to be away.  A brave few went at it with their swords, but they were the next to disappear into its gnashing maw.

‘How can he hope to control it?’ Goodfellow asked, hurrying along at the sight of the thing.

‘He won’t,’ the old man replied.  ‘He had no time for that.  I think he only plans to cause as much havoc as possible and
,
if any of us happen
s
to live
,
we can deal with the creature then.  In any event, such summons only last
s
while the spell that brought it prevails.  The creature will return to its world in due course, as nature requires.  Anything that is brought between worlds cannot remain long.’

Samuel had time to see the beast throw forty men to their deaths with one sweep of its hand, before the hillside trees obscured his view.  Grand Master Tudor did not slow or pause a step and was dragging them up and into the light cover at once.

‘Quickly!’ he hissed at them and they continued on their way.

They were given no time to rest, even when they made the edge of the valley, as the old magician was already starting up the rugged incline, scampering over rocks and logs, up the slippery shale, darting about like a mountain goat.  The roar and clatter of the battlefield still sounded strong behind them as they climbed the hill, broken by the occasional bellow from Anthem’s summoned monstrosity.