Trials (14 page)

Lasgol made a sign to Morksen to follow silently. Morksen looked at him with surprise and showed his disagreement by twitching his bulldog’s nose in a smirk of disgust. Lasgol gave a look that was intended to remind him who was in charge. Morksen shrugged his shoulders and made a mock curtsey.

They heard the Norghanian Captain ask: “How many regiments are stationed in this area?” The interrogation had begun.

“You shan’t get a word out of me, I’m an officer of the Rogdonian Army, I’ll die with pleasure before I give you any information, you dirty Norghanian.”

Lasgol slung his short bow at his back. He and Morksen went swiftly to a wooden hut somewhat to the west of the square.

“We´ll see whether you’ll speak or not,” said the Norghanian officer.

As Lasgol took a quick glance, the Norghanian Captain drew his knife across the throat of one of the captive soldiers. Blood gushed forth from the severed neck and the Norghanians clapped and shouted with glee, egging their chief on. The noise was deafening.

“You’ll speak, oh yes, you will,” the Norghanian Captain was saying, “or else I’ll kill all your men and then I’ll cut off your fingers and toes one by one.”

The shouting filled the square in a frenzy.

Lasgol lowered his head, overwhelmed by sadness and shame. He made a sign to Morksen and they went on towards the North, round the square. They advanced crouching since Lasgol had no wish to get involved in that vile act. They reached a large barn to one side and hid in the doorway. A woman’s desperate screams suddenly came from inside the barn. When Lasgol risked a quick look in, he saw five soldiers who had cornered three young women. Terrified, they were trying to get away but could not break the circle of soldiers.

One of the young peasants, with long chestnut hair, managed to escape, but one of the Norghanians caught up with her, hit her and dragged her down to the ground. He yelled at her:

“Where do you think you’re going? Stay still. It’s time to please the victors, little rat.”

He began to unbuckle his belt, with his friends laughing and encouraging him.

“Show this Rogdonian wench what a real warrior’s like” said one of the soldiers.

“These peasant women of the West have no idea what a real man is. There’s nothing more than half-men and children here. Looking at the way they fought today I’d have thought they were a bunch of worthless eunuchs!”

Laughter filled the barn.

Another soldier grabbed a dark-haired girl and dragged her to a bale of hay, sat on her and pinned her arms to the ground. “The more you resist, the more I’ll enjoy it,” he sneered lecherously.

The third girl was no more than a child, with golden hair and enormous eyes. She was screaming, and there was pure terror in her face. Another soldier went to her and slapped her with such force that she fell.

Lasgol nocked his short bow and walked into the barn. He stood at the door and calculated the distance to the men: ten steps.

“Stop!” he said with cold authority.

The five soldiers turned immediately.

“Who are you? This is none of your business,” said one of them, big as a bear and with a nasty scar on his forehead.

“I’m Lasgol, Royal Tracker and Forest Ranger in the service of His Majesty King Thoran.”

“You say that, but there’s no reason why we should believe you,” said another as he drew his sword.

“You’d better believe it fellows, what he says is the truth. I’m Morksen, Royal Tracker, and you’ve probably heard about me.”

“I’ve never heard talk of any Royal Forest Ranger. What are we waiting for? Let’s kill them!” said the youngest of the soldiers.

Two of them drew their axes and took a step forward.

“Stop!” said the one with the scar, “I’ve heard of him, and none of what I heard was good. Whatever goes on here is no business of yours, Trackers. If you want a share of the spoils, you’ll be welcome. If not, you’d best be on your way.”

“I’d join you with pleasure,” said Morksen with his usual mocking sneer. “But I’m afraid that my young partner here won’t allow me to.”

“Let them go,” said Lasgol with icy calm. “I won’t say it again.”

The tension grew as the Norghanian soldiers prepared their weapons.

“Are you with him?” the soldier with the scar asked Morksen.

“No, this is none of my business, I’ll wait outside.” Without looking back at Lasgol, he left the barn.

But the young Ranger did not flinch. He stood his ground with absolute determination. He was not going to allow that atrocity.

“Don’t be a fool,” said another soldier. “We’re five to one, you have no chance. I don’t want to kill a fellow-countryman, but if you don’t leave this barn at once I’ll finish you off without a moment’s hesitation.”

“I can’t allow you to lay a hand on these women. You may have no honor, but here is a Norghanian who does have it and will defend it to his last breath. No harm will come to those women, and if I have to kill all five of you to make sure of it, I will.”

“As you wish, Tracker… Kill him!” ordered the one with the scar.

Lasgol anticipated the order and made use of his Gift. Before the first soldier even took a step, he pierced his neck with a True Shot. He nocked his bow with inhuman speed and let fly again, hitting the second soldier as he ran towards him. The third one was nearly on top of him and he was not sure he could shoot an arrow before the other reached him. But he had no choice: he had to take the risk. The arrow left the short bow an instant before the soldier reached him. The arrow pierced the chain mail and reached the heart. At the last moment the soldier made a thrust for Lasgol’s head, and he had to duck to one side to avoid it. The swift shooting skill he had invoked had worked. The fourth assailant was waiting. Lasgol would have no time to nock his bow again.

With a chilling war-cry the Norghanian soldier attacked with his axe. Lasgol moved to one side and activated his cat-reflexes skill. The soldier attacked again, wielding his axe with all the strength of his body, but Lasgol evaded the thrusts with feline flexibility. He recovered and managed to draw his two short blades. He blocked a fierce blow to his head by crossing them, then launched a kick to the soldier’s stomach, forcing him to step back. Taking advantage of the moment, he used his Gift again, activating his defensive-sword skill so that although the soldier attacked repeatedly, Lasgol fended him. A metallic flash caught his eye, and he turned towards the far end of the barn just in time to see the throwing axe leave the hand of the big warrior with the scar. Lasgol bent his body backwards and the axe brushed his shoulder. He felt the sting and realized he had been cut. The soldier nearest to him attacked again and this time Lasgol had no choice but to kill him by quickly blocking the approaching sword and counter-thrusting with his two blades.

Four soldiers lay dead. Only the giant with the scar remained, and he now picked up a long double axe.

“I don’t wish to kill you,” said Lasgol. “There’s still time to let the women go.”

“It’s too late. You’ve killed my comrades and for that I must end your life,” he said as he picked up a round wooden shield.

“Well, well. The man has a curious concept of honor. Killing to avenge a few miserable fallen comrades is honorable, yet there’s no dishonor in raping, torturing and murdering defenseless women.”

“Your sense of honor and mine are different, Ranger. They’re the victors’ spoils. They belong to us to do as we please with them. That’s what war is. It’s always been like this and always will be. We’re the winners, and we have a right to enjoy them.”

“They’re defenseless human beings. You have no rights over their lives.”

“Prepare yourself, Forest Ranger, it’s time for you to die.”

Lasgol adopted a defensive stance as he watched the big Norghanian warrior approach, beating his axe on the shield violently to intimidate the Tracker. Lasgol knew that the warrior was strong and experienced and that he would not be able to beat him in a face to face fight. He had to think of something fast. He concentrated his thoughts and activated his strengthening skill: he would need it to resist the attacks of this brutal adversary. He did not have to wait long. The soldier swung his axe powerfully at waist level, and Lasgol blocked the impact with both swords. It was a massive blow, the huge Norghanian took a wide sweep with his shield and caught Lasgol in the chest, he reeled and took a few steps back. He felt a sharp pain in the abdomen and for a moment was breathless, barely in time to recover and block another furious stroke. He would not be able to hold out much longer. He tried a counterattack but the Norghanian, well trained in the use of the shield, blocked him.

Lasgol began to worry. Things were not going too well, and without his bow he was clearly at a disadvantage against such a strong and skillful enemy. He avoided a couple of savage thrusts, making use of all his agility and reflexes, but the Norghanian was over seven feet tall and a head taller. Suddenly he recalled an old saying of his father’s which he seemed to hear as a whisper brought floating on the wind: “
Every warrior, no matter how good, hides a weakness and the weakness of a tall warrior is always at his base.”
Lasgol watched how the other one moved, and immediately knew what to do. He took a step back and waited.

“What are you waiting for, you coward? Attack!” said his opponent.

Lasgol crouched.

The big Norghanian attacked furiously, raising the axe above his head and holding the shield high to protect himself. Lasgol waited till the last moment. Just when the axe began to descend upon his head, he dropped to the ground like a rattle-snake seeking to bury its fangs in the big warrior’s ankle.

With a quick lightning-clean thrust he cut off the heel of his opponent, rolled over and came to his feet behind the giant.

It had all been so quick that the Norghanian did not even notice what had happened. He turned and tried to hit Lasgol, but his leg failed him. The Ranger repeated his attack, this time cutting the tendons at the back of the knee.

The warrior yelled with rage and collapsed like a felled tree.

Lasgol went to his side and kicked the axe out of his hand. He put the tip of his sword on the fallen soldier’s throat and said: “You’re a heartless animal and you don’t deserve to live. But unlike you I do have honor, and I won’t kill an unarmed man, even though death is what he deserves.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” came Morksen’s voice. “You should kill him right now. If you don’t, then one day you’ll find his dagger in your back. Men like him, or like myself, I must admit,” he added with a wink from his good eye, “can’t be pardoned, because from that moment revenge will guide their step, and if the opportunity arises, they’ll kill whoever it is they hate.”

“I don’t need your cheap advice, and please let me thank you for the help I didn’t get from you,” Lasgol replied, deeply annoyed.

“This fight had nothing to do either with me or with the mission we have to accomplish. If you took it on yourself to intervene, you shouldn’t expect my help. We’re not friends. We’re not even partners, so I don’t have to help you. We’re on a mission, and if you wish to die before it’s over, I won’t be the one who stops you.”

Lasgol ignored this last comment and looked around for the three women. He finally saw them huddled in one corner of the barn, hugging each other and shaking with fear. He went over to them and said in the Common Speech of the West: “Follow me at once without a sound if you wish to save your lives.”

Morksen looked at him and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh.

An hour later, on the outskirts of the hamlet, Lasgol was pointing out to the three young women the path they should follow south to safety.

“Now what, chief? Shall we look for some princess in peril who needs rescuing?” said Morksen, not bothering to hide his disdain.

Lasgol looked at him, keeping his hatred in check.

“No. Now we catch the Assassin.”

“But we’ve lost his trail. We don’t know which way he’s gone.”

“I do,” said Lasgol.

“Oh? In that case, would you mind sharing your wisdom?”

“If he’s come this far, it’s to cross the Half Moon Pass by the high paths, so he won’t be seen by our troops at the Fortress below, where the Grand Pass begins.”

“I’m with you…”

“From there he’ll go on to the steppes, Masig territory. To the Fountain of Life.”

“How can you know that? Does your Gift really allow you to see the future?”

“No, it’s not the Gift that tells me. I know this man, I know Yakumo...”

“Even so, how do you know he’s going there?”

“Because that’s where he’ll find what his heart yearns for more than life itself.”

Not far from there, Yakumo the Assassin, hiding on top of the wooden roof of a solitary farm, lowered his head so that the wind would not betray him. He was watching a dangerous scene unfold at his feet. He did not want to leave his hiding place, but the situation was getting more complicated every minute. He was hiding on a farm just outside the village of Dolsber, fleeing from the trackers who were after him night and day without respite, and had finally managed to give them the slip. But there was a new obstacle that prevented him from going any further. Half a dozen Norghanian soldiers, with a Sergeant in command were ransacking the farm. He was restless: it was not a good thing to have the enemy so near, where they could easily discover him.