She Who Has No Name

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 otherinhushed 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 theirBarrier 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 beardedNorth-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. TheNorth-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 nearlyontop 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 saidwarily, 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 beenfadingday 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 theNorth-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 ofNorth-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 fleeingNorth-men.

‘How did you get here so quickly, Grand Master?’ Goodfellow asked of the old magician. ‘We thought you would be much longer yet.’

The old man looked out from beneath his wispy,grey brows and scratched angrily at his long beard as if bees were at his chin. No one knew his true age, but it was enough to say that he had already outlived most others in the Empire. He bore his age well,standing straight and tall. His mind was still as sharp as a tack and his temper was as quick as a nest of wasps, which perhaps explained why he was so feared by his foes andsorespected by his allies. Of all the Lions, old Anthem was the mightiest and,when he spoke, it was with the voice of a man barely beyond middle age, deep and strong and filled with vigour. ‘We split General Canard’s forces from General Warren’s to make it here as quickly as we could. We had to leave behind most of our cavalry and cut across the woods, so I hope it was worth it. I understand you three were rushing out to dig your own graves just as we reached the highway. I was quite looking forward to a good rest and a cup of tea, so you can consider yourselves quite fortunate that we reconsidered and decided to come and save your troublesome skins. It was not a unanimous decision, mind