Path of the Specialist

by Pedro Urvi

  The cub with the black spot on its forehead came back after a while and clawed twice at Lasgol’s arm. The cub must have been five months old, and its claws could not yet penetrate the leather protection he wore on both forearms for dealing with birds and for Archery. The cub just wanted to play; Lasgol was tempted to stroke it but thought better of it and did not move a finger.

  “The cub seems to like you,” Gisli said.

  Ilsa scolded it with a hiss. But instead of moving back, the cub turned back to its mother with shrill little whistles which sounded almost like whimpering. Lasgol felt his heart melt at the sight of the fierce little creature. The mother gave it another angry hiss, then seized it by the scruff of its neck and took it back to its siblings.

  “How much longer are we staying?” Lasgol asked.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re spending the night here.”

  Lasgol thought this was a joke. It had to be a joke. He looked at Gisli. The expression on the Elder’s face said I’m not joking. He was left not knowing what to think or do.

  “You want to be a Beast Whisperer, don’t you?”

  “Yes...”

  “Well, this is the first lesson. To whisper to a beast, you first must gain its acceptance. Then its respect. And finally, its trust. Today we begin the process.”

  Lasgol breathed out heavily. He hoped he would not end up eaten before the process was finished.

  Chapter 13

  A week later, Lasgol, Ingrid and Molak were watching the instruction of the specialists in Expertise. Engla had granted them permission, although reluctantly. It seemed that everything done in her School was secret, or at least veiled in shadows, and they did not want anybody to find out the methods and tactics they used. This, of course, meant that everyone wanted to attend.

  The place where they practiced was the Black Forest, where even on a bright afternoon there was barely any visibility. The trees were very close to one another and their leafy branches covered the sky, not letting any light through. The undergrowth was so dense that it too did not let in any light. In that area of minimal visibility, it was all too easy to trip over roots, stones and irregularities in the ground. In the middle of the forest was a wide pond of green stagnant water in a clearing. The three partners were beside it, watching the practice.

  “I’m dying to see Astrid training,” Lasgol admitted.

  “Logical,” Molak said with a friendly smile.

  “I want to see how badly our own dumbass does,” Ingrid said with her arms folded.

  “Can’t you let him be even when he’s not there?” Molak reproached her. He sounded annoyed.

  “No, that’s exactly what I’ve come to see.”

  Molak rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  On one side of the pond they saw Aren carrying out a very strange exercise. He was wearing his cloak with the hood up and the specialist’s scarf covering his face. He had daubed his forehead and nose so that all that could be seen of his face was his eyes. He went into the first rank of trees and then froze very still, like a statue. A moment later he seemed to vanish, camouflaged now with his surroundings. Then he came out to the clearing, chose another position and repeated the exercise. Engla meanwhile watched him with her hands behind her back.

  “Is he practicing camouflaging himself?” Ingrid asked.

  “I think what he’s practicing is called the Chameleon,” Molak said.

  “I remember Engla mentioned it in the introduction they gave us when we first came to the Shelter,” Lasgol said. “She called it ‘Chameleon Stalker’.”

  Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “I thought the élite specialty was called ‘Green Stalker’.”

  “That’s the official name, according to the Path of the Specialist,” Molak explained. “But the name most commonly used is ‘Chameleon Stalker’, because it’s so like the behavior of a chameleon.”

  She nodded. “I see...”

  Engla took two steps to her left and watched Aren closely.

  “The Stalker has to be like a chameleon,” she told him sternly. “Your main function is that of camouflaging yourself in the environment. You must be a human chameleon and disappear from your enemy or your prey. You’re not doing it. I can see you.”

  “Sorry, Ma’am.”

  Lasgol narrowed his eyes and stared at the spot where he thought the voice was coming from, but he could not see Aren. “Can you see him?”

  “No, not me,” said Ingrid.

  Molak shook his head.

  “The spot where you’ve hidden yourself is a good one,” Engla told him, “but it’s not the most appropriate one. Two steps to your right, beside the bush.”

  Aren followed her instructions. When he moved from his original position Lasgol was able to glimpse him for a moment, though only just. He seemed a shadow in movement, then instantly he blended in with his surroundings and he could see him no longer. It reminded him very much of Camu when he made himself invisible.

  Engla went on instructing her pupil. “Once he’s camouflaged, the Stalker will spy on his target with the aim of either catching or killing, depending on the mission he’s been charged with.”

  “I understand, Ma’am.”

  “The Green Stalker has to get ahead of his prey and prepare a trap, an ambush, keeping both himself and the trap imperceptible. When the exact moment comes, he comes out of his hiding. The Stalker has to make use of both his environment and his intelligence to make his prey fall into the trap. The aim is that the prey should not be aware of what’s happened. The ambush needs to be carried out in the blink of an eye. It must be perfect.”

  “I’ll manage that, Ma’am.”

  “I expect no less. I don’t enjoy wasting my time with pupils who aren’t up to par,”

  Lasgol and Ingrid exchanged a glance, and Lasgol raised his eyebrows. Ingrid looked astonished. Engla was certainly not fooling around.

  The Elder now went over to Jorgen, who was a little further to the east, to supervise his practice. They watched him doing a similar, but slightly different exercise to Aren’s. Jorgen was moving with knife and axe in hand along the second line of trees, disappearing progressively as he moved. At first, they could see him, but then he took a couple of steps to one side and was lost among the trees and underbrush. But unlike Aren, who froze still, waiting, blending into the environment like a chameleon, Jorgen kept moving. But the surprising thing was that they lost sight of him, although if they followed what they presumed to be his route with their eyes, they saw him reappear at the end of it. He repeated the exercise from right to left and left to right.

  “I can only see him begin and finish,” Lasgol said. “What about you two?”

  “I lose him in the middle,” Ingrid agreed.

  “Me too,” said Molak. “It’s as if he melted into the forest. I can’t see him move until he stops at the end and reappears.”

  Lasgol rubbed his eyes to see better, which turned out to be a mistake as his vision began to blur. Jorgen simply vanished at the second sidestep.

  “He’s very good,” he said, impressed by Jorgen’s skill.

  “He certainly is,” Ingrid agreed.

  “Looks to me as though all the Expertise pupils are,” Molak said.

  “One of them certainly isn’t.”

  “Ufff...”

  Engla went over to Jorgen. “The Forest Assassin has no rival in his natural environment, the forests.” She indicated their surroundings with a wave. “There’s no soldier, bandit, wild one or mage who can defeat him in his habitat. His weapons are stealth and invisibility, and because of these he lives and kills.”

  Jorgen broke off the exercise. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Repeat the movements, but this time with a nocked bow instead of knife and axe.”

  “Right away, Ma’am.”

  Engla now turned to where Astrid was practicing. Lasgol felt butterflies in his stomach the moment he set eyes on her. A smile appeared on his face unconsciously as he watched the fierce brunette.<
br />
  “What’s Astrid doing?” Ingrid asked, intrigued.

  “She’s preparing her weapons,” Molak said. “They’re a bit odd.”

  Astrid was on her knees, handling three pairs of knives which she had laid on a tanned skin spread out on the ground. The odd thing was that none of them was the usual Ranger knife. The first set had thinner, slightly curved blades, and appeared designed to deliver lethal slashes. The blades of the second set were very fine and were long and round, as if for delivering a deadly thrust. As for the third pair, their small size made it clear that they were throwing daggers.

  Ingrid was looking at the sets of knives with great interest. “They certainly aren’t Ranger’s knives. Ours are weapons, but they’re also tools. They’re much rougher and heavier than those.”

  “Those weapons only have one function, and that’s... to kill,” said Molak.

  “Yes, they’d be no use for making a bow.”

  Lasgol was thinking the same but said nothing. The subject was not his favorite. His concern about Astrid began to creep up his throat, accompanied by acute heartburn. He cleared his throat but could not get rid of the unpleasant sensation.

  “Show me your preparations, and you’d better not have made any mistakes,” Engla said bluntly.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid replied, and opened her cloak. From her Ranger’s belt she took out a phial, took off the stopper and poured something over the curved blades so that they were covered in a greenish substance.

  “Paralyzing poison?” Engla asked her.

  “Yes, Ma’am, I prepared it according to the instructions. Without deviation.”

  “Good. Always remember that the Assassin of Nature uses the strongest poisons, potions, preparations and ointments that nature offers to kill the enemy.”

  “Always, Ma’am.”

  “Give me your arm.”

  Lasgol did not like the sound of this.

  “What’s she going to do?” Ingrid asked. There was fear for Astrid in her eyes.

  “Now make a cut in your palm.”

  Lasgol made a move to interrupt, but Molak held him back. “The Elder knows what she’s doing,” he said.

  “But it’s poison,”

  “You have to trust Engla.”

  Lasgol did not agree at all, but before he could do anything Astrid made a cut in her palm as Engla had told her to.

  “Keep your arm stretched out.”

  Astrid nodded. After a moment her arm began to shake. Her face showed the effort she was making to keep her arm parallel to the ground. Suddenly it fell to her side. She clenched her jaw and tried to raise it, but in vain.

  “You can’t raise it?”

  Astrid shook her head. “It’s useless.”

  “Good, very good. Judging by the time until it took effect, and the fact that it was impossible to raise it, I deduce that the potency is right. Good work.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “Now let’s see the antidote I told you to make.”

  Astrid put her good hand in her belt for another phial, took off the stopper with her teeth and drank the contents.

  “An Assassin of Nature always needs to know how to prepare the antidotes to all the poisons she’s going to use, and to always carry them with her. It’s an essential rule. Accidents happen. You can cut yourself and die or cut someone you shouldn’t and kill him or her. Both results would be disastrous. That’s why you prepare the antidote first and then the poison, never the other way around. Is that absolutely clear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  They waited a long moment, and finally Astrid was able to move her arm again. She shook it briskly several times, then moved it in various directions to make sure it was fully recovered.

  “Good. I can see that you prepared the antidote according to my specifications too.”

  “It took me several days, but I managed it.”

  “The more you practice, the easier you’ll find it, as with everything else in life. This is a universal truth. Now you’re going to prepare three different poisons and their corresponding antidotes. The first will be a paralyzing one, the second an incapacitating one, and the third a deadly one. Make sure you don’t make any mistake, because you’re going to try them on yourself.”

  Lasgol’s eyes opened wide in horror. Surely she could not be serious? This was extremely risky and could either end Astrid’s life or leave her handicapped. He glanced aside at Ingrid and Molak, who were also looking on in surprise and horror.

  Astrid swallowed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Take it easy,” Ingrid whispered to Lasgol. “Engla knows what she’s doing.”

  He nodded, but he was not at all happy about it.

  Engla went on to give instructions to her last pupil, who was none other than Viggo. As usual, his expression suggested that he considered all this a bore and was not enthusiastic about training.

  Ingrid perked up. “This is going to be fun.”

  Molak did not look as if he was going to find it fun at all.

  “I see you’re bored,” Engla said acidly to Viggo.

  “I’ve spent the whole morning practicing the set of defensive moves, and quite honestly, it’s a bit repetitive and dreary...” He showed her his two marking knives, looking bored.

  “Repetitive and dreary, huh?”

  “Couldn’t I practice a set of attack movements? This one’s sending me to sleep.”

  “In order to learn how to kill, you first need to learn how to avoid dying.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t... but this is all pretty dull...”

  “Let’s see if I can fix that.” She took out two marking knives from her belt, then something else: an ointment and a phial containing a bluish liquid. “Show me your knives.”

  Viggo arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. But he could not disobey the Elder’s order, and Engla smeared the blades with the ointment. A moment later she poured the liquid on to the edges, and two electrical arcs ran along them with a crackling sound. Viggo threw his head back without moving his arms or taking his eyes off the edges.

  “Now it’s my turn,” she said, and did the same with her own knives. Two electrical arcs ran along the edges, leaping from one weapon to the other.

  Ingrid rubbed her hands in anticipation. “This is going to be fun.”

  Lasgol shook his head. He was already beginning to guess what was coming.

  “We’re going to repeat that set you’ve been practicing so hard.” said Engla. “But this time, instead of doing it alone, we’re going to do it together. And for every slow, wrong or unbalanced move you make, I’m going to make you pay.”

  Viggo’s smile twisted into one of annoyance.

  “All right then...”

  “In position.”

  Viggo took up his position, with his weapons ready. Engla moved to stand immediately in front of him.

  “Begin.”

  Viggo made the first move, sliding to the right and blocking the air with the knife in his right hand. To his surprise, Engla followed his movement, and where he should only have struck air, Engla’s knife materialized. When the two knives clashed, sparks and blue flashes issued from them with a sound that made everyone’s hair stand on end. Viggo went on through the set of exercises and moved back to another defensive position. Engla followed the movement as if she were an attacker, and once again, where Viggo blocked, she attacked and their weapons collided. They went on with the movements, and with each one Engla moved more quickly and in a more balanced way. Viggo began to sweat. He found it hard to go as fast as the Elder. They finished the set, and he gasped.

  Molak was surprised. “Wow, he did it!”

  “In fact, he moves very well,” Lasgol said.

  “This has only just begun,” Ingrid said with her arms folded, and Lasgol and Molak looked at her in puzzlement.

  “We’ll repeat the set,” Engla said. “But this time we’ll do it as if I were an enemy assassin.” She gave Viggo an acid smile.

  V
iggo frowned and looked decidedly unhappy about this.

  “Take up your position. Now.”

  Viggo made the first move, and Engla followed so fast that he could barely block her knife. The second move he missed. He took the knife-blow in his shoulder, and the electrical discharge ran down his whole arm and up his neck. He cried out in pain and dropped his knife.

  “More amusing?” Engla asked sarcastically.

  Viggo wrinkled his nose, shook his arm and picked up his knife from the ground.

  “We’ll go on.”

  Viggo went on through the movements and once again, at the second, he was not as fast as Engla and her knife caught him in the other shoulder. He cursed and dropped his weapon, and his arm began to shake uncontrollably.

  “I think you’re rather clumsy... you don’t seem to have mastered this set. We’d better go on practicing.”

  Ingrid burst out laughing. “She’s going to make him pay for all his nonsense.”

  Unfortunately, Lasgol had the same impression.

  Viggo and Engla went on, and Viggo got what he deserved. First, she hit him in his right leg, then in the left, and finished with a thrust to the stomach which had him writhing on the ground for quite some time. It was hard for him to recover from the discharges, and when at last he stood up again he looked as if he had been badly beaten.

  “If I ever hear the slightest complaint from you, or any other nonsense,” Engla said, “we’ll repeat the exercise with fire knives. Is that absolutely clear?” There was rage in her voice.

  Viggo bent his head and looked repentant. “It won’t... happen again.”

  “I hope so, for your own good. There’s no place for insolence here. If you want to become a Natural Assassin, I recommend that you practice every day as if there were no tomorrow, because otherwise you’re not going to make it. And I can assure you that you’re a very long way from making it. Innate abilities aren’t enough to graduate. You need to practice and study non-stop. Much better pupils than you have failed.” Her voice was chill.

  Viggo clenched his teeth. “I won’t fail...”

  “Well then, you’d better keep practicing. I want you repeating this set until dawn.”