Path of the Specialist

by Pedro Urvi

  Lasgol began to feel decidedly nervous. Ona, who was now at his side, noticed this and chirped in protest.

  The Ice Mage was now pointing at Dakon. All at once a beam of silver light issued from the sphere above the staff, forming an arc that struck Dakon’s chest. Lasgol’s eyes opened wide in terror. His father’s body arched in pain, but he held on. The arc of energy remained where it had struck. A second arc came out of the sphere and hit his partner, leaving both as if they had been struck by lightning.

  “Ready, Elders?” asked Ogulson.

  “We are,” said all four.

  Ogulson now created four thinner arcs and sent them from the sphere to the four Elders. They were struck in the chest, and from there the arcs leapt to the chests of the volunteers as Lasgol watched, paralyzed by anguish.

  The Ice Mage closed his eyes and conjured again. More energy passed from the frozen dragon to the sphere, and from there to the four Elders and on to the two volunteers. Lasgol could see from their faces and their bodies, which were arched backwards as though they were about to break, that they were in great pain. They would not hold out for much longer.

  “Let the test begin,” the Mother Specialist said.

  Ogulson conjured. Suddenly the colors of the energy which was passing from the four Elders to Dakon and his partner changed. That of the Elder of Wildlife turned brown; that of the Elder of Nature, green; that of the Elder of Archery, silver; and that of the Elder of Expertise, blackish. Lasgol guessed that it must be something like what he had experienced himself when the four Elders had been judging him to find out whether he was worthy. But for some reason he knew that what he was watching now was far more dangerous. This seemed a hundred times more intense than his own experience.

  The Ice Mage conjured once again, and the arches of energy issuing from the four Elders disappeared. Lasgol was glad to see that they now no longer reached Dakon and his partner. Ogulson conjured one last time, and the two energy beams which reached from the sphere to the two partners vanished. Immediately they both collapsed.

  The Mother Specialist bent over Dakon, while the Elder of Nature did the same over his partner.

  “How are they?” Ogulson asked. He had just finished consuming the sphere of energy.

  “He’s dead,” said the Elder of Nature. “He wasn’t able to bear it.”

  Lasgol felt as though his heart had leapt out of his chest.

  “This one’s alive, but I don’t know whether he’ll make it. We’re losing him.”

  “Father!” Lasgol cried. Ona started in shock.

  “It was very risky,” Ogulson said. “I told you it would be.”

  “We know,” the Mother Specialist replied.

  “Did they manage it, though?” the Ice Mage asked.

  “Dakon managed to,” the Elder of Nature said. “He passed the test.”

  “In that case,” Ogulson said, “you’d better save him.”

  “Let’s get him out of here. This temperature’s going to kill him.”

  The image began to fade as they carried Dakon away, unconscious and taking his last breath of life.

  “Father!” Lasgol shouted in despair.

  The image faded until it had vanished completely. He was left sitting on the shore, trying to understand what he had just seen. His father had passed the test, but his partner had died. These were the ones Sigrid and the Elders had referred to when they had talked about someone in the past having made it, but that things had gone terribly wrong. And now he began to understand. This was why Sigrid had insisted on using him, because she knew he was Dakon’s son. His father had managed it, and so he himself was the ideal candidate. But why had the pendant shown him that vision? Why at that moment? Was there some connection? Was it all coincidence? No, he did not think so. He did not believe in coincidences. Not when they involved himself.

  “Are you all right?” Ingrid called out. She was running toward him.

  “Yeah...”

  “I heard you scream. Are you sure everything’s okay?” She was aiming around her with her bow in case there was some danger.

  “Yeah... I’ll tell you later. It’s the pendant...”

  “Your mother’s?

  “Yeah, I had a vision.”

  “You’d better tell us during dinner. You’ll have plenty to say.”

  “Yeah, and besides, I need to go over what I’ve been through.”

  What was clear to him was that he had not liked that vision in the least, nor what it meant for him.

  Chapter 38

  The following day, in the middle of a winter storm, they had a visitor who was always popular with them.

  “Milton!” Lasgol cried when he recognized him perched on a rock beside the river in front of the Lair.

  The owl hooted when he saw him. Snow was falling on his white plumage.

  “Bringing us news?” Lasgol asked.

  Milton raised one leg, as he had been trained to do, and Lasgol saw the message tied to it. “Good boy,” he said, and stroked his head gently.

  Milton appreciated the attention and spread his wings.

  Lasgol looked up at the sky, where the clouds were so black that it looked as though the end of days was on its way. “You’d better find some shelter. There’s a bad storm on its way.”

  Milton hooted again and flew to a nearby tree, where he took shelter among its higher branches.

  “I’ll call when I need you,” Lasgol said, and as he spoke, a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

  “What are you doing out here, you idiot? Come inside, there’s the kind of storm on its way that no-one’s going to forget in a hurry.”

  Lasgol turned around and saw Erika at the entrance to the Lair, waving at him to come back. He was suddenly aware that he was freezing and covered in snow. He ran to the Cave before the storm broke, hoping that Milton would be all right. He was a clever owl, and surely nothing would happen to him. Besides, he was used to the terrible weather of the north. He himself was more likely to perish in a winter storm than Milton. In any case, he thought he ought to take some meat to him from dinner: unobtrusively, of course.

  “Hi, Erika!”

  “What the heck were you doing? You’re going to freeze!”

  “Nothing, just watching the storm.”

  She smiled broadly. “My, you really are weird,” she said.

  “You’re talking like Viggo.”

  She laughed. “Don’t say that, I’ll have a stroke!”

  Lasgol laughed too. “No, maybe not yet, but before the end of the year, I can assure you you’ll be speaking like him. It’s very easy to pick up.”

  Erika put her hands to her head in mock horror. “I’m going to ask the ‘losers’ group to adopt me, so I can escape from the ‘weirdos.’”

  “Quite a sensible idea,” Lasgol said with a smile. “But if you’re choosing groups, wouldn’t it be better to go with the ‘best’?”

  Erika’s eyes opened wide, and she shook her head. “No way! With that bunch of spoiled, arrogant idiots? Never!”

  Lasgol laughed. “Then you’d better stay with the ‘weirdos’. It’s good for us to have someone new, with a different outlook.”

  “Okay, but on condition that if you see the ‘Viggo disease’ affecting me too badly, you’ll throw me out of the group.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lasgol said. “I’ll be watching you closely. If I detect any signs, I’ll throw you out myself.”

  They both laughed at this.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’s dinner-time, and I’m starving.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  They dined with the rest of the group amid laughter and camaraderie. As usual, Viggo tore every subject to pieces, and in exchange Ingrid challenged him at the slightest opportunity.

  Lasgol did not mention Milton’s message until they had finished dinner. Unobtrusively, he whispered to Ingrid to join him at the entrance of the Lair and to pass on the message, then got up and left. He saw the ‘losers’ chatting anima
tedly about winter storms and how to shelter from them. In the ‘best’ group, Isgord was talking and gesticulating. Lasgol guessed he was trying to stand out, as always, and ignored them. He went up the stairs and toward the entrance to the Lair.

  He whistled and opened the door. Outside, the storm was in full blast. Thunder and lightning filled a dark, threatening sky. The wind was roaring strongly, shaking the forest trees. The cold which came in from outside was intense. He sat down on the ground a few paces inside the Cavern of Runes to shelter.

  “It’s a nasty night,” came a voice.

  He turned and saw Ingrid coming in. She sat down beside him.

  “Hi there, Ingrid.”

  “News?”

  “Yup, from Egil.”

  “Let’s hope it’s good.”

  Viggo sat down with them. “Enjoying the stormy views?”

  “It really is a horrible night,” Lasgol said.

  “A Norghanian winter night,” Ingrid corrected him.

  “And what a night,” Viggo said. “They say only Norghanians love a storm.”

  For a moment the three friends looked out at the storm as it grew in strength outside. Luckily the cavern protected them from the cold and wind. Lasgol looked over his shoulder and saw that they were alone.

  “We’ve got news from Egil,” he announced.

  “Is it in the language of the Wild People of the Ice?” Viggo asked.

  Lasgol nodded.

  “Then do your thing.”

  Lasgol looked at the ring and began to read. In his mind, under the spell of the ring, the words began to make sense.

  “Dear friends and partners, I’m sending you this letter to let you know that I’m fine, and to share with you important news which I believe it’s fundamental that you should be informed of so that you can take whatever actions are pertinent and necessary, given the present state of events.

  “Always the same! My, he’s twisted. Why not write like everybody else, simple and direct?”

  “It’s Egil,” Ingrid pointed out. “What do you expect?”

  Viggo snorted.

  The war has once again reached a complicated, and at the same time crucial, point. Thanks to the fact that I have access to all the Camp mail – and don’t worry, I’m very careful to avoid being discovered – I’ve been able to intercept valuable information and transmit it to my brother. Using it, he and the Western League have managed to delay Thoran’s great offensive. They’ve set obstacles in the way of the advance of the Eastern troops by cutting roads, destroying bridges, blocking passes, carrying out guerrilla attacks on his supply lines, and all kinds of other subversive maneuvers to delay them. They’ve been successful and have delayed the Western attack as much as they can.”

  “Good strategy,” Viggo said. “I like it.”

  Ingrid nodded. “Yeah, wearing the enemy down. And gaining time. That’s often something you need, to get your defenses ready.”

  “Unfortunately, the final confrontation was inevitable, despite Arnold’s efforts to delay it. There have been two major battles. The first was on the plains of Osmark, where the Western forces managed to stop Thoran’s army. The result was indecisive. Thoran, driven by haste because autumn was nearing its end and winter close at hand, advanced without having all his army with him, and my brother took advantage of the situation. The West came very close to defeating Thoran, but he withdrew to wait for the remainder of his men.”

  Ingrid shook her head. “Haste is always a bad thing.”

  “Pity they didn’t manage to finish Thoran off,” said Viggo.

  “The second battle was on Isborg Hill only a few weeks ago. In this battle Thoran defeated the Western forces, and my brother had to retreat.”

  “Oh... bad news for the West,” said Viggo.

  “Bad news for the whole of Norghana,” Ingrid corrected him.

  Lasgol nodded. It was very bad news. He went on reading:

  “I’m continuing to provide my brother and his people with information, as much of it as I’ve gathered. I’ve also advised him on several strategies to follow. I’ve done all I could for his cause, for the cause of the West. Unfortunately, Thoran’s forces are more numerous, and he has reinforcements in the form of mercenaries bought with the gold of the royal treasury, which represents a considerable advantage in the battlefield. My brother was forced to retreat to Estocos, the capital of the Duchy of Vigons-Olafstone. This was something we had already foreseen. The strategy consisted of delaying Thoran’s advance as much as possible, and that has been achieved. Now, with winter upon us, they won’t be able to besiege the city. They’ll have to withdraw.”

  “They won’t be able to?” Ingrid repeated.

  Viggo gestured outside. “Too cold.”

  “We’re Norghanian,” Lasgol pointed out, “and we might like the cold for a few days, but months on end of siege... no. Thoran would lose a lot of soldiers to cold and sickness.”

  “And plenty of others would desert,” Viggo added. “He’d lose all his mercenaries. They won’t be able to put up with the cold, and they won’t stay to die in a winter siege.”

  “Egil explained to me what a complicated business besieging a city in winter in the north would be. Cold, lack of supplies, problems involved in taking the walls, low morale among the troops...”

  “Yeah... go on with the letter,” said Ingrid.

  “My brother is holding up for the moment. Come spring, Thoran will certainly besiege him, so I’m getting my plans ready to help him. I’m going to use all the means I can to prevent Thoran from defeating him and taking over the West. Arnold is the true and legitimate King, and he must win and reign in Norghana.”

  Viggo was shaking his head. “I hope he does... but he’s going to find it pretty hard.”

  “You don’t think he’ll manage it?”

  “By this stage, he has no choice. All that’s left for him to do is make a desperate last-ditch stand and hope for a miracle.”

  “A miracle that won’t come,” Ingrid added.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Lasgol said. “Egil will find some way of helping his brother, to regain the crown for his family.”

  Viggo shook his head. “It’s a noble aim, but one that’ll lead him to his death, like his brother.” He said this with such conviction that both Ingrid and Lasgol felt their blood run cold.

  “Viggo...” Ingrid said reproachfully.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth, that’s what’ll happen. You can deny it all you want, but that’s how it always ends. The powerful and the ruthless win, never mind whether the cause is just or not, the strongest wins. In this case, Thoran.”

  “As long as Egil’s helping his brother, they have a chance,” said Lasgol. He was unwilling to believe that everything was lost for the West.

  “A very remote possibility.”

  “But a possibility all the same.”

  Viggo nodded, accepting this.

  “Then I won’t give up hope.”

  Ingrid put her hand on Lasgol’s shoulder. “Courage.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lasgol heaved a deep sigh and went on reading:

  “As soon as I have more news of the war, I’ll let you know. Take care, I love you all. Your friend, Egil.”

  “Everything’s going to be all right...” Lasgol said, more to himself than to the others.

  Nobody said anything.

  Chapter 39

  Gisli came to the hill where Lasgol was waiting for him with Ona, as the Elder had told him to, and without wasting any time they started training. It was cold that mid-morning. The wind was blowing from the north-east, and it cut the skin like blades of ice. Lasgol was covered from head to foot with protective winter gear, but even so, he could feel the icy weather. Luckily the storm had just passed, and for the moment it did not seem that it was going to come again. Ona, beside him, did not seem to feel the harshness of the Norghanian winter. She was flicking her thick tail
restlessly, but thanks to her fur and her conditioning to the mountain climate, she was comfortable. Lasgol wished he were half-snow panther so that he would feel the cold less himself.

  He had spent days ‘whispering’ to Ona, which was how the Elder referred to making her understand what he was trying to transmit to her. He was teaching her small, simple, distinctive commands, always in the same way and in the same order so as not to confuse her. Teaching a great cat was a hard task which required extreme patience. Luckily, Lasgol possessed it. It did not matter to him how many days went by without Ona making any significant progress, and nor did he grow frustrated if she did not understand him or paid no attention to him. He was very much aware that his new friend was a great cat, and a wild one, and understanding each other was going to be a complicated business. Elder Gisli showed even more patience than he did himself, which was something to be admired. He never faltered, even though it seemed that everything Lasgol was trying went wrong.

  Gisli’s techniques were complex, and he hung on every word he spoke as if it were a masterclass. This was exactly what these lessons really were, and he was coming to realize it. He was beginning to see they were making some slight progress, but what he did not know was whether it was happening fast enough. He thought not, but Gisli had not said anything about it, so he was hoping that all the time they were spending with Ona was truly necessary. It would break his heart if Elder Gisli were to tell him that their progress was too slow, if he never managed to become a Beast Whisperer after all. He wanted this with all his heart and soul, and still more the longer he spent with Ona, who was a beautiful animal with a spirit that was both good and noble.

  “Most wild animals are noble,” Gisli explained to him. “It’s unusual for one to turn against you, though it has been known to happen. It’s usually because of mistreatment. An animal should never be mistreated. Remember that.”