Conflict (20 page)

With a cry of pure fury which took the Tracker by complete surprise, Iruki sprung at him with a savage thrust to his head. Lasgol blocked it from his kneeling position, deflecting the impulse to his left.

“Stop!” the Assassin cried desperately. “Don’t kill her!” he begged Lasgol, and tried to put himself between the two, but his legs would not hold him, and he fell to the ground like a broken puppet.

Iruki attacked again with all the fury of her desperation. Lasgol blocked her with some difficulty, which alarmed him. He took a deep breath and prepared for the next onslaught. But he realized he was recovering.

The Masig hit with astonishing speed, right and left, using both hands with her wrists still tied together. Her blows seemed to have the force of a storm at sea. Lasgol blocked the blows, at the same time retreating several steps before the frenzy of her attack. The blows might have been savage and swift, but they were clumsy, lacking the years of training needed to master the subtle techniques of swordsmanship.

Lasgol looked at his opponent. The attack was dangerous, he could not allow it to continue. One slip might be lethal. Iruki, panting from the effort, did not take her eyes off him.

She attacked again, but her impetus was decreasing. This time Lasgol waited for the right moment, and blocking her sword he delivered a dull blow with his left fist that hit Iruki squarely on the chin. The courageous Masig fell backwards. Without waiting for a second chance, Lasgol leapt forward and stepped on her sword, then pressed the tip of his own against the neck of the defeated Iruki. She looked at him with visceral loathing and raised her neck in defiance.

“Finish me off, you Norghanian dog!” she said without the least sign of fear.

“No, no, please! Let her live, she had nothing to do with the attack on the Grand Duke Orten. It was I who was ordered to kill him. I was the one picked for that mission. You have to believe me, it’s the truth!”

Lasgol, with great interest looked at the Assassin, who was trying clumsily to sit up.

“Will you surrender peacefully and tell me who is behind this attack?”

“Let her go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll tell you who’s behind the attack, who hired me to end Duke Orten’s life. You have my word. I swear it. I’ll come with you to your camp and turn myself in, I won’t try to escape. I’ve kept my word until now. I’ve given you no reason to doubt my honor. In return all I ask you is to let her go instead. She’s a wild Masig, she has nothing to do with this and you know it. The murder was arranged by someone with plenty of resources, power and information. Why risk such an elaborate plan by bringing in a savage from the steppes? What sense is there in it? None, and you know it.”

Lasgol looked at the struggling Masig. Defiant, proud, beautiful to the last, a worthy daughter of the prairies. He admired her for it. Inwardly he was certain that this young woman was no part of the plan to kill the Grand Duke. There was nothing to indicate otherwise.

“Tell me this, and I’ll consider your request. Is Rogdon the one behind the murder?”

The Assassin looked at him for a moment, trying to weigh up the truthfulness of his intentions.

The Tracker waited restlessly for an answer. Many lives were at stake, beginning with the young Masig’s own.

“No, it wasn’t Rogdon,” said the foreigner, with such sincerity that Lasgol never doubted his response for a moment.

The Tracker sighed, greatly relieved. The weight of a mountain vanished from his shoulders. He had been right.

There’s hope. I can avert this senseless war!

He looked at the Assassin. “Do I have your word?”

“You have it,” he replied coldly, with a nod.

Lasgol took his sword off Iruki’s neck, picked up the other weapon from the ground. Staring at the Masig’s eyes, he said: “I’ll respect the foreigner’s wishes. Take a horse and go, get back to your tribe.”

Iruki stared back at him incredulously, unsure of his true intentions.

“Go back to your home and your people,” Lasgol said, helping her up, as he cut the cords round her wrists.

The Assassin came to Iruki’s side, smiling, with his own hands still tied behind his back.

“Go back to your family. Be happy! Live a long, prosperous life in these steppes you love so much.”

“I don’t want to leave you, they’ll kill you!” she said, and began to cry disconsolately, covering her eyes with her hands.

“Iruki, you must live, I won’t allow anything bad to happen to you for my sake. You must go now.”

Composing herself a little and trying to hold back her tears, Iruki placed both hands on the Assassin’s pale cheeks. Looking into his slanted eyes, she said:

“Promise me you’ll live, promise me you’ll survive and that we’ll meet again.”

He looked at her tenderly. “There’s not much chance of that, you know that very well, Iruki,”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to lose hope,” she replied, sobbing anew. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll stay alive and that one day you’ll return to the steppes for me…”

The Assassin smiled, nodded and promised, looking into her eyes.

“One day I’ll come back for you. You have my word on it.”

Iruki kissed his lips tenderly, as if she were trying to seal that promise and join their destinies forever with an unbreakable vow.

“Once I asked for your name and you said it wasn’t worthy to be spoken. Before we part I must know. Please tell me.”

The Assassin sighed. Looking into her eyes, he said:

“Yakumo. My name is Yakumo.”

“Yakumo…” she said, smiling, and kissed him again, this time with overwhelming passion. Those were their last moments together, and all her feelings came to the surface. Her yearning, her burning desire, were made tangible in that kiss.

“I only wish that someday my name will be worthy of being spoken in your presence, in the sight of the strength and light that you inspire and guide me with. My one and deepest wish is to redeem all the evil I’ve caused, and be worthy one day to stand before you.”

“You’ll do that, I’m sure,” Iruki said, and kissed him again so tenderly that Lasgol, who was watching them from a few steps away, had to look elsewhere.

“And now ride, my brave Masig,” Yakumo told her.

Iruki mounted the horse. Tears were running down her cheeks.

Lasgol came to her side and offered her the short sword from the Temple of Water.

Iruki accepted it. Her eyes on Yakumo.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Yakumo. Day after day, I’ll wait. No matter how long you take.”

“Ride free across your prairies, Iruki Wind of the Steppes, ride,” was Yakumo’s farewell to her.

A few hours after Iruki had left, Lasgol and Yakumo reached the summit of the lookout. From here they could see a meandering river flowing towards the western plain. When they reached the edge, they stopped to look at the impressive martial display the sun’s rays shone down on. Thousands of tents with Norghanian banners in their vivid red and white filled the great plain, coming to an end at an imaginary line less than five hundred paces from the Fortress of the Half Moon. Splashed by the river and protected on both sides by the great mountain range, the fortress jealously guarded the pass: the entrance to the kingdom of Rogdon.

Its walls showed no signs of battle as yet. The siege had not begun, and with it the vile monster of war which would forever, insatiably, mark with the stench of suffering and agony all those it touched.

There was still hope.

“Do you still think the war can be avoided, Tracker?” Yakumo asked as he considered the desolate scene.

Lasgol, his soul filled with immense unease at what he saw, replied:

“I have to believe it can, even though everything suggests the opposite. Even so, I have to go on.”

I must stop this madness
.

Thoughtfully, his spirit restless, Gerart gazed at the great bridge of more than a hundred arches. He was waiting on his horse at the walled gate with its flanking twin towers, which protected the entrance to the peninsula of the Temple of Tirsar. They had ridden as fast as they could for more than three weeks in order to bring the helpless Haradin to the Healing Sisters, the only ones who could help the Mage. During the whole journey Haradin had not once awakened from the deep trance he was in, nor had his body recovered even a trace of vitality, apart from what Aliana had been able to imbue him with.

Gerart’s stomach gave a leap as he remembered the Healer, and remorse once again made him feel like a lesser man. The image of Aliana being dragged away by the river’s strong current came back to torment his soul anew, just as it had each and every one of the hours of every day and every night since the disastrous event. His heart was broken, his soul cursed by a feeling of unbearable guilt.

Kendas had gone after her, and although this brought him some hope, it was not enough. To come out of those woods alive had been a miracle. That Kendas should be able to reach Aliana and prevent her from drowning in the strong current, then manage to escape from the fateful forest, teeming with Usik, seemed unlikely in the extreme. His heart tried to deny what his reason told him.

The prince was aware of how unlikely rescue was, but even so he allowed himself to hope. Perhaps she was still alive…she might have escaped … from those bloodthirsty savages. But uncertainty gnawed at his soul, poisoning him with each passing moment. The fear of not seeing her again, of losing her forever, was insufferable torture. He could not bear to lose her.

I did what duty dictated, not what I would have wished to do. I wanted to go after Aliana, rescue her from the river, escape from there with her at my side. But Haradin was the priority for Rogdon, I had to get him out of there and cross the Masig steppes. I had to save the Mage, protect him from the dangers of the long road, keep him alive so the Sisters could complete his healing. It was a State duty. My father would not have doubted for an instant in the face of a dilemma like that. I did the right thing, no matter how much I may regret it.

But that line of reasoning would not settle his conscience, nor the despair in his soul.

With the sound of heavy chains being pulled, the door rose slowly and a female voice called from one of the towers.

“Come in, Your Highness, permission to enter is granted. The Mother Healer awaits you in the Temple.”

The Prince looked at Lomar, who had dismounted and was giving the weakened Mage a sip of water from the leather skin. They did not know if it had any effect on him, or if it was really what he needed in his semi-petrified state, but they did it as a preventive measure, hoping the body would absorb the liquid it had taken in.

Lomar swiftly mounted his sorrel horse. With a gesture he indicated to the Prince that he was ready. Gerart went through the gate at a trot, followed closely by Lomar guiding the mare which carried Haradin, who was firmly tied to the saddle so he would not fall. As soon as they came into the temple courtyard the Healer Sisters carried the Mage to one of the rooms in the central building.

Mother Healer Sorundi walked into the discreetly decorated room. On seeing the Prince, she asked in an anguished voice:

“What about Aliana? And the Protectress Sisters who accompanied her?”

Gerart bowed his head and looked down at the floor, crushed by the weight of his remorse.

“Aliana was swept away by the river in Usik territory,” he said in a whisper. “We don’t know whether she got out of the woods alive.”

“Oh no! What horrible news you bring!”

“One of the Royal Lancers, Kendas, went after her. Unfortunately, we haven’t had any news from either of them.”

“What dreadful news! But the Protectress Sisters? Did they make it?”

“I’m afraid not, Mother Healer, they perished fighting bravely, together with the Royal Lancers.”

“Jasmin, Olga..., all of them?”

“All of them… no one survived… I’m so sorry…”

“By Helaun, Founding Mother of this Order! What devastating news, your Highness! My daughters of the Order of Tirsar…. What a loss… irreparable.”

“Believe me when I say there’s nothing I wished for more than to be the bearer of different news,” the Prince admitted sorrowfully.

“I can’t believe it. My Protectress daughters, my girl Aliana, with all her power for good … with that generous soul of hers, my poor child. I must hold on to hope, her Gift can’t have perished. I must hold on to the hope that she’ll survive. She will come back to us, she must. There’s so much power in that girl, so much to be used to help others…”

“That’s the hope I cling to as well,” admitted the Prince, his eyes watering with uncontrollable emotion.

The Mother Healer Sorundi turned her attention to the Mage lying on the plain wooden bed. Gena, one of the young Healers with a powerful Gift, was tending to him. She went up to her and examined the Mage’s state.

“Haradin the Traveler. My good friend, what’s happened to you? What strange venture have you gotten yourself mixed up in this time, to end up like this? My heart bleeds to see one of my dearest, closest friends in such a miserable state.”

“Are we still in time to save him, Mother Healer?” Gerart asked anxiously.

“It’s very hard to tell, your Highness. I couldn’t tell you with certainty one way or the other.”

“He must live, it’s vital for the kingdom,” urged the Prince.

“I’m not saying it isn’t, my young prince. Of course we’ll do everything in our power, but his situation is critical. We’re not able to perform miracles.”

“Many brave soldiers have died to rescue him…” Lomar said angrily, his nerves getting the better of him.

“Let me remind you that Sisters of this Order have died too. My pupils, my daughters, my responsibility… I shan’t tolerate any insinuations, soldier.”

Gerart looked sternly at Lomar.

The Lancer lowered his glance. “My most sincere apologies, Mother Healer,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you or the Order of Tirsar in any way. Grief for the fallen made me lose my composure. It won’t happen again.”

“So I should hope, young Lancer, or I’ll have my Protectress Sisters escort your person to Rogdonian territory. Don’t forget where you are.”

“These are difficult moments for all of us,” the Prince interceded. “I beg you to forgive Lomar, his heart is noble.”

“It’s forgotten. One of the virtues of reaching my age is that memory tends to get vague and selective.”

“Thank you, Mother Healer,” said Gerart.

Sorundi watched Gena, then gave her a questioning look. When the young Healer replied, there was anxiety in her eyes.

“I’ve given his whole body a complete examination without interfering too much with the organs, simply analyzing his physical state and the evil which is afflicting him. Something incredible has happened to this body. In some way he has been turned into pure graphite. A very powerful magic must have been at work here. Part of the organism is still in a petrified state, as if the cells were still composed of some ferrous mineral. But a process of reversion has begun, I still haven’t found out how, but it’s working progressively, very slowly, but continuing for the moment.”

“Aliana began the reversion process more than three weeks ago,” Gerart began to explain to the Healers. “It was the only way we could bring him down from the mountains. When we found him he was a statue of carbon. She used all her energy, but all she could do was kindle that spark of life in him. For weeks we’ve traveled through the kingdom as fast as we could, without a moment’s rest. All we could think of was to bring him here. We gave him water and made sure there were still signs of life, and that’s all we could do for him. His heart is beating, albeit very weakly, but at least beating, I’m sure of that.”

“The anemic state he’s in is very worrying,” Gena went on. “He’ll need enormous amounts of healing energy so that we can keep his body alive while the process of reversion goes on. If not, his body won’t stand up to all the punishment and he’ll die. What’s making the situation worse is the fact that he’s been without proper attention for many days now, the body has suffered great damage, which must be repaired immediately or we’ll lose him forever.”

“You did the right thing, your Highness. Nothing else could be done,” Sorundi said soothingly. “Any other procedure could have put an end to his battered life. Thanks to the fact that the reversion process was so slow, he didn’t die during the journey here, so the changes in his state have been minimal. But the body always makes us pay if we don’t respect it. Nature is wise and punishes wrongdoers.”

“It’s a relief to know we did the right thing,” Lomar said. “There were days during that long journey when we thought we were losing him.”

“Thank you, my daughter. Allow this old healer to examine the great Mage.”

“Of course, Mother Healer,” Gena said, and moved to one side so that the leader of the Order could sit on the bed beside the cruelly-used Haradin.

Sorundi placed her hands on the Mage’s chest and closed her eyes.

Gena motioned the Prince and the soldier to sit, as the process would take a long time. The Healer Sisters brought water and wooden trays with hot food for the weary travelers, for which they gave grateful thanks.

The Mother Healer worked in silence for hours, applying all her knowledge and skills to the difficult art of healing.

Gerart and Lomar, half-dead with exhaustion, fell asleep in the chairs they were resting in after gulping down the food the Sisters had kindly brought them.

At last Sorundi opened her eyes and heaved a long, deep sigh.

Two Healer Sisters who had remained beside her held her to stop her falling from the bed with exhaustion. They brought her water, and after a couple of sips the leader of the order leaned back in a padded chair.

“Your Highness, wake up,” she said in a tired voice.

Gerart and Lomar woke up at once and rose to their feet.

“I haven’t much time left before I pass out, so I’ll be quick. Haradin is alive, and he’ll need extensive care so that his weakened body can recover. I’ve put all my energy into mending the harm he’s suffered during these last three weeks, but even so I still haven’t cured him completely. We’ll go on working on his body: several Sisters will take turns to help in the process of reversion.”

“Then he’s going to make it?” Gerart asked with renewed hope.

“The body will heal, yes. We’ll mend the harm done and speed up the process of reversion.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Lomar said excitedly.

“I said the body, young soldier. The body will heal. The mind, on the other hand, is something very different. It’s blocked, there’s no way to reach it. I don’t know if it’s Haradin himself or the evil magic which has done this. Whatever the truth may be, we can only wait and heal the body. The mind must wake by itself, unless it’s been irreparably damaged.”

“That being the case, it’s best that he should stay here at the Temple. We’ll go back to the capital to inform the King. Once we’re there, we’ll await news of his recovery.”

“Very well, your Highness. And now, if you’ll allow me, this old Healer is exhausted and is going to take a rest.”

“Of course, Mother Healer. Once again the Kingdom of Rogdon is indebted to the Order of Tirsar. I won’t forget, I promise.”

Sorundi nodded in farewell and left the room, leaning on the two Sisters.

Gena turned to the two travelers.

“We’ve arranged rooms so that you can rest from your long journey. You look completely drained. We’ve prepared hot baths too, which I’m sure your tired bodies will appreciate, as will our offended noses.”

The healer’s last words took both prince and lancer by surprise, they looked at each other. The truth was that they looked terrible: torn and dirty clothes covered with mud, blood, sweat and dirt.

They both smiled.

The truth was that they stank like a pigsty!

After a good night’s rest, something which their bodies had been unable to enjoy in more than two months, Gerart and Lomar left for Rilentor, the great capital of the Kingdom. The Protectress Sisters lent them clean clothes and armor for the trip. Sorundi insisted on providing an escort, since there were troubled undercurrents in the kingdom and rumors of war were growing louder every day. At last, at the insistence of the Healer, Gerart gave in. They left at first light, with the sun not yet risen, escorted by a dozen Protectress Sisters.

It was well into the night when they arrived at the Royal Fortress of Rilentor. Prince and soldier were summoned immediately to the Throne Hall. King Solin requested their presence without delay.

When they arrived in the familiar great hall where his father dealt with the kingdom’s business, Gerart felt a mixture of feelings: sweet because he was back home, bitter because of the news he was bringing his father. He walked through the magnificent columns of the Throne Hall, with its walls decorated with rich tapestries in blue and silver motifs which depicted epic battles of the past. The Royal Guard were prominent in the great room.