by Pedro Urvi
Milton clicked his beak in disagreement.
“I think he understood you,” said Lasgol.
“He doesn’t understand anything. He complains for the sake of complaining, because he’s a crosspatch.”
“Don’t say that –” Lasgol began as Milton screeched threateningly at Viggo.
Ingrid was watching the owl. “He might understand something.”
“Don’t say anything else,” Lasgol said to Viggo. “And stay still so I can get the message off his leg.”
Viggo looked innocent, as though he was doing nothing wrong.
Lasgol went slowly over to the bird, who stared at him with his large eyes, moving his head from side to side in a circular movement.
“Let me get the message...” Lasgol said and reached out to Milton’s right leg. For a moment he thought that the owl was going to peck his hand. He looked into those large eyes and waited, but he was wrong. Milton allowed him to retrieve the message without snapping or pecking.
He opened it and began to read with great interest.
“Is it from Nilsa?” Ingrid asked.
Lasgol shook his head. “It’s from Gerd.”
Viggo looked very interested at this. “The big guy? What does he say?”
“I’ll read it to you: Hello, friends. I hope you’re all very well and that you haven’t gotten yourselves into any trouble, although knowing you I bet you have.”
Viggo smiled. “He knows us well, the old scaredy-cat.” He winked at Lasgol. You’ll have to tell him about your adventures with Isgord...”
“He’ll tell him all right,” Ingrid snapped back, “and don’t call him scaredy-cat. Go on, Lasgol, I want to know how old Gerd’s doing.”
Lasgol went on reading the letter: “I haven’t got myself into any trouble so far and I hope I don’t. I can’t complain about my life at the fort. The soldiers treat me with respect and keep away from me. We do combat training, and I always defeat them, which I think is funny, because they’re the soldiers and they ought to be able to beat me in single combat. Although of course I’m much bigger and stronger than they are. But that’s not why they keep away. It seems that Rangers are respected as well as feared in the realm, particularly in villages and small towns where they haven’t had much contact with our people. Apparently, we have a reputation for being mysterious and dangerous. That doesn’t go down well with the good people of the realm. From what I can see, soldiers and peasants keep themselves at a safe distance from me. It amuses me that considering what I’m like, it now turns out that it’s me who scares people and not the other way around.”
Viggo laughed uproariously at this. “It really is funny. I can just imagine the peasants fleeing from Gerd, who’s shaking with fear all the time, when they see him come into town.”
Ingrid jabbed him with her elbow. “Shhhh. Let Lasgol read.”
Lasgol went back to the letter: “As I’m the only Ranger in the area, Captain Esgunson keeps me on patrol all day on the Zangrian border and the border villages while he and the soldiers play the game of border skirmishes with the Zangrian soldiers. According to the Captain, Zangrian activity in the border is growing because of the weakness of the kingdom. The Zangrians are waiting to see how the civil war between the east and west of Norghana goes, and they might intervene. That’s what the Captain’s told me, and he said it very seriously. I hope not. It would be very bad for us.”
Ingrid made a scornful noise. “The Zangrians are very clever. They know King Thoran is in a jam with the kingdom divided in two and his forces fighting against those of the Western League. I wouldn’t rule out a possible Zangrian invasion...”
Viggo arched an eyebrow. “Who’s interrupting now?”
“Shut up. This is important.”
“Would they be able to?” Lasgol asked. “We signed a peace treaty with them, didn’t we? Aren’t the Zangrians to be trusted?” He did not know much about them, and Gerd’s news troubled him.
“The Zangrians would conquer the south of Norghana if they could, without stopping to think,” Ingrid said. “They’ve done it before. In fact, don’t forget that the Rangers were founded when the Zangrians were about to conquer Norghana.”
“That’s true,” Lasgol said. He was remembering Dolbarar’s teachings and how the Rangers had begun.
Viggo nodded emphatically. “They’re not trustworthy at all. If Thoran’s badly affected by the campaigns against the west, I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried something... I would in their place... they have the advantage, their kingdom’s strong and they haven’t been involved in wars lately. A couple of disputes with the Kingdom of Erenal over a disagreement about the Thousand Lakes, but that’s a never-ending dispute and it doesn’t wear them out too much. Yup, if I were the Zangrians I’d take the advantage of King Thoran’s weakness and attack Norghana.”
“You have no honor,” Ingrid told him. She was outraged by his comment.
“Or soul,” Viggo shot back with a wink.
“Or brain.”
“But what I do have is a heart, and it’s devoted to you,” he said with complete seriousness.
Lasgol choked and stared at Viggo, puzzled by the statement.
She blushed. “That’s enough nonsense, dumbass,” she snapped angrily.
Viggo smiled and made eyes at her.
Ingrid gave a disgusted snort and glared at him. "Zangrians are a tough, short-tempered race. They’re warlike, and their monarch King Caron wants to expand his territory at all costs. He has his eyes on the south of his kingdom, the Thousand Lakes, which are disputed by King Dasleo, monarch of Erenal. They’ve been at war for a long time. And Caron also looks north to our kingdom. The Zangrians are dangerous, and if they can’t win the kingdom of Erenal, and for the moment they can’t, I wouldn’t be surprised if they came for ours.”
“And do they have a powerful army?” Lasgol asked.
“Less than our own ancient, glorious army,” Viggo said, “with less than half of it still standing.”
Ingrid sighed. “Before the civil war in Norghana, King Caron would never have dared. Our army was one of the most powerful in Tremia... but now... with all the men the King’s lost and without the support of the west...”
“I see,” said Lasgol. “Let’s hope they don’t attack... that’s all we need.” He was very worried about what would happen if they did. More war, death and destruction were what came to his mind, and they, all of them, would become involved, since they were now Rangers and would have to fight for the kingdom. His spirits sank.
“We can’t do anything about the Zangrians,” Ingrid pointed out. “Worrying won’t do us any good and just give us nightmares. Go on with Gerd’s letter.”
“You’re right,” Lasgol said. He went on reading: “But it’s not the Zangrians I’m writing to you about. It’s because of something that happened to me, and it concerns us. Three days ago, I was in the little village of Virsgren, resting at the inn before coming back to the fort after one of my patrols, when something interesting happened. I’d just ordered a jug of cider and was enjoying it. One of the advantages of being a Ranger is that when you go into an inn you can sit quietly at a table at the end and nobody will bother you. Don’t take off your hood and you’ll see what I mean. Nobody will come near. It’s as if when we’re wrapped in our Ranger gear we give out an aura of rather somber mystery that frightens the customers, even the ones who are most drunk. It’s very odd.”
“I like this,” Viggo said with a satisfied smile. “I enjoy being respected and feared.”
“You?” Ingrid said scornfully. “Not even children on a cloudy moonless night...”
“They’ll all shiver just because they sense my presence.”
“Yeah, sure. Even the bravest’ll run away... of course... what nonsense you come up with... Go on, Lasgol.”
Lasgol smiled and went on reading: “Going back to what happened, two men walked in. They wore everyday clothes and weren’t wearing any visible weapons, but they weren’t
from the area. I know that, because I’ve spent half a year visiting this inn and I’d never seen them. The curious thing was that for some reason they gave me the creeps. So, I watched them. They did nothing out of the ordinary, they asked for food and beer and they barely spoke. But I noticed that one of them was wearing riding boots that were rather strange. They were worn out from use, but they weren’t Norghanian, and this aroused my suspicions. I waited to see what they did, and after some time a third man appeared. He wore the same style of boots. I watched them, but couldn’t hear what they were talking about because they spoke in whispers, which was something that also alarmed me. The innkeeper asked them if they wanted to spend the night, and they refused the offer. One of the three left, and the two wearing the strange boots stayed. I was getting surer all the time that they were plotting something, so I decided to follow them. I got the impression that they might be Zangrian spies. That’s what I thought.”
“Look at our big guy, hunting spies, no less!” Viggo exclaimed.
“That’s very dangerous,” Ingrid said. “Spies have nothing to lose. They’ll fight to the death to avoid capture.”
“Go on, Lasgol,” Viggo said eagerly. “What else did our big guy do?”
Lasgol went on reading the letter: “I followed them to the stables where they’d left their horses to be looked after. They were going to carry on with their journey, so I stepped in. I halted them in the name of the King’s Rangers. They turned and saw me with my short bow, aiming at them. I didn’t expect them to do anything, I’d caught them by surprise and from behind, but I was wrong. I got a major surprise. They spun around like lightning, unsheathed their daggers and charged at me, but I reacted in time. I caught one in the shoulder, so that he stumbled and fell to the ground. The other one went for me with a pair of daggers in his hands. They weren’t Norghanian knives, they were Zangrian daggers. Then I knew for sure that they were from the other side of the border. I didn’t have time to get out my hand weapons, so I defended myself with the bow. I broke it in his face.”
“That’s my Gerd!” Viggo cried. “I taught him that,” he added proudly.
Ingrid was looking worried. “Was he hurt?” she asked.
“I broke his nose and he fell to the ground, then I kicked him in the face and left him unconscious. The other one got up, with the arrow in his shoulder, and attacked me with two daggers. I had time to get out my knife and short axe. He tried to bury his daggers in me, but I blocked the attacks and kicked him in the stomach so that he was left doubled up and winded. I finished him off by kneeing him, à la Viggo.”
“See? Using my techniques! Isn’t that great?”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t hurt.”
“Thank goodness,” Ingrid gasped.
“It turns out that we’ve been very well trained after all. I wasn’t even afraid. It was mostly instinctive. I was attacked and I defended myself. And I came out victorious. The Ranger training works, let me tell you.”
Ingrid nodded. “Our instructors and Dolbarar told us it would save our lives out there.”
“I questioned them, but I couldn’t make them tell me anything, not a word. Even when I used Viggo’s interrogation techniques. Not even then.”
“Then they must have been spies,” Viggo said. “There aren’t many that can stand up to my techniques. They must’ve been prepared to put up with pain.”
“I searched them and found Norghanian and Zangrian coin. Also a map. And here’s where things get interesting, and the reason why I’m telling you this. Everything pointed to their being spies, and I was going to leave it in the hands of the army. There was a route drawn on the map. It wasn’t one showing the movement of troops or supplies, it led to the Camp entrance. There was a name written at the foot of the map: Egil Olafstone.”
Lasgol stopped reading, overwhelmed by surprise.
“Egil?” Ingrid repeated in amazement.
“They weren’t Zangrian spies,” Viggo said thoughtfully. “They were from the Brotherhood of the Blue Snake.”
“They were after Egil?” Lasgol asked. He was surprised and very worried.
Viggo nodded. “They’d just crossed over from Zangria. They were on their way to look for Egil to kill him, and Gerd took them for spies.”
“Keep reading,” Ingrid encouraged Lasgol.
“They weren’t spies, as I’d thought. I guessed the Brotherhood of the Blue Snake had sent them to kill Egil. When I realized this I took off all their clothes and searched them to see if I could find any message or orders. Among the clothes of one of them I found a wooden carving of a blue snake, which convinced me that I was right. In the other’s clothes I found the order, in a secret compartment in the back of his belt: ‘Egil’s head for one thousand Zangrian coins, Signed, C.V.’ It was sealed with a very elaborate coat of arms, showing a bear and a boar.”
“Good information!” Ingrid said.
“If we find that coat of arms,” Viggo said thoughtfully, “we’ll know who wants to kill Egil.”
“It’s an important clue,” Lasgol said. “What a great guy Gerd is!”
“As great as that great hulking body of his!” Viggo said with a smile.
“I’ve written to Egil and told him everything. I’ve also warned him to be very alert, because one of the three escaped and is pretty sure to go after him. Luckily the map only goes as far as the River of No Return, the point where we embark to go upriver. It didn’t give the exact location of the Camp, so I don’t suppose they know where it is. As for the two men, I handed them over to the Captain. It turns out that it wasn’t such a good idea. He questioned them for two days, but as they didn’t talk, he decided they were spies, and hanged them in the fort. I thought you’d want to know. I’ll keep my eyes peeled in case they send more assassins after Egil. If they cross the border here, they’ll have to reckon with me. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know. Take care and come back with an elite specialization, all of you. Love, Gerd.”
“He’s fantastic!” Viggo said.
“Did you all grasp the fact that he wasn’t afraid?” said Ingrid.
“Yes,” Lasgol said, “it’s getting to affect him less and less. Soon he’ll have overcome it completely.”
“I’m very worried about Egil,” Ingrid said. “We have to find out who wants to kill him.”
“We’ll find that quite difficult from here,” Lasgol pointed out.
“He’s safe in the Camp,” Viggo said. “They won’t be able to reach him there.”
“Yeah, that’s comforting... but still, it’s troubling.”
“We’ll find out who’s behind this,” Ingrid said.
“I hope so... for Egil’s sake.”
Chapter 11
During the following weeks Lasgol kept as far away from Isgord as he could. Unfortunately, sooner or later he was going to find himself having to share physical training, or supply tasks, with him. And so it happened; it turned out to be the latter. It was their turn to go hunting to get meat for the group. Lasgol did not want to go with Isgord, but he could not refuse. Sigrid supervised the morning tasks, and this day was no different.
“You already have your groups,” she told them. “Go and get what’s needed and don’t disappoint me, or else there’ll be consequences.”
Lasgol was beginning to see with increasing clarity that the Mother Specialist had a split personality. At times she was kind, even affectionate, while at others she behaved like a malicious witch; it was disconcerting, because they never knew which of the two personalities would be dominant when she addressed them.
“Mother Specialist...” he said.
“Yes?” She turned, and judging by the look she gave him, he guessed that today he was faced with the less friendly personality. Even so, he tried to get rid of Isgord.
“Perhaps it might be better if the two of us were in different teams,” he suggested, with a nod towards Isgord.
“I’m sure of that, but it wouldn’t make you into better specialists.”
Lasgol tried again. “Given our past history...”
“I know you can’t stand each other, that there’s spite and hatred in your hearts. That’s your problem, not the Rangers’, and least of all of the Specialists.”
“I’d prefer another partner too,” Isgord said with his arms folded.
“And I’d rather be young again, but it’s not going to happen. Do your duty with whoever your partner happens to be, because outside here, when you’re assigned a mission, you won’t be able to choose either the objective or who you have with you. You obey, and you carry out your orders. Is that as clear as the water of a mountain stream?”
“Yes, Mother Specialist,” Lasgol said grimly.
“Yeah...” Isgord muttered through gritted teeth.
“And now off you go before you make me angry and I make you run in front of Snowflake.”
At the mention of Snowflake Lasgol unconsciously put his hands to his buttocks and thighs, where the tiger was in the habit of nipping him.
“Right away,” he said.
“And no nonsense. You’ve both been warned. One fight, one violent action and you’ll be expelled. No excuses accepted.”
They both nodded, although both looked furious. Isgord took his bow and quiver and slung them across his back with the ease of an expert archer. Lasgol had more trouble arming himself, which was something he did not enjoy. They set off without exchanging a word.
They made for the highest woods, where the hunting was more abundant. Isgord, of course, went first, and Lasgol followed him three paces behind, keeping up with him and not uttering a word, since if he spoke there was sure to be a fight. He could not forget for a single moment that Isgord had tried to crack his skull and send him to his death, nor would he ever forget it. The mere memory caused something inside him to burn intensely, and he reached for his knife. He had to restrain himself to avoid gutting his opponent then and there in his fury.
Suddenly Isgord sopped and crouched down. Lasgol did the same. For a moment he examined some tracks on the ground, sniffing hard several times. Lasgol guessed that he was trying to smell the prey, which was a complicated business in that environment and with so little wind. Isgord stood up and went on, crouching, toward the north. Lasgol stopped to check the trail. It was a caribou, a female. But Isgord was heading north and intending to confront his quarry. It would be better to go around it, since they had the breeze at their backs and hence the animal would be able to detect them.
