Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

‘I’m disappointed,’ said Master Celios with a shake of his head. ‘The Saviour of Cintar-staggering around like adrunkard. I’m only glad Grand Master Anthem is not here to see,’ which only vexed Samuel even more.

Captain Orrell and Valiant seemed quite astounded and were both impressed with the display.

‘I had no idea you trained in such ways,’ Orrell noted. ‘It looks like some strange form of dancing to me. I don’t quite see the point of it, but it’s interesting nonetheless.’

Tudor forced them to begin again and the Koian men, Horse, Stone and Cloud, came wandering up towards them with their ears pricked up. It seemed they had been attracted by the intriguing noises of the magicians’ practice and had come to investigate. They stood at a distance, looking on with interest and talking excitedly amongst themselves. The magicians paused, but Grand Master Tudor gestured for them to continue and they did so obediently, moving in unison before the Koian observers.

When the trio was done once more, they collapsed onto the ground in exhausted heaps, sweating and thirsty and with Samuel thinking they may be in need of another rinse in the river after their effort.

‘Wonderful!’ said Horse, clapping with enthusiasm.

‘You enjoyed the display?’ Grand Master Tudor asked him, leaning on his stick and beaming with pride.

‘Oh, yes,’ Horse returned. ‘It’s interesting for us to see such similar movements here, so far away from our homeland. I did not know that magicians had need of such graceful steps. Tell me, how did you learn these motions? Do you use them for combat?’

‘Magicians are much attuned to the harmonies of our world, Mr Horse,’ Tudor explained. ‘These movements have been learned and developed by magicians since history began. If you say they are similar to what you know, then I presume that your people, too, have managed to discover the hidden patterns of the ether, which bring harmony between us and our world. We magicians do not fight, but we do harness our motions and the energies around us as best we can.’

‘Wonderful!’ Horse proclaimed again.

‘And you have seen these stances before? What are they used for?’ Eric asked with interest.

Horse seemed to recover some of his senses and his familiar serious expression returned. It seemed as if he had mentioned more than he should. ‘Thank you for the demonstration,’ he said with a solemn nod. ‘We will return to the camp.’

At that, he beckoned to his fellows and they turned around and sauntered back down the incline, talking furiously in their tongue.

After they had gone far enough away, Captain Orrell took his turn to speak. ‘I think you can see my suspicions are confirmed, Grand Master?’

‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ the old man responded, tapping his fingers along his staff.

Samuel and the Erics leapt up from their resting places on the ground.

‘What do you mean?’ Samuel asked with his curiosity fully piqued.

‘Those men are warriors, Samuel,’ Orrell said. ‘They may be posing as diplomats or servants or what-have-you, but their very movements and habits betray them.’

‘Can you be sure?’ Tudor asked.

‘Yes,’ Valiant put in. ‘We have been amongst fighting men all our lives and they move with the ways of trained soldiers.’

‘And what scares me most,’ Orrell added, ‘is that they are trying to hide the fact and doing very well at it. Valiant and I took notice only recently. They watch us and our movements with trained eyes, always on guard for any danger; gathering information. Those three are definitely fighters of some description and they are almost faultless at hiding it. They are trained to walk off-balance, well-practised in adding subtle mistakes to their movements, taking in everything around them and noting even the most subtle of gestures. But there is no mistaking it now. It seems their curiosity got the better of them, as you suspected.’

‘Why would they not tell us this?’ Goodfellow enquired.

‘Why, indeed,’ Tudor agreed. ‘It may be they are merely asecretiveculture, or perhaps they have hidden intentions. They could be bodyguards, or assassins. Whatever the answer, we must remember that from this point we cannot fully trust them-not until we learn more. What say you on the matter, Master Celios?’

The balding Master was biting at his fingernail and seemed startled from his thoughts. ‘I cannot say. My visions showed nothing of this,’ he said with some alarm. ‘I only felt that they must accompany us to Ghant. I have no insight beyond that at all. Nothing at all.’

‘Then do nothing, Captain,’ the old magician instructed. ‘And you three, make as if you know nothing. We must remain wary, but until they offer any sign that they are a danger, we will give them the benefit of the doubt. I will find a time and a place to question them.’

To that, Samuel, Eric and Goodfellow agreed.

‘You’ve been talking with them all this time, Eric,’ Goodfellow said. ‘Didn’t you notice anything?’

To which Eric shook his head guiltily. ‘No. Not at all. I don’t know anything about assassins,’ he added defensively.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Tudor told them. ‘I couldn’t tell, myself. Only Captain Orrell has the keen eye required to spot such things.’

‘And what about their leader-Canyon?’ Samuel asked.

‘He worries me the most,’ Captain Orrell admitted. ‘If he is like the other three, then he is the best of them. He gives nothing away at all. Or perhaps he is only a diplomat, as he says. Either way, I would be wary of him. I don’t trust him.’

Again, Grand Master Tudor nodded solemnly. ‘We will not force them on this issue. Nowthattheir secret is lost, the advantage is ours.’

‘But I’m sure they realise,’ Orrell added. ‘It will be interesting to see what they do next.’

They began back to camp as the sun was setting and the smell of their dinner began wafting up the hill, but Samuelintuitivelyfeltthat the nervous Master Celios was not saying all that he knew.

When the party finally emerged from the trees, they found themselves on a well-worn track, forged by woodsmen into the pines. Turning right along its length, it was only half an hour before they came to a highway that, remarkably, was a veritable stream of people, all heading west as if in mass exodus. Most of the people carried their belongings or led horses or donkeys or wagons,and they travelled in clusters of friends or families, but the occasional oneswalked alone and half-naked in these chilly heights, as if they had nothing at all totheir name.

It took the rest of the afternoon, zigzagging up valleys and hugging hillsides,before they came to what normally would have been a small mountain town. Now, it was surroundedbyall manner of makeshift roofs and coveringsandgrown to ten times its normal size. The streets were slippery with mud and full of pools and potholes that had been dug by the passing of so many feet,and Orrell had to shout before the crowd would even notice them and give way. They made straight through the town without resting and headed directly for the peaks that loomed above. Finally, they hadalmostreached their destination, for Ghant was only hours away.

The fortress of Ghant was a citadel, cleft from the side of the mountain. Its upper reaches came into view as they rounded the narrow approach. It was a formidable-looking building ofbluntstone, jagged towers and serrated walls, perched amongst the cliffs and peaks that crowded around it. Any force that attempted to take such a fortress would surely have difficulty, but it was only when the party cleared the narrow valley and stepped out into an open square that thetruenature of Ghant’s defences became apparent. Directly in front of them was a vast chasm that split the mountains in two. It dropped abruptly away and stretched far to the north and south, as if the mountains had one day quarrelled and turned their backs to each other.