Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

‘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.’