Conflict (11 page)

“Don’t worry, Master,” Feldon said, visibly moved and trying not to shed tears in front of Mirkos. “We’ll make you proud of us. I don’t know how long it’ll take us, but we’ll do it. I promise!”

“Don’t give up in the face of the difficulty of the tasks. The dominion of the Gift requires many years of constant study, and thousands and thousands of repetitive exercises, in order to gain control of spells and incantations. In these volumes you’ll find everything you need in the form of knowledge. You’ll have to put your soul into hard work, tenacity and constancy. If you don’t seem to be making progress, if you find yourselves at a dead end, ask Froitin for help. He’ll guide you past the crossroads. You can always count on his help and knowledge. Follow his advice as if it were my own, and little by little you’ll feel you’re making progress; your confidence will become stronger. It’s important that you always keep studying, for the rest of your lives.”

“We will, Master,” Jofer said, very seriously. “You’ve taught us well, and we won’t disappoint you. One day you’ll be proud of us.”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt of it,” Mirkos said as he put his arms around the boys. The three melted together into a warm hug.

The old Mage could not help tears coming to his eyes. He loved his two pupils with all his soul, and having to leave them broke his heart. There was nothing he would have liked better than to see them grow and to prepare them, to help them become good men, powerful Mages at the service of the kingdom of Rogdon.

But he had to march to war.

To serve his King.

And perhaps he would never see them again.

After a few moments of doubt the surviving soldiers, absolutely exhausted, fell back against the wall beside Lasgol. The Ranger, overwhelmed with sadness, contemplated the desolate scene after the battle. Mutilated corpses, torn horribly to pieces by those giant crocodiles, were strewn all over the shore in a sea of blood. They had lost practically the whole of Captain Toral’s group, with only the officer and one of his men still standing. Of Lasgol’s group, five men had survived.

The Ranger slung his bow across his back and went over to the soldiers to try to use his talent in the healing of the wounded, although he barely had any energy left to draw on. Unfortunately, not being a Healer, his skill as such was very limited, so that there was little he could do with wounds so severe. They all tried to recover from the horror of the brutal fight. Lasgol did whatever he could, but without much success. The veteran soldiers were used to sewing up battle wounds and appreciated his effort, since they were aware of the complications ugly wounds like that could lead to. When they had recovered somewhat, the few survivors were unable to follow the Norghanian tradition as they would have wished by building a pyre and burning the bodies of their fallen comrades. All they could do was leave them in that cold cavern.

“Let’s honor the fallen, comrades,” Captain Toral said solemnly. “Today brave men of the white mountains have given their lives for the motherland, fighting against ferocious beasts. But nothing can defeat the Norghanian soldiers, sons of the snow!”

“Nothing!” responded the remaining men as one.

“Today Jorac the Bloodthirsty will be satisfied. Many brave men have died in combat, and soon they will arrive in his kingdom to serve at his side and enjoy the well-deserved afterlife of the warrior.”

The survivors chanted the solemn ode of the
Voyage of the Snow Warrior
, with deep voices and heartfelt intonation, taking their leave of the brave fallen.

As the tribute ended, Toral came close to Lasgol. He took him aside into a corner and whispered: “We’ve lost most of the men. Do you really believe the fugitives are still alive? Is there any sense in going on? They can’t have survived these devilish beasts.”

“They might have got through without attracting the attention of these monsters. The Assassin is very skillful. We have to go on and find out if that’s what happened. I must make sure, those are the King’s orders. The two fugitives are to be captured and taken into His Majesty’s presence alive. It’s imperative that we catch them, and that we do it urgently.”

“Well then, so it shall be. I’ll follow my orders, Ranger. Have no doubt on that score.”

“They’re responsible for the death of Great Duke Orten, King Thoran’s brother,” explained Lasgol. “The war with Rogdon is about to start for that very reason. His Majesty believes the murder was planned and carried out by agents from Rogdon, and he’s mobilized the army to take action in reprisal. A great invasion force is on its way to the border with Rogdon at this very moment.”

“Capturing these two enemy agents will only justify this coming war…” Toral said, not fully understanding.

“On the contrary, Captain. I’m convinced that the murder wasn’t carried out on Rogdon’s orders. And only these two can corroborate the fact. We need this information in order to avoid the war and the atrocities men will commit in its name. A war with Rogdon will bring thousands of deaths and years of suffering to both kingdoms. I’m trying to prevent that by all means possible. That’s the other side of my mission: not just capturing two fugitives, but avoiding this war at all costs.”

“Laudable intentions,” replied the Captain, bowing his head, “but I don’t think war can be averted at this point. Once the sons of the snow get going, only death can stop them.”

“I know that, but at least I have to try. My duty and my conscience demand it.”

“Let’s hope your efforts and the lives of these brave soldiers may not be spent in vain,” the officer said, with a touch of reproach in his voice.

“So be it,” Lasgol replied serenely. He was fully aware of the enormous difficulty of the enterprise.

After the sober funeral, the survivors continued advancing through the labyrinth of caves with extreme caution, wary of falling into another trap. Lasgol picked up the fugitives’ trail leading into a narrow tunnel, confirmation that somehow they had evaded the giant crocodiles. The temperature was still low, although not as piercing as before. He crouched to check the trail; there was no room for doubt, it was theirs. How they had managed to pass by those horrible beasts and still be alive was something beyond his understanding, but those tracks clearly indicated that the two fugitives had gone into that narrow passage.

They went along the corridor, fearful of falling into some new trap. The group reached an enormous hall, long and rectangular. Lasgol guessed it was man-made. He signaled to the group to stop. Wide stone steps carved out of the ice led down to a lake of dark water, with a small round island in the center. Four enormous statues of ice rose menacingly from it. They represented giant sea serpents, monsters from the bottom of the deepest seas, the worst nightmare of any sailor. They stood more than twelve feet tall, and their mouths were frozen in an eternally threatening gesture. On the other side of the lake, at the far end of the hall, another group of stairs led up to a portal of ice guarded by two small waterfalls, phosphorescent and greenish. They all reached for their weapons and prepared themselves, expecting some new danger awaiting them ahead.

Suddenly a figure wearing a long white tunic appeared under the ice arch. A snow-white cowl covered its head, so that only its shining golden eyes could be seen. The tunic was decorated with gold thread. In its right hand it held a staff with flashing golden symbols, and in its left a book with covers of the same color.

Lasgol watched it intently. He called upon his Gift to perceive the nature of this being, but without success, as if a magic shield had deflected the attempt. Before he could stop him, Toral gave the order to attack.

“Soldiers! Get rid of this demon with golden eyes!”

His men, without hesitation, charged down the stairs.

Lasgol tried to stop them. “Wait! We don’t know what we’re up against!”

Toral was beside himself. “That demon has to pay for the death of my men!” he raged.

The first two soldiers reached the final step of the ice stairway. As they set foot on it, there came an ominous metallic sound. At once two streams of whitish liquid jetted out from both sides of the stairs at amazing speed. The two men, caught by the liquid, were frozen in the same instant. The icy bodies held the horrified expression of the two soldiers preserved for ever. When their comrades saw what happened they stumbled to a halt.

Lasgol shook his head, saddened by their terrible fate.

The sinister figure in white raised its staff and began to intone a chant, filling the hall with unintelligible words. At the sound, the ice statues of sea snakes began to melt. The ice which covered them fell away, turning into water which fell into the gloomy lake, and the huge sea monsters were revealed.

The horrendous beasts began to come to life!

As the ice which had held them prisoner melted away, they began to move their upper bodies. At the same time they emitted a series of deafening, ear-splitting hisses. The four surviving soldiers retreated immediately towards Lasgol and Toral. The last of the ice fell with a loud crash, freeing the scaly bodies of the four monsters.

“Get ready! Now they’ll come for us!” Lasgol warned, trying to keep his voice from shaking at the sight of those nightmares from the deepest abysses of the ocean.

“Soldiers, for Norghana!” Toral yelled.

They formed a line with shield and sword, ready to fend off the attack. There was no more thought of the freezing cold as adrenalin galloped through their bodies at the sight of the four serpents, which dived into the lake with deadly speed.

The first two beasts lunged ferociously at the soldiers, surging out of the lake with their scales shining like polished armor. Lasgol, using his Gift, prepared poison. He shot four poisoned arrows in a row from behind the defensive line formed by the men on the stairs. He intended to weaken the beasts, aware that the poison probably would not kill the monsters. The first animal reared up on its scaly body, nearly nine feet tall. With its hindquarters it thrashed at one of the soldiers, breaking his shield in two and sending him flying backwards.

The brave veteran fell on to the steps with a dull crack, his neck broken like a twig. His comrades, enraged, thrust their swords right and left at the silvery sea serpent. Lasgol, calling on his Gift for a powerful shot, pierced the skull of the snake so that it fell dead. Two other serpents attacked simultaneously, coiling round the bodies of two soldiers and suffocating them by constriction. The men tried in vain to fight back with fury, as if trying to wake up from this doomed nightmare. The monsters sank their fangs in the heads of the trapped soldiers, ending their lives amid horrendous hissing.

Toral and the last surviving soldier managed to finish off one of the beasts, while Lasgol, with swift movements shot arrow after arrow as he dodged the attacks of the other. The lethal maw, its sharp fangs ready to tear his head off, brushed his face as he leapt to one side. As the monster turned, Lasgol concentrated his power and let fly a shot that caught it in the eye. Enraged, the monstrous serpent attacked with its body rearing high, chasing the Tracker, but with a nimble leap he dodged the thrust at the last moment. The snake recoiled to attack again. Lasgol glanced at his companions, who were fighting the other beast. A whiplash from its tail sent the last soldier flying to the ground with his spine broken in two.

Captain Toral threw himself against the monster and sank his sword frantically into the scaly body, but the snake caught him. Coiling around his body, it began to strangle him. Raging and desperate, Toral yelled:

“Die, you foul beast! Die!”

Lasgol shot at the beast in an attempt to help Toral. With a final hiss the snake dug its fangs into the Captain’s head, piercing the winged helmet and penetrating the brain. Both beast and brave officer fell to the ground, locked in a mortal embrace.

“Toral! Nooooo!” cried Lasgol in despair.

Filled with anger and pain, he focused on the other sea serpent that was heading for him and shot it in the other eye, blinding it for good. The monster snaked down the stairs, disoriented. Lasgol finished it before it could reach the black water of the lake and escape.

He lowered his bow and looked upon the heartbreaking scene. The lifeless bodies of the brave soldiers lay on the stairs among the repulsive creatures from the deep sea.

“Toral…!”

He ran to the fallen officer.

From the ground, with the fangs of the beast still in his head, Toral whispered: “Here… we fall… like brave Norghanians… sword in hand…”

The Captain died like the brave and honorable officer he was. Lasgol, kneeling beside him, could not help his eyes getting moist.

A sudden feeling of danger ran down his spine like a warning.

The Mage!

He turned round and located him. The strange being was standing under the ice arch at the other side of the great hall. He nocked an arrow and aimed. He concentrated and prepared to let fly: an arrow straight to the heart would finish him. A wise warning of his father’s came to his mind from a distant past
: Before a Mage, shoot immediately, without hesitation. Don’t use your power, or you’ll give him time to use his and you’ll perish, as his will be far greater.
As he recalled these words the sinister Mage intoned and incantation and aimed at Lasgol with his staff from the far side of the hall.

Hell! Too late!

At his feet he felt dampness and the clear freshness of running water penetrating his boots. He looked down and discovered that a thin stream of water from the lake had reached him without his noticing. A whirlpool began to form around his feet, rising swiftly up his body and ensnaring him like a liquid sea serpent. In a moment his body had become engulfed in a spiral of liquid with a life of its own. He tried to get rid of it, but there was no way of shaking off the spell. He began to drown. He could not breathe, his mouth and nose were covered by this whirlpool of living water that was swallowing him. It was beginning to fill his lungs. He started to cough convulsively. The water invaded his body. He was drowning.

He dropped his bow and arrow an
d
sank to his knees clutching his throat, feeling his end had come, enveloped in the deadly spiral of that magic whirlpool.

I’m drowning! I’m dying!

In his final moment of awareness, an instant before he yielded to eternal night, he saw a shadow passing his side at a lightning pace.

It was his prey. The Dark Assassin.

And night fell over Lasgol.