Path of the Specialist

by Pedro Urvi

  Bjorn nocked an arrow with a blue shaft, aimed and released. There was another small burst of flame when the tip hit the tree and broke. The fire went out, and part of the trunk froze.

  Erika smiled. “Good solution – a Water Arrow.”

  Bjorn picked an arrow with a white shaft, aimed at the tree beside the one he had just shot at and released. On contact the tip broke, and there was an electric discharge.

  “I love Air Arrows,” Erika said.

  “Me too,” Luca agreed, “except that when you get hit with one and you start shaking uncontrollably it’s not pleasant at all.”

  Lasgol nodded emphatically in agreement. He had suffered it in his own flesh and bone.

  The discharge on the tree set it on fire. Bjorn nocked the arrow with the brown shaft and released at the area that was burning. The impact was followed by a small explosion of smoke and earth.

  “Earth Arrow,” Erika said. “Will it put the fire out?”

  “It ought to,” said Luca. “Earth’s used to put out fires. It’s often more effective than water.”

  Lasgol nodded, and the fire indeed died out.

  Ivar went up to Bjorn. “I want you to double the charge next time. And make the arrows yourself. Here you haven’t got an Elemental Fletcher from the School of Nature, so you’ll have to manage on your own.”

  “I see, Master,” Bjorn said, though he looked worried at having to do this task himself.

  “And no creating your own combinations of arrows. You’re not ready for that yet.”

  “When will I be, Master?” he asked hopefully. “I’d like to try.”

  “Whenever I say you are, and not before.”

  “Yes, Master,” Bjorn said resignedly.

  Next Ivar made his way to where Ingrid was practicing, and they watched her doing her exercises. She was carrying a short bow in one hand, but it was a strange one, smaller than usual. Looking closely at it, Lasgol felt that it was almost too small to be a real bow. The arrow she was nocking was also small but with a wide head, which suggested to him it was to be used for short but powerful shots.

  The weapon was strange, but Ingrid’s manner of practicing was even more so. In fact she had not released a single arrow during the time they had been watching the training.

  Luca scratched his chin. “Why doesn’t she release?”

  Erika shrugged. “No idea. I thought that when you’re practicing archery, releasing’s exactly what you have to do.”

  Lasgol watched Ingrid. She was obviously repeating a set of exercises given her by Master Ivar, as she was doing them in the same order repeatedly. The bow was always nocked and ready, but instead of releasing, she was moving rapidly to right and left, then forward and back. These movements were followed by others that left the three observers open-mouthed. Ingrid was rolling to right and left, then forward and back again, at amazing speed.

  “She’s not dropping either bow or arrow,” Erika said in surprise.

  “If I were to roll over my head, I’d probably miss the shot and hit my own foot,” said Luca.

  Lasgol laughed. “I don’t suppose you’d hit yourself, but it’s certainly true that it’s quite an accomplishment to be able to roll over your head and keep bow and arrow intact at the same time.”

  “I’d never manage it in a million years,” said Erika.

  “Well, Ingrid’s managing it,” Luca pointed out.

  “Ingrid will manage whatever she sets her mind to,” Lasgol said confidently.

  The Captain of the Snow Panthers went on with her set of exercises. She was doing them as fast as she could. When she had finished, she rested for a moment and then went back to the beginning. Repeatedly. It was a pleasure to watch her.

  Erika was shaking her head. “I don’t know how she manages not to get dizzy with all that rolling north, south, east and west.”

  “Because she’s very good,” said Luca. And Lasgol nodded in agreement.

  Master Ivar went over to her. “The Archer of the Wind’s most important skill is neither his marksmanship nor his reach. His most important skill is his agility, his capacity to avoid being hit by the enemy. The Archer of the Wind fights against his enemies within range of hand weapons when in reality he’s armed with a long-distance weapon. A bow. Nine out of every ten will fail in hand-to-hand combat with a bow in their hands. Swords, axes, knives and daggers are far more effective. But that one out of every ten who wins with a long-distance weapon in hand-to-hand combat is the Archer of the Wind. And he or she will defeat not only one rival but all those rivals who oppose her. And that’s why the most important things for this elite specialty are agility and reflexes.”

  “Yes, Master,” Ingrid said, and bowed slightly.

  “Let’s see those reflexes now,” Ivar said. As he spoke, he showed her a marking knife and sword.

  Ingrid nodded and took up her position.

  Ivar moved forward with amazing speed and launched a strike straight to the heart. Ingrid sidestepped to the left with almost the same speed. The sword grazed her ribs. Ivar now launched a circular stroke with his knife. Ingrid rolled over her head sideways, but Ivar pressed on without giving her the chance to breathe. He lunged at the thigh of her supporting leg, but she drew it back as if she were skating over ice instead of grass and snow-covered earth. The sword did not find its target. Ingrid raised her bow, ready to release. Ivar moved sideways with amazing skill, preventing her from releasing. She twisted her waist to aim at his body, but his sword struck the bow, which flew out of her hands.

  “Hell...” she muttered under her breath.

  Ivar delivered a feint, followed by a thrust at her neck with the knife. Ingrid rolled backwards with feline agility and put two paces between herself and the Master.

  “Very good display of agility, but you’ve lost your bow. And now what?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know, Master...”

  Ivar threw the knife at her, unexpectedly and with tremendous force. She tried to dodge it, but there was no time for her to react. The knife hit her in the middle of her chest, handle first. She fell to one knee, winded by the blow.

  “And now you die. An Archer of the Wind never loses her bow. She moves as one with it and never releases if she doesn’t have the advantage, because releasing an arrow is always slower than striking with sword or knife.”

  “Yes... Master...” Ingrid muttered, trying to get her breath back.

  Lasgol and Luca exchanged a look of consternation.

  “These Archery Specialties are amazing,” Erika said. She sounded fascinated.

  The three companions stayed watching the training until nightfall. Lasgol had to admit that it was really fascinating. He hoped very much that Ingrid and Molak would graduate. They would have to push themselves to the limit to manage it, but knowing them, he was sure that for that very reason they would not fail.

  When he went back to the Lair for dinner, Lasgol had a surprise. Gisli was waiting for him.

  “Master?”

  “Today you’ll be having your dinner a little later. Come with me.”

  He was puzzled, but said nothing. The Elder led him to the Pearl at his usual pace, which was not particularly fast, but very steady. When they came to the great marble sphere, shining eternally white, Lasgol found a fire burning and Sigrid’s staff beside it. Immediately he began to feel nervous. Was Master Gisli going to experiment with him, as Sigrid had told him? What was going on here?

  “Sit down in front of the fire,” Gisli said calmly.

  “Master … I …”

  “Take it easy. There’s nothing wrong.”

  Lasgol sat down uneasily, and Gisli did the same on the other side of the fire. From his Ranger’s belt under his Elder Specialist’s cloak he took out a phial of violet liquid.

  Lasgol was unable to hold back. “Is this an experiment?” he asked.

  Gisli smiled and shook his head. “No. It’s a test.”

  This sounded even worse.

  “A test? I did
n’t know there was going to be a test as soon as this.”

  “This isn’t the typical one. It’s the Test for the Selection of a Familiar.”

  Lasgol shook his head. “I didn’t know a test like that existed.”

  “That’s because only Beast Whisperers know about it.”

  “Oh …”

  Gisli gave him the potion. “Take it. It’s very like the one for the Harmony Test. Nothing will happen to you, I can guarantee.”

  Lasgol thought about it. He did not feel in the least like drinking another of Annika or Sigrid’s potions, and he was sure that this one had been concocted by one or other of them.

  “Isn’t there any other way …?”

  “I’m afraid not. You’ll have to prepare your mind for the selection.”

  With a sigh, Lasgol thought about it for a little longer, and then decided. He wanted to be a Beast Whisperer, after all. If this particular step was necessary, he would take it. He drank the potion.

  “Good,” Gisli said, and stood up. He took Sigrid’s staff and touched the Pearl with it. There came a silver spark that leapt as far as the fire.

  “By the …” Lasgol cried, deeply shaken.

  “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m making sure the energy is aligned for the test.”

  “That’s magic …”

  “Not exactly. The staff is enchanted, and the Pearl has power. All I’m doing is channeling it.”

  Lasgol understood this. Gisli did not have the Gift himself, but he was using the magic of the staff and the Pearl. Very interesting, very ingenious. It must have taken them a long time to perfect this. And a few accidents …

  “Now stand up carefully.”

  When he did so, he noticed the effect of the potion on his mind. He decided not to interfere with it, although he knew he could always counter it with his Gift.

  “This test will determine the kind of animal which will be your familiar. It’s important that you should be relaxed, so that the choice comes naturally and isn’t forced. There’s nothing worse than a bad choice at this stage of your path toward becoming a Beast Whisperer, because the animal which is chosen will be your familiar forever.”

  Lasgol breathed out heavily and did his best to relax and leave his mind blank. He was feeling the effect of the potion and the power that was emanating from the fire. He knew it was not really the fire itself, but the power of the sphere and the staff emanating from it.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  “Right.” Gisli took a leather satchel and handed it to Lasgol. “Open it. Take out the medallions one by one.”

  “Yes, Master.” Lasgol put his hand in the bag and took out the first medallion. When he looked at it closely, he saw that it bore the carving of an animal.

  “Identify it.”

  “Wolf.”

  “Drop it in the fire.”

  Lasgol let it fall into the flames. The medallion began to be consumed slowly. It seemed that the fire was not able to burn it.

  “Next.”

  “Bear,” said Lasgol and let it fall. He went on taking medallions out of the satchel. The bear was followed by tiger, eagle, snow panther, lion, hawk, crocodile, fox, cheetah, raven, mountain lion, hyena …

  The ceremony went on until there were no more medallions left in the satchel. Lasgol handed the empty bag back to Gisli. All the medallions were burning in the fire, but none of them had been completely consumed by it.

  “This Beast Whisperer asks to select a familiar,” Gisli said, and stamped the staff hard on the ground. A silver flash left the staff in an arc, struck the Pearl and fell into the fire. This flared suddenly, and all the medallions were consumed at once.

  “The selection will take place now.”

  Lasgol watched intently, his eyes riveted on the fire. An image slowly emerged in the middle of it.

  It was a snow panther.

  “The selection has been made. The snow panther will be your familiar.”

  Lasgol was left open-mouthed at this. He could not have been more delighted with the selection. The snow panther was a majestic, beautiful great cat. He smiled. Considering that he was a Snow Panther himself, the selection seemed to him both appropriate and right.

  Chapter 10

  During dinner, after training, everybody was chatting about their different specializations, full of pride and at the same time complaining about how difficult they were. Even Ingrid, who never complained about anything, protested a little under her breath.

  “Well, I never,” Molak teased her as he tucked into his venison stew. “I’ve never heard you grumble before.”

  “I’m not grumbling. I’m just pointing out that the training’s turning out to be very difficult.”

  “That’s grumbling,” Viggo said, licking his lips.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Let me remind you that I’m an expert at grumbling, and that’s a grumble.”

  Erika and Lasgol burst out laughing.

  “He’s got a point there, you know,” Luca said to Ingrid as he took a bite out of a duck leg.

  “If you side with Viggo, I’ll hit you,” Ingrid snapped. She had to hold her soup plate with both hands to avoid dropping it.

  “I still think they ought to let us drink some wine or beer,” Viggo said. “The food would taste so much better, and life would be that little bit more beautiful in the Lair.”

  “Drinking is forbidden, and you know it,” Molak reminded him.

  “It’d do you good to break a rule every once in a while.”

  “For what reason?”

  “To stop you being so uptight, because one day you’re going to snap in two without meaning to, you’re so stiff.”

  Erika, Luca and Lasgol laughed. Even Ingrid smiled unobtrusively. Molak looked at her and she quickly wiped the smile from her face.

  They went on eating amid complaints and laughter. Lasgol noticed that Erika had taken out a small metal phial from her Ranger belt and was taking a sip.

  She smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s not alcohol.”

  “Oh, I didn’t...”

  “It’s some medicine I have to take.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “I was... well, not ill, I was wounded and I have to take it.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Never mind, it doesn’t bother me if you know. I trust you.”

  “Thank you,” Lasgol said, touched.

  “You remember I said I wanted to be a Man Hunter?

  “Yes, I do. I’m sorry it couldn’t be.”

  “That’s all right.” She smiled again. “Luca will make a much better Man Hunter than me. He has more ‘morale’ and he’s more serious than I am,” she added with a smile.

  Lasgol nodded. “You’d have been good too.”

  “I appreciate that. The reason why I wanted to be was... I mean...”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not, or it’s hard for you.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. They’re bad memories... a group of outlaws attacked my parents’ farm in the south. They killed them and my older brother. I was spared because they thought I was dead.”

  “Oh! That’s terrible. I’m really sorry.”

  “Thanks. I was wounded in the side, and I need medicine because one of my lungs sometimes collapses and doesn’t let me breathe properly.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, I manage. There are days when I find it hard to keep up with you, but most of the time I’m fine. Please don’t tell the others, I don’t want them to think I’m handicapped and start treating me differently. I want to be treated like everybody else.”

  “Don’t worry. I understand, and I won’t say a word.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think it’s amazing that you’ve got this far with that disadvantage.”

  “I see it as a stimulant rather than a disadvantage. It helps me improve.”

  “Honestly, you leave me spee
chless. You have a will of iron.”

  “I hide it well under my cheerful appearance. I’m not pretending either, don’t get me wrong. I’m cheerful, I always have been. Despite what happened.”

  “You can see that from a league away.”

  “And I intend to go on being that way,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Great, that cheers us up. What happened to the outlaws? Were they caught?”

  “No...” she said, and her gaze turned to one of hatred. “That’s why I wanted to become a Man Hunter, to go after them and others like them. They’re probably already dead. But I’d like to find them. If any of them are still alive, I’d like to settle accounts.”

  “Revenge isn’t a good thing...”

  “I know. But I can’t help feeling the way I do. My brother had his whole life ahead of him and they took it away. I want justice.”

  “I understand. But be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, I will be.”

  They went on talking and eating. Lasgol felt bad for Erika. He wondered what other personal stories of his colleagues he did not yet know. With some time and the right attitude perhaps he would learn some more, not to pry and gossip, but to try and help those concerned. The moment he thought this he realized that believing he himself could somehow help them was rather self-centered, so he discarded the idea. If he had the chance to help his friends he would do so, as best he could.

  That evening the Panthers received an unexpected visit; it was Milton. Lasgol had seen him flying over the Pearl on top of the Lair and had gone straight to the meeting point they had arranged with the bird.

  He was bringing a message. Lasgol had told his partners Ingrid and Viggo, and they all met by the pond of quiet waters to read it.

  “Hi there, Milton!” Ingrid greeted him and tried to pet him.

  Milton moved away on the branch he was standing on, dodging the caress.

  “He’s a crosspatch,” Viggo said. He tried to stroke him from the other side and got a peck on the hand in answer.

  “Milton’s a character,” Ingrid said, trying to pet him again unsuccessfully.

  “We were given the worst owl in the whole Camp,” Viggo complained. “It’s our luck.”