She Who Has No Name tlt-2

by Michael Foster

  ‘I’m all right!’ he called backina slightly pained voice. ‘Just don’t forget to brace when you land! Why do they put all these things up here? It’s covered in pots and pans and all sorts of rubbish.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Samuel said. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked of his remaining friend.

  ‘I think so,’ Goodfellow said, with a dash of uncertainty. He prepared the spell and hopped on the spot, landing back in place awkwardly. ‘Oh,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘I forgot something.’ With that,he tried again, preparing the spell and making a jump. Simultaneously, he released his magic and successfully vaulted up onto the roof, while Eric was already bounding off to the next highest platform. ‘Come on!’ he then called back. ‘It’s easier than it looks.’

  ‘Really?’ Samuel asked, for it did seem quite a difficult task.

  ‘No,’ came his friend’s reply, and with that he cast a second spell and followed after the first Eric.

  Samuel swallowed hard. He had a nervous lump stuck in his throat, for the idea had sounded promising, but now he actually had to use the ring he was having second thoughts. It seemed the last time he had used it, he had completely losttrack of time and he had no wish to repeat such an occurrence.

  He drew the silver circle out of his pocket and slid it gently past his second knuckle, feeling the familiar rush of power that accompanied it. ‘Here goes nothing,’ he said to himself. He called to the ring and formed his spell, bending his legs in preparation. ‘Just a little…power.’

  Release.

  The rushing air blinded him and whooshed in his ears. He could feel the lack of hard stone beneath his feet and knew he must have met some success, but he only slowed enough to open his watering eyes once the initial power of the spell had burned away.

  A sense of weightlessness surrounded him. He was thrilled with his success for the spell had worked well. He had been thrown high into the air and had now reached the apex of his leap and was momentarily suspended in mid-air. All he would have to do now was land. As gravity began to do its work and takehold of him once again, he looked down with a horrible realisation, for the Leaping spell seemed to have worked a little too well. He was far above his target; indeed, he was far above the highest tower of Ghant, above even the nearest peak. The lights and fires of Ghant were far below through the misty clouds and he could see a string of torchlights of the Paatin army forming a river that stretched between the mountains across the chasm. Most of the lights were from torches, but intermittently spaced along the column were the silver outlines of wizards, which only he could see. On the western side of the mountains, the town of Shallowbrook was a cluster of tiny,glowing specks far away.

  The air was freezing and he was dropping like a rock, feet first, with his robes whipping up and around his face as he picked up even more speed, falling faster and faster with every instant.

  Fear had no time to overtake him, for he began calling to the Argum Stone on his finger as gently as he could. ‘Slow me down! Slow me down!’ he called into it, trying to pluck the tiniest scraps of power from it, lest another burst of Leaping should send him to the moon. Below, he could see the tiny magic-lit figures of Eric and Goodfellow just landing atop the main tower and he could almost sense them complaining about him and wondering what was taking him so long. He hoped the Argum Stone would not fail him, or otherwise he would surprise his friends more than they could imagine once he landed beside them with a great,fleshy splash.

  Slowly, slowly the ring lent himitspower. He scraped the tiniest sparks of magic away from its edge and used them to forge a spell that would hopefully slow his descent. Still, he was falling fast and he only hoped he had precisely the amount of power he needed.

  He sent the spell out below him and,luckily enough, it slowed him as he had hoped. Hurriedly, he drew some more fragments of power and cast his spell again. The tower top loomed nearer and nearer and,although he was slowing all the while, it still did not seem to be enough. His legs flailed beneath him as he tried to steady himself and he wailed out loud with concern for his own predicament. He was not in control of his own lungs, but he could feel his volume increasing in proportion to the tower’s approach. He had time for one last expulsion of power and so he tried to ignore everything else as he cast the final spell as carefully as he could. The magic slowed him once more, but there was no time for anything else.

  The Erics seemed to be searching for the source of the approaching cry of fear, but neither hadyetthought to look directly up.

  ‘Eric!’ he called from above his two friends, and just in time. The two of them looked up to find him droppingdirectly ontothem and Eric threw up a spell at the last instant to catch him. It cradled his fall, but he still landed quite heavily.

  ‘I’ve got you!’ Goodfellow called, holding out his hands as if to catch a baby.

  ‘No!’ Samuel called, but Goodfellow was beneath him. The two of them crashed together, leaving Samuel sprawled on top of his flattened friend.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Eric asked with concern.

  ‘Yes,’ Samuel groaned.

  ‘No!’ Goodfellow protested. ‘I think you’ve broken my bum. What were you doing up there? I thought you were behind us?’

  ‘I miscalculated a little,’ Samuel said, standing and helping his bruised friend to his feet. ‘It doesn’t matter. Quickly. We can climb in through the window.’

  It only took a minor effort for each of them to swing over the edge and clamber into the command room. They called out their presence as they did so, not wishing to be set upon by any nervous soldiers.

  Inside, they found Captain Yarn surrounded by the last of his men. Bodies of Turians and Paatin lay spread about the room and it was obvious that at some stage the door had been broken in. It was now barricaded with what little furniture has been in the room, and Samuel could easily sense the Paatingatheringon the other side. General Mar lay on the floor, with bandages tied tightly around his middle. He was still leaking blood from a wound that would soon see him dead and his face was as white as a sheet.

  ‘Magicians!’ Captain Yarn called out. ‘Thank goodness you have arrived. We must get the general to safety.’

  But General Mar would hear none of it. He coughed and clawed his fingers towards the magicians, signalling for them to come to his side. ‘The citadel must be destroyed,’ he gasped, with wet and laboured breaths. ‘If the Paatin have it, they will control the passage to the east. Cast Ghant into the chasm and their path will be blocked. Their host cannotbe allowed topass this way or they will have free reign of inner Turia.’

  ‘But how?’ Samuel asked of the dying man.

  ‘It was Tudor’s plan. Bring down the walls and towers of Ghant and half the mountain will follow. He was supposed to be here to see us through, but it seems he, too, has fallen. He should have been here long ago.’ The muscles in the gruff general’s jaw bunched up and he stiffened in pain. There was no way to plug up the ruin that had been done to the man.

  With that, General Mar perished,his scintillating aura of energy swallowed up by the darkness of death. Captain Yarn bent down and closed the dead man’s staring eyes with the palm of his hand.

  The three young men looked at each other with concern.

  ‘How can we do it?’ Eric asked. ‘I can’t imagine that even Grand Master Tudor was capable of bringing down this place. What could he have had planned?’

  ‘A Moving spell of some kind,’ Samuel suggested. ‘Perhaps if we could damage Ghant’s foundations, the main tower would follow.’

  Eric shook his head. ‘I don’t think any of usiscapable of such a feat. And where do the foundations begin? This place is spread over half the mountainside. Samuel?’

  But Samuel only shook his head.

  ‘Do you thinkthe Grand Masteris really dead?’ Goodfellow asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eric replied, ‘but in his absence, his responsibilities fall to us.’

  Samuel considered the ring. It had enough power for a si
ngle,staggering blow before it overwhelmed him, but he was not even certain that such a spell would be enough. ‘I can’t think of any sure way that we can destroy this place,’ he had to admit.

  ‘With a Manyspell,’ Goodfellow then said with sudden enthusiasm. ‘Together we can do it.’

  Samuel was not convinced. ‘Do you think that even our combined power would be enough? We need to obliterate the place, not just let it slide into the chasm and form a bridge from the rubble, and anything so powerful would be dangerous for anyone nearby-namely us.’

  Goodfellow seemed confident. ‘I have a plan. If we make a spell and turn it in upon itself, then we can intensify the power manyfold. We can let it build until it has enough power to obliterate this place and Eric can Journey us away at the last moment.’

  ‘Can you do it?’ Samuel asked the dark-haired magician. ‘Can you take us all?’

  Eric dwelled on the thought only momentarily. ‘I think so, but it won’t be easy. Up ’til now, I’ve onlyusedthe spell on myself and anything within about arm’s length. I’ve never tried taking people with me, but I don’t see why not. I can take other things so you two should be no different.’

  ‘Captain,’ Samuel said and the portly Captain Yarn, now commander of Ghant, stepped to attention. ‘Sound the retreat-a full evacuation of the citadel. We will give you as much time as we can, then we will destroy Ghant.’

  ‘So be it,’ the man said and alerted his staff. They immediately began blowing their shrill horns and the alarm was taken up and repeated from stations all over the citadel.

  ‘I will stay and help you however I can,’ the gruff captain declared.

  ‘No, you can’t help,’ Samuel told him. ‘Do your best to clear the fortress. All you need to do is shut the door on the way out. We will do the rest. Ghant shall be decimated and the Paatin shall not pass, as required.’

  ‘What a sad day, but our defeat is a not total loss as long as Ghant does not fall into the hands of the Paatin. We should be able to escape if we can just make the next floor. This place is filled with hidden rooms and passages that I’m sure the Paatin have yet to discover. But what about you? How will you escape?’

  ‘Don’t worry. We don’t intend to die,’ Eric told him. ‘Now hurry. We will prepare the spell now. It will take some time, but once it’s ready, we will not be able to delay.’

  Captain Yarn began barking orders and his men gathered what they needed and burst from the room with a roar and a clatter of swords upon the desert-men lurking there. One of Yarn’s men carried a short bugle and he blurted out a series of rasping notes as they went, repeating it over as they fought their way free.

  Once they had gone, it was eerily quiet in the room. Eric crafted a spell of Bonding upon the shattered door to keep it held tightly shut, and ensured the task by using his spells to wedge the tables and benches into place.

  ‘There,’ he declared. ‘The door is sealed. Let us begin.’

  Samuel took one last look out of the high window. Below he could hear shouts and see Turian men in the act of abandoning the fortress. Whatever kind of signal Yarn’s man had played, it was potent, for the soldiers literally turned and fled as the sound was propagated all around, leaving the Paatin cutting the air behind them.

  ‘We should start,’ Goodfellow stated, and the three of them stood together in the centre of the room. ‘I will charge the spell. Samuel, you shield and contain it. Eric, you help me mould the magic and keep it stable. At the end, you will need to prepare our escape-and quickly. Samuel? Can you do it?’

  Samuel already had the ring from his pocket and was turning it over in his fingers. Goodfellow was looking at him intensely and Samuel was sure from his looks that he somehow knew about his dependency on the thing. Eric was looking between them both, but his eye had not yet fallen onto the relic in Samuel’s fingers.

  ‘Are you going to help us or not?’ Goodfellow asked him again. ‘We need you, now. This is not the time to hesitate.’

  ‘Of course,’ Samuel told him. ‘I can help.’

  With that, he put his finger into the Argum Stone and fell into its depths. The power took hold of him and shook him, but he seemed to be growing more accustomed to the shock of being submersed in such boundless magic. After barely a heartbeat had passed, he calmed the power raging within him and looked at his friends with clarity. ‘I am ready.’

  Goodfellow formed a cradle with his hands and began to fill the space between them with power. He began slowly, letting it build up from a trickle while he came to terms with its foundations, then he let more and more energy fill the space, as fast as he could manage. A banging sounded at the door, followed by a solid thumping and the barricade began to shudder. The stone around the door jumped and mortar cracked.

  ‘They are coming,’ Eric said, eyeing the cluttered doorway, but Goodfellow only hushed him with an urgent look.

  The spell was growing and Samuel now set about crafting a barrier to hold the spell within. He called to the ring and seized hold of the power that came stampeding out of it. Luckily, in summoning a shield, the more power the better and Samuel locked his attention onto Goodfellow’s spell, and his spell shuddered to life around it-a tremendous barrier of solid energy. It held Goodfellow’s magic in place firmly and the bespectacled magician nodded at the result and then continued to pour his magic inside as quickly as he could.

  ‘Eric!’ Goodfellow called, now sweating and it was Eric’s turn to assist, for the spell was now growing chaotic, churning and struggling inside its prison.

  ‘Reduce the shield,’ Goodfellow said and Samuel did so, squeezing the energy into a tighter space. The magic within began screeching and squawking as it struggled against him.

  The spell was sparking and fitting wildly, but Goodfellow continued to intensify it, folding it upon itself again and again, reducing it down and building it in intensity each time.

  ‘It’s getting hot, Samuel,’ Goodfellow stated and Samuel altered his shield, suddenly cutting off the rising heat that had been building inside. The power of the ring had begun burning through him and his bones began to resonate with its power. The nerves in his teeth began to feel as if they were lanced with fire.

  ‘Is it enough?’ Eric asked with concern, as a bench shuddered and fell away from the doorway.

  Goodfellow only shook his head. ‘I think we need much more.’

  Eric then began to pour his own power into the spell. Great volumes of energy spilled forth from the man and joined with Goodfellow’s.

  ‘Save enough to get us free!’ Samuel hissed to him. The two Erics were both potent magicians and when this magic was released, even if it did not damage the citadel, it would certainly not be good for anyone still in the room.

  Eric was not concerned. ‘Don’t worry. I can get us out of here in a heartbeat.’ And he continued adding his magic into the pool.

  The spell in Goodfellow’s hand now contained a terrible intensity of power, similar in magnitude to the Great Spell that had originally transformed the Argum Stone from rock to ring. As if on cue, thunder called from outside the tower, for it was the way of nature to become unsettled when such unnatural amounts of magic were gathered or expended.

  Goodfellow began shaking with exertion and his hands were trembling from the effort. ‘I don’t know how long I can keep this up.’ He looked at Eric. ‘It’s nearly time. Start the Journey spell before I lose control.’

  Eric stood back and took a few deep breaths. He had used a lot of power, but he seemed to have a great deal left. Again the door behind them boomed and shook as the Paatin rammed into it with something massive.

  ‘They will be in here any moment, so we need to leave, Eric,’ Samuel said with concern, gritting his teeth with effort. ‘And I don’t know how long I can keep up these shields.’

  ‘What will happen when it does release?’ Eric asked. ‘What kind of spell is it?’

  ‘It’s no kind of spell, only undirected magic-raw potential. It will be energy ripping in
all directions-heat and light, force and wind. It will be utter destruction to anything it touches. If it is powerful enough, it will tear the ether and the citadel will be destroyed,for sure. At least, that’s our theory.’

  A ripple of lightning flashed from outside and the pain continued through Samuel until he, too, was shaking from the effort.

  Eric began work on his Journey spell, hastily crafting it from memory and instinct. It began to build around him like an orb of intricate design, etched in countless tiny traces and lines of magic. ‘It’s ready,’ he said after only a few moments, locking the spell into place.

  Samuel was relieved, for he did not think he could maintain himself any longer. He only wished he was not struggling so much, for he had missed the chance to memorise the missing pieces of the Journey spell for himself.

  ‘It’s all right, Samuel,’ Goodfellow told him. ‘You don’t need to hold the spell any longer. We only need it to last another few moments. Once I release it, there will be nothing stopping it anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Samuel asked and he could hear the desperation in his own voice.

  Goodfellow nodded. ‘Are you really sure?’ he asked again.

  ‘Yes!’ Goodfellow declared. ‘Now stop it before you kill yourself.’

  That was enough for Samuel, and he pushed his power back into the Argum Stone and ripped the thing from his finger. At once, he felt cool relief, stumbling away from the others and flapping his hands to cool them. He dropped the ring back into his pocket where Eric could not see.

  It was then that Goodfellow gave them the grave news. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve made a small oversight. I’m afraid you will have to leave without me.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Samuel asked him.

  ‘If I stop for even a moment, the spell will release. It is only my adding to the spell that is keeping it stable. Your shield is not enough. I can’t leave or it will kill us all.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Eric told him. ‘I can Journey us away the moment we are ready.’

  Goodfellow only shook his head. The incandescent spell between his hands reflected in his eyeglasses like unholy firelight. His fingers were glowing red, with the shadows of his bones visible at their middle. ‘That won’t be quick enough. I’m sorry, Eric. I didn’t realise it would be like this.’