The King of the West

by Pedro Urvi

  “The dead men I saw had looks of horror on their faces, that’s true,” Lasgol said. He remembered how it had caught his attention.

  “It’s the Specter again!” said Okbek furiously.

  Lasgol did not believe in ghosts or specters, however rooted they might be in Norghanian folklore. Neither did Egil. They had talked about it more than once. Egil believed in the tangible, in what could be seen, touched and felt. Ghosts and suchlike manifestations of the spiritual world did not qualify. Lasgol thought the same. He found it odd that grown men, widely-experienced soldiers, sent to one of the most complicated areas of Norghana, should believe in ghosts or specters.

  “I don’t believe it’s a specter,” Captain Martens said. “I don’t believe in that sort of thing. But on the other hand, I believe something strange is going on. Ranger Molsen believed it too. That’s why I sent him to investigate.”

  “And he’ll be dead too, with a look of horror on his face, somewhere in the northwest,” Okbek said, looking troubled.

  “Probably,” said the captain. He turned to Lasgol. “Anyway, I wanted you to hear it from my mouth, before my men tell you their versions that are full of spirits who take your soul, and worse things than that.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Okbek, make sure he has all he needs. He’s our new Ranger, and we need him ready and well-prepared. My men know how to fight, but not to explore and track. And I can’t send out any more patrols. Half of them never come back. I need a Ranger to do those things. And to come back alive to pass on the information.”

  “Of course, Captain,” Okbek agreed. “He’ll have everything he needs, and my personal attention.” There was a strange smile on his mouth which made his moustache tilt to one side like a boat beginning to sink.

  “And have the men leave him alone. Him and his panther.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll deal with that.”

  Lasgol came out of the tent with Ona at his side. The conversation with the Captain had given him the creeps. Not only was the situation with the Wild Ones complicated, but he was losing soldiers at the hands of a specter which gave them a horrible death.

  He snorted in frustration and shook his head.

  This was starting really well.

  Chapter 14

  Lasgol and Ona slept in one of the empty tents. It took him some time to fall asleep, since he knew that the previous tenants had died recently, and he was nervous as a result. Luckily, having Ona lying beside him relaxed him. In the end his friend’s company outweighed the unease the surroundings were causing him.

  “Ona. Good,” he told her lovingly when he woke up, and stroked her side.

  The panther chirped affectionately, then gave an enormous yawn.

  Lasgol smiled, grateful to have her with him. The light of dawn was filtering through several holes in the tent, which badly needed repair. He got to his feet.

  “What’s the day got in store for us?” he whispered to Ona.

  The panther rose too and stretched her forelegs. Lasgol loved to watch her stretch, which was a ritual that made him feel at ease. Every morning she stretched and washed carefully, getting ready for the day. He followed her example and made his own preparations along with her. You never knew what might happen in a day in the life of a Norghanian Ranger. He stretched with Ona, then went over all his equipment, making sure it was in perfect condition – his weapons in particular. The sergeant had brought him some food the night before, which he was thankful for. He put it in his satchel.

  Suddenly the flap door of the tent opened and an enormous figure burst in.

  “Already awake?” Sergeant Okbek said. “That’s what I like to see.”

  “Norghanian Rangers always get up before dawn,” Lasgol replied as if he were repeating a dogma.

  “Sure you do,” the Sergeant laughed. “Come and have breakfast with us. You’ll meet the men that way.”

  “Fine,” Lasgol said and went out, appreciating the note of camaraderie.

  The Sergeant led him to a campfire where something was cooking in a huge cauldron. A dozen soldiers were sitting around the fire with bowls and spoons. Lasgol looked up at the sky and saw that there was no storm threatening and the wind was not too cold. He was grateful for this.

  “Make room for the new Ranger,” the sergeant barked.

  Several men moved, not only to make room for Lasgol but to do the same for Okbek, who occupied enough space for two. Seeing the nervous glances – and some dangerous ones – the soldiers were directing at Ona, he decided it would be better to keep her away.

  He pointed back to the tent where they had slept. “Ona. There.”

  The panther looked at him, then at the soldiers. She gave a hiss and obeyed the order. She lay down inside the tent, but with her head out so as to miss nothing of what was happening.

  “Nice kitty you’ve got there,” said one of the soldiers. He was dark, and his nose was broken in several places.

  “She’s my Familiar.”

  “Looks obedient,” another soldier said as he ate his breakfast.

  “She’d better be,” said a third grimly.

  “She’s very obedient and good,” Lasgol assured them.

  The Sergeant gave them a ferocious glare. “Nobody messes with the Ranger or his panther. Captain’s orders. Understood?”

  Nobody replied, but they lowered their eyes and went on eating whatever their breakfast might be. It smelt awful and was a strange brown in color, neither liquid nor solid but something in between.

  “Serve him, Asmonsen,” the Sergeant ordered the soldier who was stirring the contents of the cauldron with an enormous wooden ladle. He was wearing a blackened apron. Lasgol guessed he must be the camp’s cook.

  “It’s my specialty,” he said with a broad smile, and Lasgol saw that he was missing his front teeth. “We call it ‘the corpse animator’.”

  “You’ll love it, you just wait and see,” Okbek said. He was smiling, though you could barely see his smile under his huge moustache.

  Asmonsen handed him a bowl full to the brim, together with a small wooden spoon. Lasgol sniffed the liquid, which smelt really bad. He looked at the cook, who was smiling back at him. He realized that everyone had stopped eating and was watching him to see what he did. He prepared himself and took a spoonful of the ‘corpse animator’. The flavor exploded in his mouth; it was a mixture of vegetables, meat, hot spices – lots of hot spices – and if he was not mistaken, strong wine. He swallowed and at once began to feel an enormous heat rising up his trachea to his face. He turned red as a tomato, and tears formed in his eyes. It stung appallingly, and its heating effect was almost as bad.

  The soldiers burst into roars of laughter. Asmonsen nodded in satisfaction. Okbek was roaring with laughter and waving his arms.

  “That’s how you make a Norghanian soldier!” he said, and slapped him on the back.

  Lasgol was having a difficult moment. His mouth was burning, along with his face and stomach. He looked around for water, but nobody seemed to have any.

  “Water…” he stammered.

  “Water, he says,” the sergeant said with a laugh, and the others joined in.

  “No water,” Asmonsen told him. “That’d only make it worse. The best way to get the initial effect over is to have another spoonful.”

  Lasgol thought the cook had to be joking.

  “Take another spoonful. It’ll make you a man,” Okbek said amid laughter.

  “No… I…”

  “Come on, another spoonful. By the fifth you won’t even notice.”

  “And today it didn’t turn out so potent,” Asmonsen said, and shrugged, as though apologizing.

  For Lasgol it was powerfully potent. He realized that they were all looking at him again, expecting him to go on eating. He could not understand how they could eat that concoction of molten fire. They were still staring at him in silence, most of all Asmonsen and Okbek: testing him. He could not let himself be shown up as a softy. No, he would
have to brace himself and swallow that gut-wrenching breakfast. And so, he did. With the second spoonful the suffering began afresh. He followed it with a third, which made him weep like a baby.

  The soldiers were clapping their hands, laughing and cheering him on. By the fifth spoonful he could not feel his tongue, his mouth, or even his stomach. The soldiers were encouraging him to finish his bowl. Okbek gave him a couple of encouraging slaps on the back, but he did not even feel them. Ona meanwhile was watching him with her ears pricked. He swallowed the last spoonful and left the bowl on the ground. He genuinely thought he was going to die.

  The soldiers clapped their hands and cheered his name.

  “Very well done!” Okbek congratulated him.

  “You liked it, didn’t you?” Asmonsen asked him. The worst of it was that he genuinely meant it.

  Lasgol nodded several times. He could not speak, his tongue and lips were swollen, and the roof of his mouth was burning like a bonfire.

  “Now you’re one of us,” said a soldier who was as strong as he was tall.

  “It’ll be gone in a couple of days,” another said, and winked.

  A couple of days? Lasgol felt he was dying. His stomach was about to explode. He could feel it as an erupting volcano which was hurling lava the entire length of his trachea.

  “Now you know why we call it ‘the corpse-animator’,” Okbek said with a smile.

  “You won’t feel hungry for the whole day, and it’ll give you the strength of two men,” Asmonsen assured him.

  Lasgol only wanted the terrible burning to stop. He felt as though he were being incinerated from the inside out.

  “Did you give him ‘corpse-animator’?” a voice asked from behind him. Lasgol turned to see Captain Martens in his official uniform, looking unfriendly.

  “Yes, Captain,” Okbek replied innocently. “It’s the ritual welcome.”

  Martens shook his head, “Give him some milk before he throws up.”

  Asmonsen handed a skin bag to Lasgol, who seized it, uncorked it and drank as if there were no tomorrow.

  “All right, Sergeant. When he’s better, bring him to me.”

  “Yessir.”

  The Captain left, and the laughter broke out all over again.

  Lasgol drank all the milk in the skin bag and began to feel a little better. Okbek waited until he was sure he had recovered to some extent and led him to the Captain’s tent. Ona went with them.

  “Are you feeling better now?” Martens asked from behind his table.

  “Yes… Captain… Thank you.”

  “Not many people manage to finish a whole helping. Congratulations.”

  “Thank… you…”

  Okbek was smiling from ear to ear.

  “And now, let’s get down to work,” Martens went on. “I want you to explore this part.” He indicated a fairly extensive area on the map. “Only explore. Familiarize yourself with the terrain, and if you see enemy movement of any kind, come back to report. It’s supposed to be uninhabited now, but back in the day there were two Wild Villages there. I want to know whether they’re resettling the region or not. Also if anything strange is going on. If there’s anything out of the ordinary, I want to know about it.”

  “Understood.”

  “No confrontation. If you see Wild Ones, come back at once.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain.”

  “And try to avoid the Frozen Specter,” Okbek advised him.

  Lasgol looked into his eyes to see whether he was serious or joking. The sergeant’s gaze left no doubt: he meant it.

  “I will.”

  “Right. You have ten days. Come back with whatever you find out. But come back. Is this clear?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Okbek, have Isberson and Elkmun go with him.”

  “Right, Captain.”

  “I’m not going alone?” Lasgol asked in surprise.

  “No. You’ll be going with two of the best veterans I have left. I’ve already lost two Rangers. I don’t want to lose a third one who’s only just arrived.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good luck.”

  Lasgol nodded and left the tent with Okbek and Ona.

  “Remember: if you come across the enemy, don’t attack, withdraw. Good luck!”

  “Thanks, Sergeant.”

  Shortly afterwards, Lasgol and Ona left the camp, together with Isberson and Elkmun. Lasgol used his Gift to communicate with Camu.

  Camu, we’re leaving.

  Lasgol waited for the reply, but there was none. He tried again.

  Camu, are you there?

  No reply. He began to feel worried. He glanced at Ona who, like him, was looking around for Camu. She moved a little away. She did not seem to be able to find him either.

  “Coming?” Isberson said.

  Lasgol gestured to him to wait a moment.

  Isberson and Elkmun glanced at each other. They did not look happy.

  Camu, where are you? Lasgol was really worried now. If Camu had left on one of his adventures or something had happened to him, they would be in trouble. The two Norghanian soldiers did not seem to be the patient sort.

  Ona came back to Lasgol and gave a mournful moan. She had not found her friend.

  Camu, are you all right?

  “Are we waiting for something?” Elkmun asked impatiently.

  Lasgol did not know what to say. “No… it’s just that…”

  I’m all right, came Camu’s message.

  Lasgol snorted impatiently. Where were you?

  Chasing white hare.

  I’ve told you a thousand times you’re never going to catch a mountain hare.

  I catch.

  It’s a hundred times faster and more agile than you are.

  I catch. You see.

  Lasgol turned his back on the two soldiers and rolled his eyes.

  We’re leaving. Stay hidden. We’re going with two soldiers.

  I hidden.

  And behave.

  I good always.

  Lasgol shook his head and turned back to the soldiers.

  “It was nothing. Let’s be on our way.”

  The two soldiers gave him a dark look, but said nothing.

  Ona detected Camu and chirped happily. Camu fell in beside her and gave her a playful shove. They went into the forests and began their march. The two veterans looked at Ona warily, but said nothing to Lasgol. They seemed tough experienced soldiers, both of them huge and impressive Norghanian fighters, rivaling the Wild Ones in size. Isberson was blond and wore his hair loose; his eyes were very light, his rough face framed by a short blond beard. Elkmun’s hair was redder, and his beard reached his chest. They were armed with axes and knives at their belts and a round wooden shield reinforced with metal on their backs. They were not carrying bows. They were infantrymen.

  The first two days went by without incident. The weather was holding. Spring was getting closer and the storms had vanished, which cheered Lasgol. The two soldiers were not very talkative. Lasgol, used to companions like Egil, Viggo or even Camu, found the lack of conversation strange. He tried to chat, but only managed to get a few sentences out of them. They were civil with him, it was true; they had told him they were common soldiers, and in situations like this the Ranger was in command, so they treated him as a superior. Perhaps that was why they did not talk to him. Between themselves they talked rather more, but not much even then.

  It felt strange to Lasgol to be in command. He felt responsible for the lives of both men, even if they were experienced veterans and he a newbie on his first mission as a Ranger. These were new situations he would have to get used to, and quickly. The further north they went, the thicker the layer of snow that covered the forests and open land. Spring had not yet announced her arrival there, and the cold was more intense. Lasgol led the way, with Ona at his side and the two soldiers marching a dozen paces behind them. Camu brought up the rear. Lasgol did not want the soldiers to see his trail, so he had told him to stay
twenty paces back. His friend was not happy at all about this.

  I invisible. Soldiers not see.

  Not you, but they can see your footprints.

  No see.

  Yes see.

  Soldiers strong. No smart.

  You don’t know that. They might have their eyes open, and besides, they have a lot of experience.

  Yes, I know.

  Lasgol stopped arguing with Camu. Most times it was better not to go on with the conversation. He was not going to change his mind, whatever the case. They crossed a forest warily, then when they were about to come out on to an open area, he glimpsed movement. He raised his fist, and the two soldiers stopped. He crouched slowly, without making any noise, and the two soldiers did the same.

  Using his Gift, he called upon his Hawk’s Eye skill. He half-closed his eyes and in the distance he could make out what had attracted his attention: Wild Ones of the Ice. A group of about a dozen, carrying wood, huge logs of it. Where were they going? And what did they want the wood for? He turned to Isberson and Elkmun, who were staring at him with their hands on the handles of their war axes.

  “Wild Ones. To the north. Carrying logs.”

  “They must be rebuilding a village,” said Isberson.

  “Or building a new one,” said Elkmun.

  “The Captain told me there aren’t supposed to be any inhabited settlements here.”

  “Then we’d better make sure of it,” Isberson suggested.

  “I’ll go ahead and follow their trail. Keep your distance.”

  “Okay,” Elkmun said.

  Lasgol left the forest with extreme care and went to the point where he had seen the Wild Ones. He saw their trail on the snow, the footprints of the Wild Ones with all the weight of their large bodies were unmistakable, and on the snow, loading logs, even a blind man could have followed them. If they were carrying logs they could not be going very far, since it made no sense to transport wood where they were surrounded by forests.

  They followed the trail at a more-than-prudent distance. Neither they nor the Wild Ones could see one another. Lasgol began to realize that he had been wrong. The Wild Ones were covering a considerable distance and had already passed three different forests: one of beech, another of oak, and now one of ash. This puzzled him. He did not want to go any closer to understand their reasons for this for fear of discovery. Master Gisli had warned them many times about the prey which turned and killed its stalker.