Trials

by Pedro Urvi

  Damn! He’s very fast and powerful!

  A claw of pure wind gripped Lasgol’s chest and threw him across the cave with awesome brutality. The impact on the floor was tremendous and Lasgol thought he might be broken; his body hurt all over. He looked at the four bodies lying helpless at the Guardian’s feet, including Morksen’s against the far end wall. If he did not stop it they would all die in the next few instants. But how could he stop such a powerful Guardian? Nothing came to his mind. The Guardian looked at him out of his insane golden eyes and began to chant what Lasgol knew had to be the final spell that would kill them. He looked around for his bow and saw it on the floor two steps away, together with his quiver and scattered arrows. He would not have time to lunge for it; he would die in the attempt.

  In the midst of the esoteric blackness surrounding her, Iruki was struggling desperately against the asphyxia which was killing her. She had to save her father and Yakumo. She could not choose which of them to save, so she would have to save both of them, no matter how unlikely that might be. But her lungs were completely empty of air. Even so, she resisted dying; her rebellious spirit rose indomitable.

  I can’t die now, I have to save them! I need air!

  But she had been deprived of air by the infernal nightmare which had her under its control.

  Something awoke in response to her cry for help. She felt something at her chest, a sweet sensation, and the Ilenian medallion flashed blue. At once her lungs filled with the breeze of the steppes and she could breathe as if she were once again on her beloved prairies. She could almost feel her moccasins treading on the dry grass of her beloved land. Her thoughts flew to her father, sick and on the verge of dying. At that moment the medallion flashed again and showed her a familiar image. Before Iruki’s eyes her father’s tent took shape, and in it both the Shaman Oni Black Cloud and her teacher, Ilua Hidden Path the Healer Woman. For a moment Iruki thought that everything was lost, that her father had been taken by the moonless night. But then she recognized Asur, the great warrior, beside Ilua, and realized he had managed to save himself and get back to the tribe.

  He must have brought them the Sky Weed!

  And the image showed her father, drinking a bluish brew. Although the leader of the Blue Clouds looked weak, he seemed much healthier than when she had said goodbye to him. He did not seem to be suffering from the fever any longer; it looked as though he was on the road to recovery.

  Yes! He’ll be healed! They’ll all be! What a great warrior you are, Asur! How much we owe you for bringing salvation to our people!

  Such was her joy at the vision that for a moment she forgot where she was. But when she remembered, the image vanished. Iruki realized with relief that she could still breathe. Immediately her thoughts went to Yakumo. Her father was out of danger, but not Yakumo. Her beloved lay on the floor, badly wounded, losing a lot of blood.

  I have to help him! I must do something!

  She ran fearlessly along the hanging bridge, towards him, to save him. She did not need to choose now, since her father was on the mend. Her anguish vanished.

  And at that moment of understanding the spell was broken.

  Iruki was now free of her deadly sleep. The darkness around her vanished and she breathed the moldy air of the cavern. Beside her she saw her three companions lying on the floor. Before her eyes was the Guardian Mage, and a little further away was a man she hated to the death: Lasgol!

  The Tracker watched that final instant as if time had stood still. The Guardian mage’s staff was rising in his direction in a slow, agonizing movement which made his heart shrink at the thought of the end which awaited him.

  A woman’s voice shouted with all the strength of her lungs:

  “What have you done to us?”

  The Guardian turned without having completed the spell on Lasgol and was confronted with Iruki, sword in hand, ready to strike. He looked at Lasgol on the ground, then at Iruki, and decided on the Masig. The brave red-skinned girl began to run, sword raised, to finish the Mage, who raised his staff and intoned words of power.

  Seeing his opportunity, Lasgol did not hesitate. He lunged for his bow in spite of the terrible pain in his body.

  Iruki thrust her Ilenian sword against the Mage, but he repelled it with a strong whirl which sent the Masig flying against the ceiling of the cavern.

  Lasgol seized his opportunity and launched two arrows with astounding speed.

  The Mage turned to defend himself and deflected the first arrow, but the second hit him full in the chest with a hollow sound. The Guardian stepped back, while Iruki fell from the ceiling and hit the ground with a moan.

  Lasgol called upon his skill to shoot powerfully and skewered the Guardian from one side to the other. The Mage collapsed, and the light in his fateful gold eyes went out.

  One of the walls slid to one side, revealing a chamber. It was of white limestone, and at the center there rose a great altar on which lay a huge marble coffin, dominating the whole room.

  Iruki got painfully to her feet.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “I think so. His eyes aren’t shining anymore.”

  “So what now, Tracker?” said the wild Masig, threatening him with her sword.

  “Now we kill the Assassin and take his body back to General Rangulfsen,” said Morksen, who had already placed his hunting knife on the throat of the still-unconscious Yakumo.

  “Noooooo! Don’t touch him!”

  Lasgol nocked an arrow and called upon his skill for a true shot.

  “The Assassin is to suffer no harm,” he said in an icy tone. “If anything happens to him at your hands, this arrow will go through the one eye you’ve got left.”

  Morksen looked at him defiantly, sure of his game.

  “Drop the bow, boss, you know perfectly well you won’t kill a Norghanian who’s just doing his duty.”

  “That’s true enough, but our orders are to take him alive. If you disobey, I’ll be forced to pass judgment and sentence. You know full well the punishment for disobeying a direct order is death.”

  The struggle of personalities went on for a few tense moments.

  At last Morksen gave up.

  “No need to get upset, young master,” he said, and let go of the Assassin unharmed.

  Iruki ran to Yakumo and Morksen moved back, showing his hands to Lasgol, who was still aiming at him.

  “Wise choice,” Lasgol said.

  Morksen grinned sarcastically and gave a small nod. He retrieved his bow and tensed it calmly, disregarding the arrow which Lasgol was still aiming at his heart.

  “What… what’s going on?” asked Lindaro. He was just waking up from his nightmare, free at last of the influence of the Ilenian magic.

  Morksen pointed his bow at the man of faith.

  “Don’t shoot, I’m not armed!” ‒ and he raised his hands, waving them to prove the point.

  “He’s a priest of the Light!” warned Sonea, who was also waking up from her own personal hallucination.

  “Don’t shoot, Morksen,” Lasgol ordered him with authority.

  Iruki pushed herself between the two Norghanian Forest Rangers and her three companions. She brandished her Ilenian sword and looked at both men defiantly.

  “You Norghanian pigs! If you take one more step, I’ll kill you! I swear by the holy mother steppes I’ll kill you!”

  “It seems the Masig isn’t too fond of our people. That’s a real pity. But since she’s threatening us and she might be a danger, I’d better kill her,” said Morksen with the cold-bloodedness of an unscrupulous assassin.

  “Stop!” said Lasgol. “Nobody’s going to die here!”

  Morksen looked aside at him enquiringly.

  “I said stop!”

  Morksen looked aside at him again, this time disapprovingly. But he lowered his bow, albeit not fully.

  “Iruki, listen to me,” said Lasgol to catch the young Masig’s attention. “You know I don’t wish you any harm, neither you nor Yaku
mo, but I must take him prisoner. Those are the orders we have and we have to carry them out.”

  “If you take one more step, Lasgol, I’ll cut your throat,” Iruki said firmly, flicking her black hair to one side.

  Lasgol looked her in the eye. Her eyes, red like her skin, shone with fury and the force of a herd of wild horses. The more he looked at the young Masig the more he admired her, for her tremendous courage and her strong heart.

  “Lower your sword, Iruki. I’m not going to hurt you and you know it, you know me…”

  An arrow crossed Lasgol’s field of vision and his heart turned over.

  Morksen had fired.

  Lasgol followed the arrow and saw it impact on the handle of Iruki’s sword, making her lose her grip. The sword fell to the ground with a clash of steel on stone.

  Morksen lunged for it and grabbed it.

  Lasgol breathed out in relief. Nothing had happened to Iruki.

  “All of you, go into that hall,” said Lasgol, pointing with his bow.

  Sonea and Lindaro did so immediately, but Iruki stayed looking at Lasgol, without moving from the side of Yakumo, who was still lying on the ground.

  “You won’t harm him…” she begged. Her eyes were moist.

  “I promise you, Iruki. I’m only going to tie him up to make sure he doesn’t escape. No harm will come to him, I swear.”

  Morksen spat on the ground and swore.

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Lasgol. “Go with the others, please.”

  Iruki obeyed, her heart heavy and left the two Norghanians tying up her beloved.

  Sonea was awed when she came into the hall, which she immediately recognized as a funerary chamber. The immaculate walls showed Ilenian carvings with hundreds of symbols and hieroglyphs. The whole room was made of white marble and shone with a faint light whose origin Sonea could not pinpoint. An unnatural cleanliness reigned there, without a single speck of dust or dirt. She looked at Lindaro; the courageous man of faith was already trying to decipher the meaning of all this.

  A gentle, impossible breeze reached them, coming from the great coffin in the middle of the hall.

  “It’s a mortuary chamber, isn’t it?” Lindaro asked.

  “That’s right. From what I can see in the symbols on the walls, here lies an important man, a King or Lord of the Ilenians,” Sonea said as she passed her hand over some of the symbols carved in the stone, wondering how many thousands of years old they might be.

  Sonea went up to the great polished marble coffin and looked inside. The mummified body of the Ilenian King rested in its eternal sleep. Round the neck of the great Lord a beautiful gem caught her eye, and she put her hand in to take it. But when she tugged at it she realized it was a medallion, very similar to the one Iruki wore round her neck.

  “Iruki…” she called.

  The Masig came up to her, keeping her eye on how the two Norghanians were tying up Yakumo.

  “It… It’s very much like mine…” she said, looking at the medallion Sonea was showing her. Involuntarily, her hand went to touch her own Ilenian jewel.

  “From what you’ve told us, Iruki,” Sonea said, looking at Iruki and then at Lindaro, “and from Lindaro’s experience, we can assume we’re in the Temple of Air and that the one lying here is the great Lord of Air. Am I right?”

  They both nodded.

  “This chamber is very similar to the one we discovered at the Temple of Ether,” said Lindaro.

  “It’s also very much like the one at the Temple of Water,” agreed Iruki.

  “Curious…” said Sonea, contemplating the jewel in her hand. “This medallion shines with a whitish gleam, whereas Iruki’s is bluish.”

  “It must be because of the elements that feed them,” said Lindaro, looking at both medallions. “One is Water, the other Air…”

  “What should I do with it?” Sonea wanted to know. “Most likely it’s a powerful magical artifact.”

  “My medallion works in a strange way and I also believe there’s some kind of magic inside it,” said Iruki. “Ilenian magic…”

  “You found it, Sonea, it ought to be yours,” said Lindaro. “Besides, the paths of the Light are mysterious. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that you found it after all. Perhaps it was written thus…”

  “Is that what you believe, man of faith? That this humble Masig of the steppes and a helpless librarian have been chosen by the spirits to find these powerful medallions? It doesn’t make sense. Strong, brave leaders should be the chosen, not us two. You must be wrong, man of faith.”

  “It seems unlikely, but for some reason that’s what I believe. Komir has the medallion of Ether, according to what you told me, Iruki, and I can assure you that he’s someone special, very special.”

  “Iruki is also special,” said Lasgol, walking into the chamber, leading the tied-up Assassin with a rope. Behind them Morksen waited at the entrance with his bow at the ready.

  When Iruki saw that Yakumo was already recovered, she ran to him.

  Yakumo smiled at her.

  “What do you mean by ‘special’, Norghanian?” Lindaro asked, intrigued.

  Lasgol looked at Iruki, then at the Assassin.

  “Iruki has the Gift, she can perceive the glimmer of magic when it’s invoked, both in me and in the Assassin. Only a Chosen, a person blessed with the Gift, can do that.”

  “Certainly intriguing,” said Lindaro. “In that case, we can assume that Sonea, who discovered this new medallion, is also special…”

  “That would only make sense if your theory was true, that whoever finds the medallions is special,” said Sonea, looking at the priest with her hand on her chin. “That’s something I don’t believe. It goes against all logic and reason. Those are what I always follow. The men of faith believe in concepts which can’t be weighed up or explained rationally or empirically. But scholars base their beliefs on what’s established and legitimate. It’s much more likely that it’s simply a coincidence and that those of us who have found the medallions are not special at all.”

  “I think we could prove that easily,” said Lasgol, looking fixedly at Sonea.

  “What are you proposing?” asked Lindaro distrustfully.

  Lasgol came up to Sonea and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Look carefully at my arm, try to focus on grasping its shape, its essence.”

  Sonea did as she was asked.

  Lasgol called upon his power and activated his ability to shoot true. A green flash ran along his arm, a gleam which only those possessing the Gift could see.

  Sonea took a step back in fear.

  “Magic!” she said, her eyes staring from their sockets.

  Lasgol smiled.

  “She has the Gift, therefore she’s special, a Chosen, just like you, Iruki. I don’t know what’s happening here, but I can assure you that it’s practically impossible to gather four people with the Gift together under the same roof. In each kingdom there are only a few Chosen, a dozen if that, not more. Something very strange is happening to us, and I have to say I don’t like it at all.”

  Iruki and Sonea exchanged a look of complicity.

  “What are you planning to do now you’ve captured me, Lasgol?” Yakumo interrupted.

  “First we must go up to the surface, then we have to take you to the Norghanian Generals. They want to talk to you…”

  “I see… This time I won’t go without a fight,” he said, his eyes on Iruki.

  Morksen hit Yakumo on the back.

  “Don’t touch him, you pig!” cried Iruki furiously.

  “I was afraid this would happen. Don’t use your dark arts, I’ll know, and you’ll give Morksen the excuse to kill you he’s looking for.”

  Yakumo looked over his shoulder and considered the one-eyed Tracker.

  “They want to know who sent those men to the torture tent and what happened there.”

  “And why would I know?”

  “Because you’re a very intelligent man and because you kille
d them.”

  Yakumo looked at Lasgol and smiled.

  “I wouldn’t like to bother our captors,” Lindaro interrupted, looking worried, “but how are we going to reach the surface? We’re at the bottom of the lake.”

  “We’ll find a way,” Lasgol said, but he did not sound as convincing as he might have hoped.

  “If you don’t mind,” Sonea said pleadingly, “I’d like to bring the Guardian’s grimoire with me to go on studying it. It’s very valuable.”

  “Go ahead,” Lasgol said. He stepped back and readied his short bow.

  When he looked at Yakumo he saw Iruki stroke the Assassin’s hair tenderly. The Masig’s eyes shone with the gleam of passionate love. Lasgol felt an enormous envy. At that moment there was nothing he would have wished more than to change places with the Assassin and feel the soft, sweet touch of those loving fingers.

  Sonea came back from the chamber with the Ilenian grimoire under her arm. Morksen gave her a lewd glance. She ignored him and came to stand beside Lindaro. The keen man of faith motioned her to put the medallion round her neck. Sonea did so unobtrusively, while Lasgol inspected the back of the chamber in search of a way out.

  “Nobody breathe, or I’ll have to shoot you through,” Morksen threatened them. “And don’t think for one moment that I wouldn’t do it with the greatest pleasure.”

  “You’re despicable!” Iruki spat at him. “One more example of a race of rapists and filthy unscrupulous rats!”

  “I know, little one, I know, and nothing could make me happier.”

  Iruki wanted to lunge at the brute, but Yakumo stopped her with a look.

  Morksen spat, and smiled gloatingly

  She wanted to kill that Norghanian swine, but she could not endanger Yakumo and the others. They had to get out of there first. But how? How could they escape from an underwater cavern at the bottom of an unfathomable lake? Mother Steppe, she prayed, help your daughter, send a benign spirit to rescue us.