Marked (22 page)

“Good idea, if we knew where those settlements were...” said Lemus. “Their location has never been verified—no one has ever found them and lived to tell about it. Our trackers have tried, but none have ever returned. So, better be really careful, rookies. If we go into that forest, pray to the Light as best you know how, or to whatever gods you worship; you’ll need all the help you can get to get out of there alive.”

“You cover my back and I’ll cover yours, brother,” said Kendas as he offered his outstretched arm to Lomar in the style of Rogdonian soldiers.

“Shield to shield and lance to lance, brother!” they both cheered.

Lemus shook his head and walked off, mumbling something about rookies and heads full of sawdust.

An hour before the first rays of sunlight would begin to appear on the horizon, tearing away the darkness obscuring the expectant cavalry column, Sergeant Mortuc ordered them to get into formation. They had to creep silently into the forest under the shelter of night to keep from being discovered.

“Get ready to ride. Line up two by two,” whispered Mortuc, moving to the head of the column. “Forward!” 

The column entered the thick woods at daybreak. The rode swiftly, in silence, following the steep trails toward the southeast. Six men were patrolling in pairs in all four directions a half hour’s distance from the column.

They were moving into Usik territory.

Entering the unfathomable forest.

The first two days of the march inside the great forest went by without incident. At night they took their rest in silence with no fires, eyes and ears alert, searching for any enemies that might be hiding there. At first light they resumed their advance; it was hard going through the thick underbrush. The first few hours of the third day passed with incident; their incursion into the forest had apparently not been detected by the savages. The woods were becoming more and more tangled and difficult to navigate, with tall, thick vegetation everywhere that seemed determined to drive back the cavalrymen. In this terrain it was virtually impossible to move any faster than if they’d been on foot.

At noon the north patrol failed to report.

“Dirty backwoods barbarians!” cursed the Sergeant. He chose two other men and sent them out with the order to return at the first sign of the savages.

Midafternoon, the north and south patrols did not report.

Tension spread among the Lancers.

“Damn it! They’ve picked up on us! Advance!” ordered the Sergeant, anticipating an imminent attack by the Usik. But the advance through the trees was arduous, even for these expert cavalrymen.

Riding mid-column, Aliana looked to her left and, out of nowhere, saw several men running fast parallel to the column’s trajectory. She watched them closely, fear tightening in her stomach. Armed with bows and short axes adorned with colored feathers, they were jumping over the thicket and enormous tree roots with astonishing speed and agility. Their faces were painted black, with a white line at the level of their eyes; their heads, completely shaven. The color of their skin surprised Aliana greatly; it was pale... green. Never before had she seen anyone with pigmentation like that. It was shocking. This was, without a doubt, a unique race. They were dressed in animal skin loincloths, and their backs and chests were covered with primitive, tanned leather armor that had been reinforced with wood. On their feet were tanned skin moccasins. Watching them run as fast as the horses, just a few steps from the column, Aliana was struck with a sense of absolute dread.

“Gerart, look! They’re chasing us!” The Prince was riding on her right with his lance and shield at the ready.

The Prince looked at them. “They are close now; they’ve been following us at a distance for quite some time. Soon they will attack.” He pointed to the right, where another group of Black Usik were running through the trees parallel to the column.

The Sergeant’s voice roared like an angry lion. “Attention, column! Ready for combat!”

The Royal Lancers responded in unison. “Roar!”

They readied their lances and shields. The Protectress Sisters loaded their bows, ready to defend themselves. They continued toward the east, going as fast as they possibly could on that tortuous trail before it would finally open up at the start of the ascent up the mountain.

Eagles’ Peak. 

Their pursuers grew in number the closer they came to the sacred mountain. Aliana had the sickening feeling this would soon turn very ugly.

The two cavalrymen scouting to the east returned from the direction in which the column was heading.

“Sergeant! Sergeant! Red Usik, approaching from the east!”

Mortuc knew they were heading into a trap. The Black Usik were flanking them and Red Usik were waiting farther ahead, at the base of the mountain. But they could not stop in the forest; if they did, the Usik would be on them immediately and they would be massacred in the woods. His Lancers were at a clear disadvantage in that setting against a much greater number of natives—especially quick shots like them. Their only choice was to keep going.

Without hesitating, the Sergeant made the only plausible decision.

“Charge!” he ordered. The column immediately picked up speed.

A terrible war cry, like the howling of a wounded wolf, resonated through the trees. It was followed by screams that scared away both birds and animals.

The attack on the column of Lancers had begun.

Black arrows whizzed through the trees from both sides of the column, aimed at the Lancers—men and mounts alike. They started dropping to the ground, pierced by the lethal projectiles.

Aliana aimed her bow at a Usik who was rushing toward them screaming, axe in hand; she released the arrow without thinking twice, killing the savage. To her right her Sisters were shooting to both sides, skillfully taking down attackers. The Usik threw themselves on the Lancers, axes and knives in hand, and were fended off by lances and shields. The perfectly trained column did not stop their advance despite the ferocious attack they were under. They continued on, fighting off the vicious attacks of the Usik. But enemy arrows continued striking down mounts and Lancers.

Looking behind her, Aliana gaped at the fierce battle. Several Usik launched themselves off rocks, jumping on two Lancers and knocking them down. A half dozen Usik were instantly on them, killing them without mercy. Others ran at them head-on, shooting arrows at the horses’ bellies at almost point-blank range. The poor beasts fell, screaming in agony, throwing off their riders. The Lancers immediately got back on their feet and fought fiercely. Several savages fell beneath the blades of their swords, but the brave men were quickly brought down by the much greater number of enemies.

Suddenly, four savages sprang out from behind some trees and charged at Aliana. Without hesitation, she shot at the one closest to her as she dodged a low branch on a tree, then reloaded her bow to shoot again at the next attacker. She tensed the bow, aimed, and when he was almost on her, she shot him in the eye. Her Sisters took down the rest with perfectly aimed shots before they could get to her. Aliana momentarily sighed in relief, then looked to her right. Flanking her, the Prince was riding onward, all the while fighting with wicked skill.

Gerart felt an arrow strike forcefully against his helmet and, for an instant, he lost sight of the screeching Usik running toward him from the right. A short axe flew from the black-faced warrior’s hand, heading straight for his chest. Gerart blocked the weapon with his shield a split second before impact. He spurred his mount and sank his lance into his aggressor’s neck.

He looked ahead. Mortuc and several of his men at the front of the column were struggling to clear a path through the savages who were trying to cut them off. Two warriors rushed out from behind a tree and jumped the Lancers in the lead. The first fell, pierced by Lomar’s lance; the second was knocked back by a hard blow from Kendas’ shield and he bounced off another tree. Four Lancers who had fallen behind hurried to make contact with the group, but the rest of the rearguard had perished.

“Forward, column, forward!” Mortuc shouted resolutely as he skewered one enemy and charged another with his mount. The Sergeant Major had managed to break through the siege and spurred Lightning up the path. The column was now putting some distance between them and their attackers who were unable to keep up with the horses on the more open, rising terrain at the foot of the mountain. Mortuc looked back, astonished; he had lost more than a third of his men.

“Regroup!” he ordered. The entire column hurried to join him at the top of the hill.

But the short break lasted only a moment. They had to flee.

“Forward! Forward!” he commanded once the column was regrouped.

They went up a sloping curve. And their worst fears became reality. Right in front of them, a human barrier was blocking their way.

More than a hundred Red Usik were waiting there, ready to kill them.

The small tavern was packed. A strong odor—a mix of cheap wine, burning lamp oil, and the rancid sweat of the patrons—permeated the entire room. The locals—pale-faced, blond-haired Norghanians—were engaged in lively conversations about the latest news and rumors of this ice-cold region in the north of Tremia.

Sumal discreetly inspected his attire. He was dressed simply tonight, wearing the traditional garments of the kingdom of Norghana: a thick, burgundy-red wool shirt and heavy slacks that were dyed a deep green and lined with pelts.

Calmly awaiting the arrival of his guest, he was seated at a small table in the corner with his back protected by the stone wall of the noisy tavern; this was the best position for avoiding unwanted surprises. In such a busy establishment, no one noticed him sitting there; he was just another client enjoying a beer, with no discernible characteristics that made him stick out among the rest of the locals. He went completely unnoticed, perfectly integrated with the resident fauna.

No one knew the secret he was shielding, his true origins, his foreign blood.

Born in a torrid, faraway land in the South of Tremia, Sumal was a son of the fiery deserts. He belonged to an ethnicity that was well accustomed to the rigors of the merciless sun, though no one would think so after taking one look at his pale features. He was immensely satisfied by this fact. His light skin and long blond hair got him plenty of stares and a measure of distrust in his native lands where, with only few exceptions, the entire population had tanned skin and jet-black hair; a land where there were no
white
people. But here, in this lively Norghanian tavern on the complete opposite end of the continent, he was just another regular guy in the crowd.

Nothing about him betrayed his enemy origins.

He looked at his pale hands and smiled. Born of a Nocean father and a Norghanian mother, he had inherited all his mother’s physical traits and none of his father’s. This allowed him to move freely from the western kingdoms to the northern ones, easily blending in with the locals without attracting attention—something his compatriots could not do without raising suspicions or mistrust. His blond hair, characteristic of the frozen regions of the North, was his most valuable attribute. A safe passage, of sorts, in those snowy lands. He travelled around unnoticed, even in the lands of the West, like in the great kingdom of Rogdon, where brown-haired people were predominant.

These physical characteristics, coupled with the fact that his father was Counselor to the Nocean Empire’s Grand Regent of the South, had led him to a profession that was very different from what he had imagined during his childhood. His dream had always been to have a career as an Official of the Empire with the intention of one day becoming General and Commander of a powerful conquering army. But having grown up in the court—and having been graced with such uncommon physical traits and considerable intellectual aptitude—he had ended up in a profession he had never envisioned for himself.

He was a spy.

An undercover agent in the service of the all-powerful Nocean Empire.

Sumal had been living among the westerners and northerners on the continent, studying their customs, assimilating their cultures and, at the same time, creating a web of spies in the service of the Empire of the desert lands of the South. He had been all over the peaceful West, infiltrating the powerful kingdom of Rogdon; he had gone to the North, blending in with the proud, rough Norghanians; he had journeyed the wide plains between both warring powers, living among the peoples of the numerous nomad tribes of the steppes. He was perfectly fluent in the Unified Language of the West, taking on the appropriate accent for whichever kingdom or region he happened to be in. He could speak the Common Language of the North with no accent at all, and even knew some of the indigenous languages of the most remote, snow-covered mountainous regions and their frozen valleys. When asked where he was from, his answer was always the same well-studied reference to the foreign kingdom closest to wherever he was at the moment. He took care not to reveal too many details to avoid arousing suspicion. Prudence, vagueness, and half-truths were indispensable in his business; more than that, they were essential for survival. And he had turned it all into an art.

He was in a good mood that night, and smiled as he thought about the important mission he had to carry out. It had been entrusted to him by Mulko, the Nocean Empire’s Grand Regent of the North, and that was an incredibly high honor. Zecly himself, Grand Sorcerer and Master Spy—and Mulko’s right-hand man—had directed Mulko to pass this new mission of greatest importance on to him. That old man was a real legend in the Empire, as much for his powerful arcane abilities as for the efficiency and intelligence with which he directed his web of spies and assassins. It was said, and with good reason, that if Zecly wanted you dead the only question was who would finish you off—an infallible assassin or a demon from hell—while you slept unsuspecting, hundreds of leagues away from the old man. Sumal knew firsthand that that was no exaggeration since it had been the Grand Sorcerer himself who had recruited him at a tender age and then had painstakingly trained him. Every ounce of knowledge Sumal had amassed he owed to his powerful master.

A strident comment coming from an adjacent table about the possibility of entering into war got him thinking about the mission. The risks, once again, would be great but that was the price he had to pay in his profession. He was used to it, and it did not intimidate him in the least. Besides, risk motivated him. He lived for that feeling of danger—knowing that the smallest slip-up would end his life.

A life without excitement, without risk, is not a life worth living; it is a prison.

Sumal looked around. He was surrounded by Norghanians who, if they were to discover who he was, would kill him right then and there without thinking twice.

I want a full life, complete with risks, action and, of course, rewards.

Flashing a hint of a smile, he took a long pull of the bitter local ale.

The door of the establishment opened, letting in a cold draft in spite of the fact it was summer. A short, broad-shouldered man with a determined expression came in. After taking a moment to look over the clientele, he headed toward the spy’s table. He greeted him with a slight tilt of the head and then sat down in front of the expectant Nocean. Sumal responded with an almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgement. Raising his arm, he ordered a beer for the newcomer.

“What news do we have? Is everything in order?” whispered Sumal, looking both ways to be sure there were no curious ears listening in.

“Yes, everything is in order, Sir. Our agents at the palace have informed me that Grand Duke Orten, brother of King Thoran of Norghana, will leave tomorrow at daybreak to go to his fortress on the southwest border of the kingdom.”

“How many armed men will accompany him?”

“His personal guard—two hundred of the best soldiers in the kingdom—as expected. But you see, Sir... . a rather serious obstacle has come to light.”

“An obstacle? Go on, tell me what is happening.”

“They will be joined by a full company of heavy infantry that will reinforce the garrison already stationed there. More than a thousand men in all will take part in the retinue.”

Sumal swore under his breath. “That does not bode well for us at all. It makes an attack in the open impossible. Even if we had two thousand men at our disposal, the heavy Norghanian infantry is the strongest and most fearsome on the continent. Those northerners, unlike their rivals from Rogdon that have such incredible mounted Lancers, may not know how to ride but their infantry is unequaled. No, we have to change our strategy. I have to come up with a more subtle alternative, something cunning and furtive. Direct confrontation is not an option in this scenario.”

“So, what is the plan, Sir?”

Sumal put his hand to his chin and reflected on the situation, trying to come up with an alternative. The success of the mission had to be assured; there was so much at stake. After quite a long while, he announced, “We will attack the beast in its lair. When it is most confident and calm. In the place where it believes it is untouchable...  in its own fortress.”

“That is a very dangerous move, Sir. There are many factors to take into account. Too many things could go wrong. It will be heavily guarded.”

“A victory without risks is not worth the effort,” said the spy as he smiled in anticipation. “I will send someone very special, a shadow capable of infiltrating hell itself without being detected. Do whatever is necessary to guarantee our man’s successful entry and make sure the getaway is covered. I will take care of the rest.”

“As you order, Sir,” said the man. He stood up, quickly turned around, and headed straight to the door and out of the busy establishment.

Sumal began to assemble the perilous plan in his mind. Suddenly, two of the customers at a nearby table started a scuffle—obviously a product of the excess of empty mugs before them. The altercation did not last long; a few shouts, some poorly aimed punches and even less accurate attempts at drenching opponents in beer, ending in a handful of men on the floor. As if this were customary for his place of business, the owner of the bar unceremoniously kicked the participants out into the street like flea-infested dogs.

Another tranquil night in a cheerful tavern of the great frozen city of Norghania.

Norghania, the capital of the kingdom, was a wonderful, indomitable city in Sumal’s opinion. It had all the conveniences and advances of a big city, but surprisingly little of the arrogance and eccentricities typical of the larger cities of the Nocean Empire. Being a bitterly cold region where the better part of the year was spent under a blanket of snow and frost, Norghana was a place where functionality and survival took precedence over ostentation and frivolousness. The capital had been designed to be a great stronghold city, built with the purpose of protecting the inhabitants of the region from the extreme weather and the enemy. The buildings and walls, built from solid stone that came from the renowned quarries and mines in the Norghanian Mountains, formed an impressive protective structure. Its interior pulsed with a powerful commercial focus based on fabulous artisan workshops and hundred-year-old forgeries. A nation dedicated to mining and metallurgy, sustained by its famed mineral deposits.

Sumal smiled.
That’s not entirely accurate...
From time immemorial the second- most important commercial activity of that kingdom—the most powerful one of the icy North—had been looting and pillage. The Norghanians were a pirating people, a race of bloody barbarians who gained their fortune due to the fierceness of their men and their prowess on the battlefield.
Certainly respectable, these
coarse, aggressive fighters... I have always had a special predilection for these brutes. They are nothing like those haughty, boring Rogdonians.

One of the patrons stood up and demanded more beer, his stringy, blond hair stained with soot.
That miner is enjoying a well-deserved rest, no doubt about it. I would bet he’ll drown all his sorrows in alcohol and good-time girls.

Just as the entire northern region and part of the eastern portion of the country were crowned with mountain ranges where snow made itself at home all year long, the western section of the kingdom was bathed by the great Sea of Ice. A frozen sea in which the temperatures were so low they could freeze one’s soul, no sailor dared navigate it in winter. Floating along the coast and heading southward were chunks of ice and small icebergs from the huge masses of ice much farther north, in a place no Norghanian ever dared to step foot. A place where, according to local folklore, the Norghanian gods resided in their dwelling on Earth, and from which they punished the Norghanians with tempests and storms when their wishes were not fulfilled.

The fishermen and sailors of the region were all too familiar with the dangerous frigid waters of the Sea of Ice and always ventured into its vastness with the utmost precaution. The southern part of the kingdom was delimited by the Utla River which created a natural boundary on its trajectory before emptying into the Sea of Ice. For centuries the Norghanians had navigated the great river to invade the vast and much warmer plains to the south. Norghanian pirate raids continued to go unpunished and the tribes of the steppes suffered dearly because of it—especially the Masig, who were the closest and most numerous and therefore the easiest targets. And for reasons unknown, the Norghanians despised them even more than the other tribes of the steppes.

In the Glory Days, the name the Norghanians used to refer to the period in which they roamed free over half the continent, their raids and acts of piracy extended as far as the kingdom of Rogdon to the southeast, far beyond the steppes. There was evidence that a flotilla had even landed in and invaded the territory of the great Nocean Empire, where the sun devoured the fair Norghanians’ skin. But for at least the past decade the Norghanians went nowhere near the territories of the kingdom of Rogdon, nor did they carry out raids any farther south since, after several bitter wars, they had signed peace treaties with both the kingdom of Rogdon and the Nocean Empire. However, they still continued with their pirating practices throughout the north and part of the central regions of the continent where the local tribes could not stand up to them.