Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

‘What a brisk morning!’ the old Master Celios announced. ‘And a lovely day for a trip! I feel twenty years younger!’

Samuel could only shake his head as he set about choosing his mount from the group.

‘It is time for me to go andpreparewith Grand Master Gallivan,’ Anthem announced. ‘We will be travelling light and fast. We all have a great distance to travel, so I trust your journey will be successful and I hope to meet you back here upon your return. Once all these distractions are out of the way, perhaps we can start sorting out this infernal Empire once and for all.’

They bade him farewell and the old magician stalked back towards the palace, leaving them to finish their preparations and mount up.

‘Which way are we going?’ Master Celios said, turning his horse in circles beneath him.

‘To the East Gate,’ Sir Ferse replied, leaning over in his saddle and grasping the old master’s reins and setting the animal straight. The pair led the way across the grass towards the great gates of the palace grounds.

The two Erics set their horses to a trot and started out after them.

‘Well? Coming?’ Grand Master Tudor asked, slapping his boots into the sides of his mount and clicking his tongue to start it away. He was quite frail-looking and somewhat resembled a scarecrow strapped atop his horse.

Samuel could only shake his head on sight of the group.

‘Well?’ he said, patting the neck of the brown animal beneath him. ‘What shall we call you then?’ Of course,the animal did not reply. ‘I’ve already had one Jess. How about Brown Eric? But you’re a girl and we already have two Erics, so it makes no sense. Then again,neither does any of this, so it’s quite befitting. Let’s go, Brown Eric.’ And with that,he shook the reins with a sharp snap and set Brown Eric off after the others, shaking his head with concern at the whole affair.

The party began out of Cintar under a drab sky, leaving behind the noisy streets and bustling markets of the greatest city in the known world. The hundred horses of Captain Orrell’s guard went ahead with the said captaininthe lead, with Master Celios and Grand Master Tudor on either side. The enigmatic Sir Ferse, as always, was shadowing Celios, riding immediately behind the disturbed magician.

Samuel and the Erics were left to mingle amongst the wagons at the rear of the column. The male Koians seemed comfortable on horseback, while the ladies rode upon a light-hooded carriage, with their costumed crone peeking out from beneath the retractable cover. The other wagons were far less luxurious and only served to carry their supplies for the journey, as well as items required by the fortress. Samuel had been alarmed to learn that one whole wagon was utilised only for clothes and paraphernalia belonging to the Koian god-woman. It seemed it was impossible for her to exist without her many changes of appearance. There was some extravagant and complicatedcostumeroutine that she followed, and a daily set of rituals that often had them halting while she stepped down and scratched at the dirt, or which had her throwing a handful of feathers into the air while she screeched aloud. All this was supposed to allow the universe to continue existing, but it mostly served to annoy Samuel. He could scarcely believe Captain Orrell was entertaining such nonsense, but the man waited patiently as he had been instructed to do.

Eric kept his distance and rode beside the Koian men, chatting to them, and that suited Samuel fine for the moment. Despite Anthem’s suggestion to let ‘bygones be bygones’, he was not ready to forgive his friend quite yet.

‘They are nothing but trouble,’ Samuel said, eyeing the foreigners bleakly.

Goodfellow looked back at the bouncing vehicle with concern. ‘I agree. It seems a strange arrangement.’

‘Master Celios seems confident. We can only hope his visions are wellfounded and don’t waste all our time.’

‘Master Celios is beginning to worry me,’ Goodfellow admitted. ‘His behaviour is becoming more and more erratic. I keep thinking back to Master Sebastian, the magician who went mad and lost his magic.’

‘Master Celios’ magic is not waning yet and,besides, Sebastian had been working with black magic for some time. The summoning of the Ti’luk creature merely pushed him over the edge.’

Goodfellow took another glance up towards the balding seer. ‘But can we trust a man on the edge of madness?’

Samuel was not sure himself, but answered more to reassure his friend. ‘Madness is the spark of greatness, so they say. I suppose we shall see if that is the case with Master Celios or not. For the moment, we are in his hands. Grand Master Anthem trusts his visions, so that is enough for me.’

The road was curving and Samuel could see Captain Orrell far ahead leading their column, with the two black-cloaked magicians beside him. Sir Ferse was riding upright in his saddle, with a stiff posture that seemed almost regal. His aura spoke of nothing unusual-he was just a man-but something about him was eerily familiarto Samuel.

They followed the busy highway through the fields and pastures that surrounded Cintar, away from the impregnable city walls and towards the coastal hills. Samuel could not help but pause a moment once they reached the crest of the hill and take one last look at the city. He remembered well coming down this same road many years ago when Tulan Goodwin had first brought him to try his luck as a magician. He wondered if he would ever see his friend again, for Tulan had been banished to his native Garteny for his role in the assassination of the Emperor. The world was certainly much more complicated than Samuel had first imagined.

Taking one last glance at the vista, Samuel took a great breath. The Bardlebrook river, stretching down from the hills; the satellite town of Northbank, sitting just on the river’s edge; the great walled city of Cintar itself, covering the land like a testament to the industriousness of man; the enormous,curving sea beyond them all, which made him feel tiny every time he gazed at it-these things seemed part of him now and he could not help feeling that this time, in leaving them, he was leaving some part of himself behind.

‘No need to be nostalgic,’ Goodfellow said, still waiting just nearby. ‘We’ll be home soon enough. I doubt little will change while we’re away.’

Samuel pulled the reins sideways and his mount brought him around to face his friend. ‘The city may not change, but we might.’

The sandy-haired magician laughed good-heartedly. ‘Now you’re just being sentimental. What kind of magician are you? Come on. The others are getting away from us. We’ve a long way to go.’

Samuel spent most of his timeduring the journeychatting with Goodfellow and the good-natured Captain Orrell, along with his reliable second-in-command, Lieutenant Valiant. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that the pair was leading their adventure, and that Orrell was now heldinsuch high regard within the Royal Guard. Days were spentmovingat a quick pace and the light wagons did a good job of keeping up although,by nightfall, they had generally fallen a good way behind and only caught up while everyone else was already into their dinners.

In the heart of Turia, there were plenty of major towns and citieswhere they couldlodge, such as Grendin and Callaisia, and the vast,lake-hugging settlement of Seven Oaks. Captain Orrell and his menusuallyspent the nightsin the local barracks,and they were happy enough with that, while the magicians and their Koian guests found their way to the local Order innsand slept there in relative luxury.

Old Tudor sent Samuel to check on the Koians’ needs each night, and he did so with a minimum of interest. They would only request water or towels or fresh bedding and it seemed pointless to have Samuel running about like a common servant. They tried to goad him into conversing with them, but stopped their attempts after he declined quite tersely. Soon after, Tudor gave up sending him.