Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

‘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.

‘Now hold! ’ 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.