As he looked around,he became aware that steep,rugged hills lined the valley sides. As Adell had said, they would be treacherous to scale, making the valley difficult to enter or escape for any but a few fleet-footed men. A murder of crows cawed out from their roosts and rocks on the hillside where they waited. Samuel eyed them ruefully, for they looked fattened and well fed. All around was a scene of violence and destruction. And,in the air,hung the pervading smell of death.
In the distance, a long dark wall of men was visible, coming down the valley toward them-the Gartens. They came as one flowing mass, blowing horns and howling and waving their banners of war, trotting as if they could taste the scent of victory already. A few straggling groups of mud-and-blood-encrusted Turians came running past the magicians, their eyes wide and their faces fraught with fear. One stopped, gasping through lips that were cracked and caked in blood.
‘Run, you damned fools!’ he spoke. ‘The battle’s lost! Everyone’s dead or routed already. A massive Garten army has arrived. What we saw last night was nothing! They cover the land as far as the eye can see and they are funnelling into the valley as we speak. Make for the woods while you can!’ And then he was off after his fellows, struggling to stay on his legs.
Samuel looked at his friendsbyhis sides-Eric on his left, Goodfellow to his right-and they nodded that they were ready. They each gathered their thick,black cloaks around them, for the wind was chill and bitter, and together they continued forward. Eric Pot and Goodfellow had begun summoning their power, while Samuel slipped a hand into his pocket, feelingaroundto be sure his ring was still tucked tightly inside.
The Garten host ahead was,indeed,enormous. It filled the valley, shoulder to shoulder, side to side,and stretched back like a sea of shields and swords. They came from the frigid north in their furs, bearing axes and swords. They had none of the discipline and training of the Imperial army, yet they made up for that with their sheer strength, ferocity and overwhelming numbers. Samuel briefly considered reasoning with them,to find some way to end the battle before more blood was spilled, but the thought was fleeting. He could feel the bloodlust that saturated the air. Nothing would keep these men from this battle. The town of Rampeny was within sight and the Gartens were killing everyone and destroying everything they met on Imperial soil, such was their hatred for the Empire. Samuel could hardly blame them. For all thewrongdoings theEmpire had done in the past, few except the Turians themselves had any reason to love it.
‘We’d better hurry,’ Goodfellow noted and the three sprang into a brisk run. The sun was warming quickly and they tired before long, dropping their heavy Order cloaks to the mud. Fromthat point on, they padded along in just their black shirts and trousers, now ignorant of the bitter wind.
After just a few minutes, they felt they had found a decent place to make their stand-halfway towards the impending host. They stopped to gather their breath, waiting as theNorth-men bore down upon them.
The steps of the Gartens were a thunderous clatter and their shouts were deafening. The men came towards them as a single,cacophonous carpet of jostling weapons that filled the valley’s breadth completely. The sight and sound of such a force was far more intimidating than Samuel could have guessed.
‘I think you may have gotten us into some trouble,Owise Lord Samuel,’ Eric stated mischievously.
‘I’ve never seen so many people in one place,’ Goodfellow added. ‘I think we should hurry back while we can.’
‘It’s too late now,’ Samuel finished.
As theNorth-men neared, he could see the whites of their eyes and their leering teeth. The foremost of the Garten army were only a hundred paces away and they began charging, screaming savagely. Three lone magicians must have offered a tempting opportunity and every man seemed eager to make the first kill.
‘Well?’ Eric prompted. ‘I think this is a good time for us to do something.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel could sense Goodfellow nod, and so he slipped his hand into his pocket and wiggled his finger into the magical ring at its bottom. At once, the magic of the Argum Stone filled him, making his skin feel taut andhis bodytremble with energy. Energy flooded his senses, bursting from the ether all around and entering him via the ring. He could see the magic billowing out from within himself, whipping around him like ribbons in a storm as he struggled to contain it. As always, he had to calm himself and force the power to slow to a trickle. Such volumes of magic had the potential to overwhelm his senses or damage his mind and body. That was the magicians’ Achilles’ Heel: they had access to magic and could accomplish the impossible, but the toll upon themselves could be equally devastating.
Eric began first, sending out in an explosion of force and power that blew the Gartens on the left from their feet and shattered their bones within their limbs. The men on Samuel’s right became engulfed in flames and flailed around in the mud as Goodfellow sent out a jet of magic which turned to billowing fire amongst them. Samuel followed suit, focussing his attention on the Gartens straight ahead of them, and he set his gathered magic to work. With the barest of thoughts, raw power exploded from within him and tore a mass of men into little more than chunks of flesh and a spray of scarlet mist. His magic contorted atop the battlefield, churning up furrows of earth and tossing bodies in all directions. Such was the ferocity of the ring, that he barely had need to form any particular spell. The sheer intensity of the magic itself was enough to kill.
‘Samuel!’ Eric called beside him, recoiling at the carnage. ‘Calm yourself! This is just the beginning.’
He was trying his best to limit the flowof 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 andtheycame leaping over the bodies of their fallen,surroundingupon the magicians in a semi-circle. Despite the number of dead already, barely a fraction of their total had beendiminishedso 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 menstillclambered 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 sothatthey screamed and impeded their fellows with their fitting.
Samuel continuedto assailtheNorth-men with short,measured bursts of power from the ring, felling twenty men with eachcarefully aimedrelease. Each time he reached for its magic,hefelt as ifhewas 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 bloodywell 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 ofNorth-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 ofNorth-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
