Something was coming. From across a vast ocean of separation it came-clawing its way towards him-and,inch by inch, moment by moment, it was steadily drawing nearer. Samuel could feel its presence weighing down upon the pattern of existence like a fat and swollen spider lurking at the centre of its sticky web. The power of the thing was intimidating, frightening, threatening; as if it could consume the world-yet he was compelled to look towards it,despite his own good sense, as surely as if someone had grabbed his face and turned it towards the blinding sun. If he were a normal man,he would have been terrified, but he was a magician and,as such, he was gripped by a terrible fascination. He could not imagine anything capable of possessing such power,such mind-boggling potency. Somehow, he knew that its arrival was imminent and also, whatever it was, it was coming with one distinct purpose in mind-to find him.
He had been having this dream almost every night since he had slain the man called Ash. Ash, who had infiltrated the Order of Magicians, who had slain Samuel’s family and who had stolennearlyenough power to ruin the world. Ashhad been transformed into some kind of hideous god as they had struggled together, each wielding immense power, but,of the two of them, only Samuel had survived.
While Ash had been a common man coming to terms with his god-like state, Samuel had been developing and refining his own powers all his life. Finally, Samuel’s experience and knowledge of magic had proven victorious and Ash had been destroyed. The whole city had been witness to their great battle of magic atop the High Tower-a battle that had almost split the heavens in the process-and,through his victory,Samuel had become a champion within the Order of Magicians, placing him almost akin to the legendary Lions of Cintar.
The Saviour of Cintar, some now called him. It felt a hollow title, for he had not been facing Ash out of any noble or valiant cause. It was only his desire for revenge that had driven him onto that windy tower top,and it was only his hatred for the one who had continually escaped and frustrated him that had forced him to persevere. In the end, Samuel had satiated his thirst for revenge, but a void had taken its place. He had been exalted to the status of a Lord for his efforts.Yet now he was without purpose and was finding it difficult to be so revered by an Empire that he had little love for in return.
That had been two years ago and the continent of Amandia had been transformed in the time since; it had fallen into a war that had left the once-great Empire tattered and trembling. Ithad been saved from decimation at the hands of Ash, but with the Archmage and Emperor both dead and with the Staff of Elders, magical icon of the Order, destroyed, the Turian Empire had received a staggering blow.
The Order of Magicians had been forced into action in a desperate attempt to keep the Empire from collapsing altogether, following the very path of violence it had struggled to avoid for decades. With the forces of Garteny pouring down from the north, the magicians of the Empire had been left with no choice but to offer up their skills for warfare. If they had not, the war might already have been over, for the Garten armies had been cutting swaths of destruction across the Turian Empire. Its forces were skilled and readied from generations of preparation, having long been planning for an attack that had never arrived from the Empire.
After untold years of expansion, after almost conquering all the civilised lands of Amandia, Turia itself is now in the unthinkable position of impending collapse. The once-unbreakable Empire is now on its knees. Its last remaining armies and a few spread-thin magicians are all that are keeping the Gartens at bay and these days mark the final great clashes of Garten against Turian.
Fortunately, those few remaining magicians are some of the most powerful the world has seen, with Samuel and his two closest friends considered chief among them-but the Order has no wish to sacrifice its greatest symbol of power. Much to his disgust, Samuel has been kept far from the front lines; relegated to giving speeches to the troops or making token displays of magic, before being ordered away back to safety before the true conflict began.
Since the war with the north had been renewed, Samuel had been sent out from Cintar many times to rally the spirits of the men, but not once had he seen direct combat with the enemy. While all he craved was the opportunity tolaunchhimselfonto the Gartens and unleash his greatest spells, he had been allowed nothing of the sort; kept on a leash by the Magicians’ Council’s strictest commands; ushered away at the first sign of foreign forces.
Even the Erics, his two closest friends, had seen their share of battle, with Eric Pot being a veteran of a score of conflicts, while Samuel had seen none of it. Perhaps it was for the best. With the ancient relic that he had wrestled from Ash, the Argum Stone, on his finger, he had access to unspeakable power, but it was a power he was yet to master; wild and brutish; slippery and deceiving. The battle with Ash had left him shaken and unable to access his own magic and so the ring, kept secret from all, was the only thing that kept him a magician.
‘Come to me, Samuel,’ came a voice though the dream, distracting him from such thoughts of war and Leila appeared before his eyes, just as he remembered her. She was wearing the same clothes as on the day they had first met: a pale summer dress and slippers, with a comb in her hair. She looked as beautiful and fragile as she did then-and he missed her deeply. Just the thought of her had him flailing towards an escapable pit of sorrow.
‘Why are you keeping me waiting?’ she asked,with a pout on her lips. Her face seemed to glow in every detail. Her smile was so pure and perfect. He still loved her with all his heart and,after such dreams as this, he found it difficult to accept that she was dead,another victim of Ash’s ruthless crusade for power.
Other magicians could not feel love or hate or any of the strongest emotions, for using magic had a toll on the heart that could not be reversed, yet Samuel was still cursed with these feelings and he had little control over them.
Sometimes, he would wish that he could remain forever in this dream world, casting off the truths of reality for the sweet embrace of his fantasy; but morning always came and morning ruined everything. No matter how he tried to keep his eyes locked tightly shut,orhow hard he tried to stop himself from waking, daylight would surely force its way under his eyelids. Then, his heart would be gripped by a suffocating sadness and he would become entombed in bitter regret.
‘So you’ll keep me waiting once again?’ he imagined her asking, as she caressed his cheek with a gentle finger. ‘Don’t worry. Morning comes and I must leave you to your affairs. But the day passes ever so quickly. We can be together when night falls once again. You can dream of me forever, until one day you find a way to bring us together. I’m sure you can find a way. If anyone can, it will be you.’
With that, Samuel could no longer ignore the sounds of the day that were competing for his attention, and he opened his eyes with great reluctance. He had been hoping the noises were part of his imagination, but unfortunately, that was not the case. Eric Pot was standing over him and looking down at him with a mix of urgency and annoyance. It seemed that all the shouting and carrying-on he had been doing his best to ignore were, unfortunately, very real.
‘I saidget up, Samuel!’ the neat magician repeated, dressed in his resplendent,black Order cloak. ‘Quit your dreaming. Captain Adell says we’re leaving as soon as we can.’
It took Samuel those few moments to recall where he was. They had been camped outside the town of Rampeny for three weeks, preparing the town’s defences. The men had been digging, building, fortifying and so forth, while Samuel had been dutifully reciting the patriotic speeches that had beendrafted forhim by the Council.
It struck him as quite ironic that neither he nor the Erics were true Turians, for all three had been born in the outer nations-territories that had themselves been conquered by the Empire long ago. Still, it no longer bothered him as much as it once did. Their true allegiance was to the Order of Magicians and, in turn, to all the people of Amandia, whether they be Garten or Turian or other. They would do their best to end the war andusher in along-sought time of peace. It was a worthy goal, but,quite ironically, it seemed that an awful lot of bloodshed was required to reach it.
The Order had been created as little more than a tool for the late Emperor, and all hopes had been thatitwould be free frompoliticalmanipulation after his demise. Unfortunately, little had changed since the man’s death and their splendid ambitions just did not seem to be materialising. So it was that they had been sent to Rampeny, and Samuel found himself wondering, once more, how the land had fallen into such a sorry state.
Two days ago,the enemy had neared sooner than anyone had predicted and the Turian defence had gone forth in response, setting the earth to tremble as they marched by. Samuel had not been allowed to leave the camp, but he had heard enough of the reports to know that the hills beyond the valley were a scene of total slaughter, and his magician’s senses only reinforced this. Casualties had been enormous for both sides, but the defence had so far prevailed.
The news after that had been grim. Unfortunately, the initial assault upon them had only been the beginning. The Turian defenders had steadily been whittled away,day by day, hour by hour,as more Gartens had arrived. Captain Adell’s company of men was not supposed to face such odds on its own, but the soldiers were doing their best in the situation, desperately awaiting their reinforcements from the capital. The magicians had been doing what they could to help, taking turns maintaining an illusion of a larger Turian force entrenched around the town. It was perhaps only this that had kept the Gartens from committing themselves entirely, but it seemed even the usefulness of this ruse had ended. Reports indicated a massive army was approaching from the north and its arrival would signal the inevitable demise of the little border town.
Eric had begun gathering up his clothes and stuffing them into his pack,while Samuel still struggled to wake himself and find his feet.
‘Forget packing,’ Eric Goodfellow declared, sweeping inside the tent. He looked decidedly worried, blinking behind his eyeglasses. ‘I think we’re going to fall back and abandon the town right now.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Everything has gone to hell during the night and we’re making an immediate retreat. Captain Adell is almost down to his last man.’
Samuel considered the situation and was about to capitulate, when some unknown compulsion in the back of his mind made itself known. He was sick of running; he was sick of hiding behind the skirts of the Order. He had vast power at his beckand call. This time, he would stand his ground. ‘No. We can’t turn tail and let the Gartens run havoc where they will. It’s time we stopped sitting on our hands and did something useful. I’m tired of retreating every time there’s a hint of danger. More innocent lives will be lost if the Gartens continue their push into Turia. Let’s show them what we can do.’
‘But we’re not supposed to get involved in the fighting at all,’ Goodfellow objected, always one to follow the rules. ‘The Council was quite clear. We should have been on our way back to Cintar days ago.’
‘We only have to delay them a little longer, Eric. We’re not children any more. We just happen to be three of the most talented magicians the Order has left, so ifwecan’t hold the Gartens back for a few more hours, who can?’
Eric Pot shook his head. ‘It would be madness for us to go out there alone, Samuel. I’ve been in several situations like this, but the magicians always went in well-prepared and gave support from afar, not running amok in the midst of the battle like fools. The three of us won’t do much good by ourselves.’
‘So do you suggest wejustgive up?’ Samuel asked him.
Eric adjusted his dark robes into place and stood straight, looking the very model of an Order magician. ‘We should withdraw as we have been told. A retaliatory attack can be mounted once our reinforcements arrive. That is the most sensible thing to do.’
Samuel had been long vexed by the fact that Eric had been proving so useful to the Order, while he had been mothered at home and kept from the battlefronts. The fact that Eric was also correct did not make him feel any better. ‘Well, I’m going to see what I can do,’ he declared and stormed outside, casting the tent-flap aside. He could almost hear Goodfellow gulp with apprehension behind him.
Stepping out into the overcast day, Samuel spied Captain Adell huddled with his men at the edge of the camp. More soldiers were scurrying in every direction like ants, busily preparing to abandon the camp. Samuel sniffed, for the air was rife with smoke and the rusty tincture of blood carried upon the morning breeze. Grey clouds hung over them forlornly and the camp was beset with a quiet gloom,making for the most melancholy of scenes. Summoning his best steely visage, Samuel startedtowards the troops, while the Erics followed closely behind him, each still muttering curses at his back.
‘Captain Adell!’ he hailed, arriving amongst the commander and his men.
The captain was a veteran of countless battles, yet his face was hung with dread as he briefed his men. ‘Get back into your tent, Magician,’ he lamented on sight of Samuel. ‘The last thing I need is your flapping gums.’
He turned back to his discussion, but Samuel would not be ignored. ‘There’s no talk to be done here, Captain. Just point the way to the enemy. We will see to them now.’
The captain was taken aback and turned his gaze to Samuel with a look of disbelief. ‘Take a look around if you want to find the enemy, you fool Magician! There’s only one way for them to approach-along the blasted valley. My men are virtually routed and you Order folk have done nothing but lie idle in your tent while we’ve gone to the slaughter. Are you saying you’ve decided to help now? Now that we’re as good as lost?’
The excitable Master Crisp came hurrying over from between the rows of tents. He had been assigned to them by the Magicians’ Council and had the unenviable task of keeping the three of them out of trouble. He was a highly-strung man, spending more time rushing about than achieving much of anything.
‘Lord Samuel!’ he panted, sweating within his hood, despite the cool morning air. ‘We need to leave. As I’m sure Captain Adell has told you, things here have taken a turn for the worse!’
But Samuel only gave the unfortunate magician a look of disdain and returned his attention to Adell. ‘Captain, when do we expect the reinforcements to arrive?’
The man scowled at the thought. ‘General Canard and General Warren are approaching with all haste but,even so, the first of their forces may not begin arriving for several hours. It will be too late to make any difference and,by then, the Gartens will hold the town and the open spaces while we will be relegated to the woods-and there is little we can do from there. Still, there is one small piece of good news: I hear the Lions are with them.’
Samuel’s eyes opened wide at the answer. Once the Lions arrived the battle would be as good as won.
‘But if they don’t arrive before the Gartens take the town, it won’t matter,’ Captain Adell continued. ‘Ten Lions and the Emperor Himself-rest his soul-won’t be able to slow the Gartens once they get through this valley. This is a perfect chance to halt their advance, but it’s slipping through our fingers with each passing moment.’
‘Then we’ll do our best until they come,’ Samuel replied and surprised them all by stepping straight through the middle of them and making directly towards the valley.
‘Lord Samuel! This is foolishness!’ Master Crisp called from behind, but Samuel continued away, heading up the short slope and towards the rising pillars of smoke in the distance.
‘Very well. If you are intent on this foolishness then we are with you, Samuel,’ spoke Eric, hurrying with Goodfellow to be at his side.
The two magicians had grown stronger over the last few years. Together, the three of them could probably stop a small army of men without too much difficulty. Unfortunately, as they crested the hill and the situation before them became clear, it looked as if they were facing considerably worse than that.
The sun made only a pale stain amongst the grey morning clouds, for the sky was still drab and morose. Below, across what were once fields and pastures squeezed between the hills, lay a scene of chaos. The earth had been churned by the passing of thousands of booted feet. No grass or shrub or tree could be seen and even the fence posts had been battered flat into the mud. Not far away, armoured bodies-in various states of injury and amputation-littered the ground amongst blackened pools of their own blood. Most lay in desperate and contorted positions, as if their agony had been frozen in time. Some men were still moaning,some were screaming, but few were still moving. The battle must have swept through here sometime during the night, and Samuel was amazed that he could have slept through it all. At least, he reminded himself, the Garten push had so far been repelled.
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 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 you. I would much rather have had my tea!’
Eric gave the old man his best cheeky smile. ‘You had to come and spoil our fun. We would have been done with the Gartens in another minute or two.’
The old man guffawed. ‘Nearly done for, is more like it, from what I saw. We were already making bets on which of you would be runthrough first. Now,why don’t you three take note of how things are done properly? For goodness sake; you gave up perfectly good highground and marched down amongst the enemy and let them surround you-a tactical sin of the worst degree! A blind oaf with a bucket on his head would not have stumbled into so great a calamity.’
The three red-faced magicians returned their attention to the valley, where the warhorses were cutting down the furredNorth-men by the droves. Their wedged formations thundered through the Gartens, before swinging around in great arcs to come back at them from the opposite direction. The Lions, meanwhile, had spread themselves further around the valley and were picking off any individuals who attempted to scramble up the difficult slopes, with spells that shot out like flashing arrows.
Not far from them, General Canard directed the battle, his captains and his trumpeters at his side. Master Crisp hovered there nervously, standing on his tiptoes to get a look over their shoulders at the maps in their hands.
A flash of magic drew Samuel’s attention as a distant figure came leaping across the valley and landed crouching beside them. It was Grand Master Gallivan and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood straight, letting the Leaping spell dissolve away from around him.
‘It’s not over yet, Janus,’ he said, setting his marvellous black moustache to wobble. ‘They’ve more men coming in from behind. Many more. They sent the wild men in first, but Otgart’s finest are waiting behind for their turn-heavy footmen. They’ll come at us next. We’re lucky we arrived when we did.’
‘Then we’ll withdraw the horses once they’re done and ready the defence,’ Anthem responded. ‘General!’ he called and strode over to give his advice. When he was finished, looking contented that his suggestion had been accepted, he strolled back, placing his palm above his eyes and peering to the distance.
‘Do you think they’ll attack again?’ Samuel asked.
‘They’ve no other way,’ Anthem replied, eyeing the valley slopes. ‘These hills are steep and treacherous in all directions, covered in rifts and crevices. Unless they want to spend a week crossing them, they need to come through here. It’s just a matter of how soon.’
Distant horns blew from the Gartens, sounding thin and faded, but it was enough to make the horsemen in the valley turn from their task and begin galloping their mounts back up the rise.
Anthem peered towards the distance. ‘It looks like they are coming already. They are impatient to meet their deaths.’
At the same time, General Canard’s commanders started barking orders and one of his signalmen drew a thin,patterned flag from its cover and began waving it high overhead. In immediate response, the Imperial forces readied. Hundreds of squads, each of a hundred men, raised their shields anddrewtheir swords. Rows of lancers and axeman and pikemen readied. Packs of archers and javelin throwers checked over their weapons one last time. Behind that, more and more men awaited, packed together, promising violence.
If the Gartens knew what lay waiting beyond the rise, they would perhaps have given up their assault and fled, for the sight of the Turian army, primed to be unleashed, was truly breathtaking.
Far behind, the town of Rampeny waited quietly while its fate was decided. Tiny figures could still be seen fleeing at its edges and,hopefully,most of the inhabitants would soon be away, but Samuel knew the old and the infirm were often left to fend for themselves in times like these, barricaded away inside their homes.
‘We shall meet them here,’ Anthem explained, never taking his eyes from theirfoes in thedistance. ‘This rise will be the deciding point of the battle.’
‘Will we win, Grand Master?’ Goodfellow asked nervously and,with that,the old man actually smiled.
‘Of course, young Master Goodfellow,’ he assured. ‘But,unfortunately, this is the kind of battle that could drag on for some time if they stand their ground. It makes little sense for us to waste our resources trying to drive them away, so we have nothing to lose by waiting it out. We are near to fresh provisions, while they have vast supply chains to maintain. Feeding their army will cost them dearly and I doubt they will be able to sustain their men here for too long. When that army begins getting hungry, dissent will begin running through its ranks. When we are reinforced with General Warren’s remaining forces, our position will be even more secure. Once they break their position and start their retreat,we can harry them all the way back to Garteny. Shame on them for not obtaining better intelligence! If they had known how defenceless the town was up until now, I am sure they would have hurried their plans and everything would have worked out differently. I understand it was your illusions that may have kept them at bay-luckily for us all.’
‘But why even bring the army to battle?’ Eric asked. ‘With you and the other Lions here surely we have won already?’
‘I wish it were so, Master Pot, but we can only do so much. The wild men of the north are easily routed once their might has been challenged, but the core of the Garten army is more disciplined and will fight on valiantly. They are experienced in fightingagainstmagicians and will,nodoubt,have brought many of their own. No, the Lions are certainly a boon for this battle, but the armies will decide its outcome. We will bide our time before we assist. If we wear ourselves out at the start, we could not counter their magic, should any be brought into play. Nevertheless, if our estimates of their numbers are correct, we will have the decisive victory, even without General Warren’s aid. Remember, too, that the war will go on long after this battle. We must keep our losses to a bare minimum so we can continue on to the Marrow River, where we hope to push the Gartens back even further. This seems to be rather a turning point in the war…at last.’
‘What can we do, Grand Master?’ Samuel asked, hoping to prove useful.
‘Sit tight, next to me. The Council’s command is to keep you from harm’s way and that order still stands. Just keep your eyes and your ears open. If I tell any of you to do something, you had better do it quickly and without question. You may not be boys any longer, but I can still clip your ears hard enough to teach you a lesson, should the need arise.’
A steady drumbeat sounded from the north, echoing along the valley and,in the distance,another great wall of invaders loomed. Old Grand Master Anthem looked towards them from beneath his forlorn brows and he considered the sight with a heavy heart.
‘How can it be that it has come to this again,’ the old magician said softly, ‘that I must once again face my own countrymen? Garten against Garten. I had promised old Grand Master Vim so much more than this. How our plans have fallen into disarray!’
‘Not by choice, Janus,’ Grand Master Gallivan consoled him. ‘None of us would be here, given the choice. This time, it was Otgart’s decision to bring the war to us. We did all we could to prevent this.’
Anthem sighed. ‘I’m sure he thinks he is doing the right thing. After all this time, given a chance to defeat the Empire, I can understand his decision to take the bull by the horns. If only his patience had lasted just a few yearslonger. We only needed a little more time to tame the ruinous Empire. Perhaps our promises did little to make good for the past sins of the Emperor?’
‘We can only do what we can,’ Gallivan responded.
It took a painfully long time for the next wave ofNorth-men to approach, for they marched abreast and without hurry, chanting and singing to the rhythm of their drums, until they stopped short some thousand paces away. Just as Anthem has said, these men had little in common with the wild brutes that had been sent in first. They stood proudly, donned in mail and leather armour and holding their swords and shields at the ready, awaiting their commands with patience. They looked almost a match for the Turian men.
‘Why have they stopped?’ Goodfellow asked in a whisper.
‘They are waitingbeyondour missile range,’ Anthem explained. ‘They will ready bowmen of their own, but we have the high-ground advantage and thus further range.’
‘Who will act first?’ Samuel asked, but Anthem did not answer. His mouth was hanging open in expectation and he was gazing along the rise to where his fellow Lions stood waiting, sentinels of the battle.
General Canard’s flagman shook a blue banner high and from behind came an incredible clatter as every Turian bowman unleashed his weapon in unison. The air hummed vibrantly, ominously darkened by the cloud of arrows that soared up and overhead. The arrows arched through the air, sailing high before raining down upon the battleground with a calamitous series of thuds and clacks,but little else. The Gartens had measured their ground well and most of the arrows fell short, sticking into the mud harmlessly or punching into the bodies that already lay there, turning them into feathered porcupines. Only a few arrows managed to make the extra distance and they clanged without effect upon the raised Garten shields. Once the air was clear, theNorth-men lowered their shields again and began clattering their swords upon them in celebration. The sound of their beating and whooping echoed between the hills.
‘They seek to lure us down,’ Anthem said, ‘but time is on our side. Let’s give them a few hours to settle down and then we will see about sending you three home.’
Anthem had barely finished speaking when a great commotion began amongst the Garten army. Horns sounded at their rear and the host jostled nervously whilst many heads looked around in confusion. Then, all at once, as if reluctantly accepting the command, the whole valley began to seethe forward towards the waiting Turians. Against all belief, the Gartens charged as one.
‘By the gods! What’s this?’ Anthem hissed.
General Canard began urgently shouting commands and his captains rushed away as his banner-men and trumpeters contended to keep up with his orders. A second volley of arrows was unleashed and it felledGartens by the hundred. Regardless, the men continued their charge and the Turians waiting along the risemadetheir spears and swordsbattle readyto meet them.
‘This is madness!’ Anthem swore. ‘What can they hope to achieve? This is not warfare; it is suicide. Who is commanding those troops?’
Archers continued to shower theNorth-men with arrows, but the foremost waves of men were already halfway across the gap, screaming defiantly with one deafening voice as they came. Imperial soldiers jostled into place, firming up the lines to meet the oncoming assault.
Goodfellow shuffled nervously. ‘What are they doing, Grand Master? Is this usual?’
‘Not at all. This foolishness cannot hope to break through and it will cost them dearly. I can only think they have some alternative strategy if they can afford to waste good men like this. It will rattle their morale to know they are being sent to slaughter and the battle will go downhill for them after this. What can they be thinking?’
The Garten army met the bottom of the rise and continued up it without a pause. They charged up the slope with a tumultuous war cry and threw themselves into the waiting barrier of swords and spears and shields with an earth-shattering clamour. All along the battlefront,men hacked and slashed at each other madly,and blood rained forth and sprayed high, spilling down the hill in scarlet rivers.
‘The Garten signals are very strange,’ Gallivan noted. ‘Their horns call for urgent attack and nothing else-attack, attack, attack. It’s puzzling, to say the least. This is not a tactic-it is suicide. They are desperate, but I cannot see the cause.’
A bearded scout came running towards General Canard and Anthem led them over to hear the news. The scout was breathless as he ran to the bulky general’s side. ‘An army approaches from the south!’
‘General Warren’s men,’ Canard responded. ‘They have made good time.’ He seemed calmed by the news, and the panic of the sudden Garten charge seemed to empty from him with a great breath of relief,relief, however, that was short-lived.
‘I’m sorry, General. It is not General Warren. They have begun to assault the town. It is a large force.’
‘What!’ General Canard boomed and spun around, turning his back on the battleground below them. Smoke was already rising from the direction of Rampeny.
‘It’s an ambush!’ Master Crisp hissed and began looking about feverishly. ‘A trap!’ But Anthem gave the panicking man a scalding look that shut him up quickly.
‘How did they get so near before you spotted them?’ the General asked of the scout, looking furious.
‘They were dressed in Turian armour, Sir. They were almost upon us before we discovered them. If they hadn’t mistaken our signals we wouldn’t have known at all.’
The blood drained from the gruff man’s face as he realised their predicament. He turned to old Anthem, looking pale and weak. ‘My good Grand Master Anthem, it seems as if we have been strategically overwhelmed. The Gartens have us trapped. By the gods, how did they sneak such a force behind us? We are lost.’
‘Don’t speak such foolishness, General!’ Anthem told him. ‘Rally your men. We must save the town.’
Gallivan was also quick to scold. ‘Get a hold of yourself, man! You are a Turian! Ready the defence!’
The general seemed to recover some of his wits at hearing this. ‘Yes. Of course. You are right. We must fight on!’ And he again began shouting once more to his captains and commanders.
‘What about General Warren’s men?’ Samuel asked of the old magician beside him. ‘We could signal them to hurry to our aid.’
The old magician shook his head sourly. ‘We must assume from this new development that General Warren may have troubles of his own. How did they get behind us? I cannot fathom what has happened. Still, a signal should be sent.’
Signals began blurting out from General Canard’s trumpeters and his banner-men began waving a fresh set of colours. With surprising self-control and precision, the majority of the massive Imperial host that filled the paddocks began circling their formations, revolving in place to face the town. A small remainder was left to guard the rise, but it was barely a few thousand men, hardly a fraction of their total.
Armed figures were just coming into view around Rampeny, spilling out from the streets and from around the corners. The Turian defendersmovedforth to meet them, rushing to fill the gap before the ground was lost, scuttling along in their squads and formations, leaving in clumps,like waves of ships fleeing a harbour.
‘We will stay here,’ Grand Master Anthem told them. ‘We will need to hold this rise as best we can to protect General Canard’s back for as long as we can, at least. He will need to break through this second force and make our escape before wearebe pinned in completely. This second group will be the lesser of the two forces.’
‘How do you know that?’ Eric asked.
‘Sneaking a small number of men behind us would have been difficult. Sending a large number is inconceivable. The townsfolk or local guardsmen would surely have noticed such unusual movements-unless of course, this new force has been gathering in the hills all this time…’andhe trailed off, exploring the train of thought in his mind.
‘Could General Warren also be under attack?’ Goodfellow asked moments later, breaking old Anthem from his worrisome thoughts.
‘Only the gods know. And how the Gartens could have mobilised so many men in such a short space of time is beyond me. We thought every Garten that could hold a sword was being tracked by the Turian spy network. Somehow, they have fooled us altogether and in a manner beyond belief.’
Captain Adell staggered over from beside the general, looking pale with woe. ‘Our certain victory has turned into a catastrophe. We’re stuck between these two forces and pinned between the hills. They will already have taken out our supplies and support. Our only hope is to flee and save as many as we can.’
‘Can we make it into the hills?’ Eric asked.
‘You magicians might,’ Adell returned, ‘but the Gartens would pinour menwith arrows as we climbed.’
Samuel turned from the discussion just as the Gartens below them surged forward in another savage wave, acting as a thundering tide, throwing themselves up the shattered rise and colliding with the defenders with a resounding roar. It was then that panic truly struck as simultaneously cries of ‘missiles!’came from all around.
‘Defend!’ Anthem called, pointing to the peppered skies-and countless shrieking shards of death came falling down upon them.
Samuel flinched, but the arrows above were turned aside as Anthem flung up a wall of spells. Imperial shield-bearers stepped into place and raised their heavy barriersto protectas many men as they could, butcountlesswere caught unprepared, or were too busy defending themselves from the Garten footmen, andtheyfellto the groundscreaming with shafts protruding from their flesh. The Gartens suffered many casualties also, but took the opportunity to clamber over the wounded. Several breaches formed in the Turian line. The defenders looked desperate and hacked about furiously with their blood-soaked swords.
‘Nowhold!’ Grand Master Anthem roared out,his voiceresounding across the field. In response,the Turians rallied, pushing back against their foe and retaking their ground with incredible resolve.
Samuel could not believe the gore and bloodshed around him. He had seen violence before, but never on such a horrific scale. People were hacking each other to pieces like maniacal butchers. It was like a scene from hell. He had suffered from many terrible nightmares in his past, but this was much worse, and thehorrorof itovercame him with its stench and voracity. He felt some bitter juices rise in his mouth and was forced to turn his gaze straight down to his feet.
A mighty grip seized his shoulder. ‘Have strength, young Lord Samuel,’ Adell said, and it seemed the captain had not given up entirely. ‘These are early days yet. We are Turians and we will not give up until the day is won.’
Booms and crackles of magic sounded from behind and the party turned towards the town.
‘Their magicians have come into play,’ Goodfellow noted. The fields before the town were clotted with men and thissecond battle raged on to the south.
Eric Pot, beside him, shook his fist with frustration. ‘And what about us? Why are we standing here idly? We should be doing something!’
‘Patience, Master Pot,’ Gallivan told him. ‘We need to tread carefully while the day is young. Many have died, but this is just the beginning. The Lions have not yet begun to roar and,when they do, the men will be sorted from the boys and all shall shudder in their breeches. Despite our situation, timing is still crucial.’
‘They are ignoring the town,’ Captain Adell noted, pointing back towards the south, where tides of men were pouringfromaround the buildings to join the battle.
Anthem nodded solemnly. ‘Yes. Their priority is to wedge us in. They know they can plunder the town later,at their leisure, should they be victorious.’
‘What’s that?’ Goodfellow alerted, pointing, for the plumes of smoke rising from amongst the distant buildings had grown thick and billowed towards the magicians like an unfolding shroud.
‘They seek to obscure the battlefield,’ Gallivan noted, ‘but it will be to their disadvantage as well as ours…unless they plan to surprise us with something. We should keep ready.’
‘A useful tactic against magicians,’ Anthem muttered.
‘Is there a spell behind it?’ Goodfellow asked the old Grand Master. ‘It’s curious how it courses straight towards us.’
Anthem only shook his head. ‘No. I can’t sense any magic,’ to which Samuel agreed, for he would have seen any magic at this distance as clearly as if fireworks had been released. ‘I suspect it is a concocted formula, designed to make such an obscuration. It is unfortunate that the wind is precisely against us.’
The thick cloud rolled over the buildings and fell across the battlefield to the south. The men continued fighting, but everything vanished from view as soon as the cloud reached it, devouring them all into its billowing depths. The battle raged on in all directions, while the magicians stood tight and observed with all possible calm.
‘I feel the time is right, Janus,’ Gallivan told the other Grand Master after a short spell.
The wiry,old man nodded and his wispy eyebrows bobbed in time. ‘Indeed. I am not sure what the Gartens plan, but I agree. Let us strike now before they can close this noose any further, or unloose any further surprises.’
Gallivan raised his fingers to his lips and made a shrill whistle. At that very instant, cataclysmic spells erupted from the other Grand Masters, each waiting on the wings. From their points along the hilltop, explosive magic shot out and decimated the Garten horde in bulk, leaving Samuel and the Erics shielding their eyes from the rain of debris that pelted down all around. Dust filled the air, setting them to choke,and it only served to further obscure the air.
Their spells continued unabated, and the three magicians remained huddled next to Anthem and Gallivan, overwhelmed by the bedlam all around.
‘Stay close to me,’ Anthem reminded them, raising his voice above the din.
The cloud to the south had now almost reached them and many of Canard’s men were fleeing before it in a panic. Behind them, the second army marched inwards, working to bottle them in. No one could see them coming, but Samuel could sense their presence easily through the shroud.
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 holdingfastto 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 abuncharound 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 besidethebodyof 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 thefew, briefmoments 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 menin its path. The multitude of Gartens around it dropped their weapons and crushed against each other intheirfrantic effortsto 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 happensto live,we can deal with the creature then. In any event, such summons only lastswhile 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.
‘Do you think Eric is still alive?’ Goodfellow asked, struggling up the rise.
‘I hope so,’ Samuel muttered back darkly, ‘so I can wring his neck when we catch up with him.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He left us. Didn’t you notice? While everyone else was struggling to hold on during that wind I summoned up, he used his Journey spell to sneak off.’
‘I thought we would have felt such a spell. The Grand Masters didn’t mention it.’
‘I definitely felt something,although in all the excitement I’m not sure exactly what, but it felt suspiciously like Eric used his Great Spell to leave us behind.’
‘But he wouldn’t just do that, would he?’
‘I would have hoped not, but I guess that remains to be seen,’ Samuel replied.
‘Quiet, you fools!’ Tudor hissed back at them. ‘Keep up!’ he ordered, as he darted further up the steep rise.
The going was slow, even for them, as they struggled to keep their footing on the treacherous stones. Samuelscambled, making sure not to let his feet slip into the cracks, and the jagged rocks clattered and wobbled as he clambered across them.
He took a moment to catch his breath, but a shout of surprise from Grand Master Tudor had him looking up in a panic. There was a flash of magic and a body fellatthe old man’s feet.
‘Defend yourselves!’ Tudor cried as other men, all cloaked in grey hoods, came springing out from their hiding places amongst the trees and rocks.
A spell from Goodfellow had several of them dead and Grand Master Tudor had taken care of the rest before Samuel had even managed to steer his hand into his pocket.
‘For goodness sake!’ old Tudor said, on observing him still standing as if rooted to the spot. ‘Open your eyes, Samuel, or you’ll be the death of me!’
‘Who are they?’ Goodfellow asked.
‘Assassins!’ the wizened magician spat with disdain. He kicked the body at his feet, before ducking down to pull the cloth from the dead man’s face. Revealed beneath was a dark-skinned face, tattooed on the cheeks and pierced in the nose and ears. The old man bit his lip with worry at the sight. ‘We need to get over there,’ Tudor told them, nodding towards an outcrop that was bereft of trees. ‘I want to see what’s going on below.’
Several minutes of rocky scrambling led to them climbing out onto the jutting ledge, before they finally reached the tip of the overhanging stone. The valley lay spread out below them, with Rampeny smouldering far to the south and the valley mouth gaping far to the north.
‘That’s our answer,’ Tudor stated, pointing towards the north. ‘Someone else has joined this war. No wonder the Gartens were in such a panic.’
The valleyfloorwas still seething like an ants’ nest, although now there were large patches here and there that were dark and still, clotted with hordes of the fallen. The middle of the valley was filled with Gartens, but their numbers had also fallen considerably to a fraction of their initial size. To the north of them, driving them south along the valley, was a third army. Their colours were mixed-browns and whites and browns and greys-and they moved lightly, as if unarmoured, which was strange for any force on the modern battlefield. At the far south, pushing north from Rampeny were the supposed Gartens that had taken the town, yet it seemed they were not Gartens at all, for they fought side by side with the newcomers and attacked Garten and Turian alike. In the middle, the Turians and the Gartens were being whittled away, set against each other and drowning amongst the superior numbers of this newcomer that had plugged both ends of the valley.
There was no sign of Anthem’s summoned beast, but his magic was still coursing across the valley in rippling arcs. Several long shapes darted, running rampant amongst the men, and Samuel guessed it was more of the strange giantcreatures, although he could see nothing of them clearly from this distance.
‘Who are they?’ Goodfellow asked, but old Tudor just shook his head.
‘I don’t know, but I can guess. These assassins have the look of the desert people of the great waste…but it makes no sense. They are waterless nomads. I don’t know how they could have assembled such a huge force and directed this battle with such accuracy. They waited for us to meet the Gartens and then they struck from both sides to force us together. Somehow, they overcame General Warren’s men and dressed enough of their own in Turian armour to creep close enough to block us in. A perfect and deadly execution of a cunning and expert plan.’
‘I have never heard of them. Perhaps these desert people are not the barbarians you expect?’ Samuel said.
‘Perhaps, but I have been to those lands myself and these are not the same people that I saw. Someone has been training them in the art of war, and to arrange all this so flawlessly, they must have been planning and watching us for some time. They knew everything about us; where we would be and how we would act. They came ready to assassinate each of us Lions and they have very nearly been successful. Our new enemy is sly and brutal.’
‘What do we do now?’ Goodfellow asked. ‘They are still fighting down there…but there looks to be little chance.’
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Tudor stated. ‘Janus charged me with getting you two back to Cintar and that’s just what I’ll do. As he said, we Lions are done, but you two are the new strength of the Order-young Lions, if you will. I know you are not even true Turians, but Anthem taught us to temper our pride long ago. It seems a simple lesson, but time and time again I must remind myself not to be such a stubborn old mule. Now, we must reach Cintar and warn the Empire of what has transpired.’
‘Why would the desert people do this?’ Goodfellow asked. ‘If they have never been involved in Empire affairs, why would they attack now?’
‘That remains to be seen. The Empire is in turmoil and both the Gartensand ushave been worn down in these last few years. Yes, if I were planning to do something like this, now would be the time to strike.’ Then he turned from the scene below and adjusted his cruddy,black robes. ‘Come. We have far to go and the odds are, there are more ambushes set in these hills. They will want to catch each and every escapee of the battle, so no word of their presence reaches Cintar. They will want to maintain their secrecy for as long as they can.’
Samuel judged that the old magician had used a considerable portion of his magic to climb the hill and his power was beginning to wane. A few more minutes’rest would see the old man recover well. ‘I don’t mean any disrespect-’ Samuel began.
‘Then don’t give any,’ Tudor said, cutting him off. ‘Let’s go. I will cover our movements as best I can.’
With that, a spell bloomed out from the man like an explosion of streamers and glimmering dust, before it settled discreetly into place, forming a wall of shadows around them. Samuel recognised its nature immediately, for it was Grand Master Tudor’s speciality-Concealment. The arrangement of the weaves went straight into Samuel’s uncanny memory and, yet again, he found himself in awe at the beauty of such a masterfully constructed work of magic. The Lions may have had their day, but there was no doubt they had left their mark upon the world.
It took them four days to find their way free from the jagged hills around Rampeny. True,as had been said, the hills were inhospitable, covered in vertical drops and abrupt cliff-faces. Shards of smooth rock jutted out from the ground all over,in places towering above them and forming labyrinthine passages.
They spied dozens of small bands of the dark-skinned desert-men who had entrenched themselves along the narrow mountain paths, just as Grand Master Tudor has foreseen, but luckily, the three of them managed to avoid direct conflict with all but one of these groups. Grand Master Tudor’s concealment spells had kept them virtually invisible to eye and ear every step of the way.
‘We need to reach the coast and signal an Imperial vessel,’ Tudor told them,as they afforded themselves the luxury of a cooked meal-a number of fist-sized quail caught and cooked by magical means. ‘I can’t guess how far west these desert-men havepenetrated, but our chances are better on the sea. They can train their armies as much as they like, but unless they managed to keep an ocean hidden in the desert as well, we will still have the advantage in the water.’
Samuel and Goodfellow both agreed-although it would have done them little good to object-and,while the old man set himself to sleep on a bed of dry leaves, they sat staring at the stars and the moon that peeped down at them between the branches.
‘I really hope Eric made it,’ Goodfellow said, finally breaking the silence. The starlight glinted on his spectacles-a reminder that although magic could accomplish wonders, it still could not solve something as common as near-sightedness.
‘Me, too,’ Samuel responded, ‘but if it turns out he fled and left us to fend for ourselves, I’ll be giving him a piece of my mind. There he goes, refusing to teach us his Journey spell and,when we need his help, he rabbits off and leaves us.’
‘I doubt it was intentional. Although, I still wouldn’t blame him if it were. I’m sure we both would have done the same if we could.’
‘Not if I had to leave anyone behind.’
‘Well, I guess it depends on the situation,’ Goodfellow noted, but Samuel only eyed his sandy-haired friend darkly. After a few moments, broken only by the night-time noises of the woods, Goodfellow spoke again, but he chose to change the subject altogether. ‘Times have certainly changed. I had no idea Grand Master Anthem could summon such beasts. I wonder where such fiends can come from.’
‘Who knows?’ Samuel said, rhetorically.
‘Do you remember when we fought the summoned creature in Hammenton?’
‘How could I forget such a thing, Eric? It was the most terrifying time in my life. Things like that tend not to be easily forgotten.’
‘When the Ti’luk creature first came up out of the well, we tried our magic against it-unsuccessfully. I keep thinking back to the spell you tried against it at the time. You told me you had amplified the spell by folding your power in upon itself.’
‘It seemed logical at the time, although I’ve had little chance to pursue it further. That was a long time ago.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot,’ Goodfellow admitted. ‘What do you think if you kept pushing such a spell, pushing it tighter and tighter, with more and more magic? What would eventually happen?’
‘It would be very difficult to get past the point I reached on that day,’ Samuel explained. ‘The physical ability to manage such a spell is not easy. A lot of power is gained,but a lot is also wasted. I think the benefits would be lost in the effort.’
‘That could be overcome quite easily. The efficiency could be increased; the wayward power turned in upon itself. It could lead to spells of great proportion, perhaps something beyond what has ever been accomplished before.’
‘Are you suggesting some new kind of Great Spell?’ Samuel asked, looking to his friend with interest.
‘It’s possible, but I don’t think it would be a spell that could be cast in any useful way. It would be too chaotic-too difficult to knit into any kind of purpose.’
‘Then what would be the good of it? It would be energy, but undirected. It would take too much time to then unravel and be used as something useful-’
‘It would be powerful,’ Goodfellow interrupted, growing more excited. ‘Power upon power, ever inwards. If you could get enough energy down to a small enough point, I feel the pattern would not be able to hold it. The ether is vulnerable to magic in great concentrations, as with Summoning spells. At some point, I’m sure the spell would be forced to change its nature.’
‘Into what?’
‘I don’t know,’ Goodfellow admitted.
‘I think it more likely that such a point could never be reached, or it would just become something too dangerous to complete. This sounds like one of the discussions for old men on cold nights in the School of Magic, Eric.’
‘There are very few of those old men remaining,’ Goodfellow observed.
‘All the more reason for us to hurry back to Cintar.’
With a nod, Goodfellow conceded and laid himself to sleep while Samuel kept watch upon the night. Looking up, he noticed a faint trail just visible amongst the light of the constellations. It was a distant comet, barely discernible amongst the stars. He hoped it would bring them more luck than they had been having of late.
The wind was blowing straight in from the wild and broken sea as Samuel, Goodfellow and Grand Master Tudor came stumbling across the grey, seaweed-strewn beach. Much to their relief, a small fishing boat was lying up on the sand, trailing a shallow groove down to the water where it had been dragged up only recently. There was no sign of the owner, orahouse or homefromwhere it could have come, so they shoved the boat back to the water’s edge and clambered in,their robes dripping and sodden.
They had little knowledge of how to work the tiny sail and instead set their vessel coursing straight out beyond the breakers with a curt spell. Goodfellow took over from old Tudor when the man needed a rest and it was not until each of them had taken several turns that both of them were too tired to continue.
‘Your turn,’ Goodfellow said, scraping the salt and spray from his eyeglasses. ‘I need a rest.’ He sighed and released his spells, collapsing at the back of the boat next to the sleeping old man.
Samuel was left crouching at the tip of the vessel as it lulled atop the lapping waters, rubbing the ring in his fingers nervously and thinking what he would say if he failed to get them moving. Alternatively, there was a good chance that the power of the ancient relic would shatter their craft into a thousand pieces and leave them flailing in the salty sea, and that would also require a tactful explanation. Slipping the ring onto his finger, Samuel tried his best to squeeze out only the tiniest trickle of power for a Moving spell. When he felt a torrent of power about to swell, he withdrew himself altogether before any magic could be released. It must have taken him twenty attempts, but finally he coaxed a tiny squirt of magic from the thing and the boat jerked ahead, beforebecomingbecalmedas the spell expired. Daring to peer back towards the rear of the little boat,Samuel was relieved to see thatold Tudor and Goodfellow were both still splayed out and fast asleep, too exhausted to notice his dismal attempts.
Samuel continued for what seemed like hours, struggling with the ring and sending them ahead in lurching,intermittent spurts.
They had only just reached a shallow cove and passed by a few clumps of lightlytreed islands when Tudor coughed and spluttered and finally awoke. He came staggering to the front of the boat like a dazed drunkard.
‘You take a rest now,’ he said, still coming to full wakefulness, blinking quizzically at his surrounds.
Samuel needed no further encouragement and climbed to his feet, stepping over the planks that acted as seats and setting the boat to rock about. Tudor’s spells fell into place and the vessel jumped forward, sending out curtains of translucent water from its bow and leaving a deep wake behind it, which the ocean rushed in to fill as they left it. Within minutes,they had travelled further than Samuel had managed the entire time.
While the old man kept his eye on their path ahead, Samuel put his elbows onto his knees and cradled his head,pulling up his hood to keep out the light. Struggling with the Argum Stone had left him shivering and drained. It would take some time for him to expel its wearying effects.
They passed the port cities of northern Turia and each one seemed to be intact and free of invaders. Indeed, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, the trio of magicians kept their noses due south and remained set for Cintar. Goodfellow was as keen as mustard to have his turns at the helm and,each time old Tudor sat down for a rest, he was quick to spring his spells into place before Samuel had need to think of any excuses. The passing fishing vessels eyed them with disbelief, for the sight of three bedraggled magicians surging southwards would have been cause for much talk in the sultry port taverns. Heedless of everything, they coursed their way home; three tiny figures on the lip of the sea.