by Pedro Urvi
“You’d better take care of yourself. They say Orten, the King’s brother, is a brute and has some pretty bad manners and habits…”
“That goes with being Norghanian nobility. He doesn’t scare me.”
“Anyway, be very careful.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eyes open. I always do.”
They hugged, and Viggo went on to the south.
Remembering his friend’s parting comforted him. Then he looked up at the dark clouds in the inclement sky and was assailed by negative thoughts. They had spent a very intense year in the Shelter, and while they had been training, the civil war in Norghana had broken out again. With the coming of Spring both sides would go back into battle, and blood would flow across the valleys and mountains of Norghana. As Rangers they would find themselves immersed in the fray. They would have to choose sides once again, and it would not be easy. The King was no longer a Shifter. Thoran was now the legitimate king of the East and occupied the throne. Arnold was king of the West and was seeking to take the throne from Thoran and reign in his place, as was his right by blood.
Lasgol inhaled the cold air and let out a breath of steam. Then on the other hand there was the ugly business of the Dark Rangers, which was making him very uneasy: a secret organization of Rangers who were seeking to kill him. He had no idea who they were or why they wanted him dead, but he was going to have to find out if he wanted to stay alive.
He sighed heavily, and Trotter looked around at him.
“Keep going, old friend, we’re nearly there.”
And as if all that were not enough, there were the missions they had been given, all of them dangerous. They would all have to carry them out and avoid dying in the process. He shook off the bad feelings and apprehension. He was not going to be afraid. They would face up to all those situations when the moment arrived, and come out on top, as they had so far. Or so he hoped.
He rode on through the snow.
The sense of something ominous did not leave him.
Chapter 2
They rounded the last bend in the road. Lasgol smiled when he saw the entrance to the Camp in the distance, through the snow.
“We’re here, Trotter,” he whispered, and patted the pony’s neck.
It had only been a year since he had gone out through those same gates on his way to the Shelter, but he felt as if it had been much, much longer, as if the period of time he had spent training to become a Specialist had been two years instead of just one. He had lived through strange and difficult events at the Shelter, and that was probably why.
He turned to look at Ona and Camu, who were still playing happily, untroubled, oblivious to the snow that was still falling from a stormy sky.
Camouflage, he messaged Camu, using his Gift.
Long time? came the reply.
Yes. You mustn’t be seen here.
I camouflage, he said, but there was a sense of sadness that Lasgol received along with the message. Camu preferred not to make himself invisible. Unless they were playing hide and seek. Then he certainly loved it. From what Lasgol had been able to observe, his mischievous friend could spend a whole day hidden, which was a clear sign that his power was growing. Not long before, he had only been able to hide for short periods of time in a single day. It was a significant advance. He had also noticed that afterwards Camu needed to sleep for long periods to allow himself to recover. It was something that happened to Lasgol himself when he used most of his pool of internal energy in summoning up his skills. And as far as he knew, it also happened to Magi of great power. Hence he could deduce that the extended use of a skill, or the invocation of spells or enchantments, consumed a great deal of this inner energy, exhausting the body and then requiring a long rest in order to regain the magical energy consumed and restore the body.
Camu became invisible, and as usual Ona jumped in fright. She did not like her friend to vanish like that, not the least little bit. Lasgol hoped that she was getting used to it, but for now this was not the case. He would have to work with her so that she would understand and be at ease with it. He had a lot to teach the young panther. At the same time, working with her delighted him, so he did not mind in the least. More than that, he loved doing it.
“Ona. With me,” he ordered. It was a neutral command, so that she would stay at his side, but without putting herself on guard, or readying herself to attack. This was something he always needed to have under control. Great cats were quick to attack if they felt a threat or any sign of danger. A careless moment, a blink, and she might pounce on someone, and then they would be in deep trouble. Luckily, he had been granted the best and most obedient familiar in all the northern mountains, and he was delighted.
The snow panther chirped and fell into step by his side. Trotter snorted, but Lasgol calmed him with strokes and soft words.
“She has to walk beside us,” he told the pony. “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to you. Ona is good, she’s your partner.”
Trotter snorted again and moved his head away from the panther. He was not very convinced. Lasgol hoped Ona would behave well among humans – or at least he wanted her to – but he was not sure what could happen. This would be their first trial, and it would be a good one as the Camp would be crowded with Rangers and contenders about to begin the term. Better to find out how Ona behaved among Rangers than among peasants; the mere thought of going into a village with a snow panther in tow made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Peasants would not understand. They would flee in terror. He would also have to confront hunters and soldiers who would want to kill her. This made him realize he could not take her into a city. Luckily Elder Gisli had taught him a system for this type of situation, when he had no choice but to go into a city, fortress or anything of the kind. He would have to try it and see if it really worked in real situations outside the Shelter or the Camp. Everything in its own time. Now he had to focus on the difficult situation at hand. Humans, Rangers included, were not happy about having great cats among them, except in cages.
“Come on, Trotter, let’s go inside.”
The pony obeyed and went on to the entrance of the Camp. He seemed to remember the way, and probably he did.
They stopped at the gate, which was shut. It was just as he remembered: an impassable barrier of snow-covered trees and bracken which looked like an icy wall, tall and irregular. He knew there were several Rangers on Watch Duty, hidden in the heights.
He introduced himself: “Specialist Ranger Lasgol Eklund, requesting permission to enter the Camp.”
There was no answer. He felt strange, speaking to the barrier of frozen trees. For a moment longer nothing happened. He knew there were several arrows aimed at his chest, but he was easy in his mind. The Rangers on guard at the gate were veterans. He was in no danger, even if there was a snow panther with him.
“Open up to a Ranger,” he insisted. For some reason they were taking too long about it.
There came a crack, then the sound of branches and trunks being dragged aside. A section of the forest and undergrowth opened as if by magic. Lasgol whispered to Trotter to go on, and they went through with Camu invisible on his left and Ona on his right, watchful.
As they entered the Camp and he began to glimpse the familiar surroundings, hundreds of thoughts flooded into his mind and overwhelmed him: feelings both enjoyable and definitely unpleasant. He remembered when he had arrived for the first time, how bad he had felt. How terrible it had been during the first half of the year, until he formed the unbreakable friendship he now enjoyed with his cabin partners the Snow Panthers. That was what had saved him. Distant images came to him, images of the enormous difficulty of the training, blurred and yet charged with intense emotions. The scorn he had been treated with because of who he was had been engraved in fire in his heart, and that was something he could never forget. Setting foot in the Camp brought it all back, vividly, and he had to swallow and take a deep breath to dispel the feeling.
He looked
aside at Ona, who was observing everything around her restlessly, with her ears pricked, and remembered all the good things he had experienced with the Snow Panthers during the four years they had been a team. A smile spread across his face. Now they were all scattered, each of them carrying out their duties as Rangers, but he knew he could always count on them. They were friends for life, a thing which rarely happens. Unfortunately, humans tended not to forge such close bonds; they were too busy with their own lives and in general did not appreciate the value and importance of a good friend. Lasgol did, and so did his friends.
The familiar sight of the Camp made him sigh. He realized the enormous importance, and especially the uniqueness, of having friends like the ones he had. And it had all happened here. For this alone he ought to be grateful to this special, secret place, where the Norghanian Rangers trained and where great relationships started – and also ended.
He went on to the stables, past the workshops. The Rangers and contenders in the area all stared at him as he went. Not only because he was a Ranger Specialist and there were not many of them walking around the Camp, but because of Ona. Lasgol watched her out of the corner of his eye to make sure everything was all right with her. He had to make sure he could control her and that she would behave properly among humans, which he guessed was not going to be at all easy.
He saw First-year contenders with their red cloaks moving away from them, in fear. The poor souls had just started their training and must feel totally lost. Seeing a Specialist accompanied by his familiar was not a thing they either expected or understood. He had to hold back a smile and keep his face serious. Even a couple of Rangers started at the sight of a snow panther walking loose among them.
He reached the stables and dismounted from Trotter with a smooth leap. It was odd, he realized, but the snow was falling less heavily inside the Camp. That enormous valley with its shroud of mist almost had its own special climate. He stroked Ona’s head to soothe her. She was looking suspiciously at all the humans around and had made no sign of being ready to attack, but Lasgol was not entirely easy.
“Ona. Stay,” he ordered her, to make sure she would not move from his side.
The man in charge of the stables waved at Ona. “The pony’s welcome, but I can’t look after the panther.”
“I understand. No problem, she’ll stay with me.” Lasgol took his travel pack and his bows, which he slung over his shoulders.
“All right,” the man said, and took Trotter away to tend to him. The pony did not protest. He was well acquainted with the stables, and he knew he would be treated like a king there.
Lasgol went to the center of the Camp with Ona. As he walked on, remembering good moments he had spent there, he noticed the stir he was causing. Groups of Second-year contenders in their yellow cloaks gaped at him. When he reached the central well, he stopped and petted Ona, who was now beginning to seem more restless.
“Easy, girl,” he whispered to her. “I know there are humans here, but they won’t harm you.”
A sizeable group of Third-years on their way back from training stopped at the sight of Ona and reached for their weapons. Lasgol went on stroking her and whispering to her not to attack the blue-cloaked contenders, who were aiming their arrows at her threateningly. Seeing that Lasgol was acting as though Ona were a great mastiff, they relaxed a little and watched, deeply intrigued. A group of Fourth-years in their brown cloaks appeared from the north, and they too stopped to look with their hands on their weapons.
Ona was getting very nervous by now. There were too many humans watching her from different directions. She looked back at them, but her attitude had changed from restless to something more aggressive. She did not like the situation. Lasgol became aware of this and stroked her back.
“They’re friends. Rangers won’t harm you,” he whispered.
Ona gave a threatening growl.
The nearest contenders stepped back at once. They were aware of the danger.
“Easy, girl… they’re not enemies. You mustn’t attack.”
Then suddenly a voice thundered at Lasgol’s back.
“What are you all doing, standing there? Haven’t you ever seen a Ranger Specialist with his familiar?” The voice was bad-tempered, and to Lasgol it was very familiar. He turned and saw Master Instructor Oden Borg.
“Master Instructor,” he greeted him with a nod, but did not stop stroking Ona.
“So, in the end you managed to become not only a Ranger, but a Specialist too?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“You can drop the ‘sir’. You’re not at the Camp any longer, so I’m not your senior, lad.”
“Even so, sir, it’s my way of showing the respect you inspire in me.”
Oden was left speechless, which was something very unusual in him. “I… well… yes… I appreciate it,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by the reply.
“Everything going well around here?”
“Nothing ever goes well here. The First-years are a bunch of dumbasses who couldn’t find their own backside even if you gave them clues. The Second-years go one way and the other, just as lost as they were the first day, which is enough to show you how incapable they are. The Third-years think they know something by now, but in fact they still can’t find their own backside and they realize this with every mistake they make. And don’t get me talking about the Fourth-years, they think they’re experts at everything. Wait and see the surprise they get when they don’t manage to graduate.” He said all this at the top of his voice, and his tone suggested that he was surrounded by blockheads who were both incompetent and half-witted.
The objects of his tirade, who were watching them, bowed their heads. They murmured excuses and protests among themselves, defending themselves against Oden’s accusations. They were doing so fairly quietly to avoid awakening the Master Instructor’s rage.
“Move on! Back to your tasks! I’m surrounded by loafers and incompetents!”
The contenders began to melt away unobtrusively.
Lasgol had to muffle a laugh. “I see what you mean,” he said, following the master’s lead.
“Thank goodness every once in a while they send me some good material to work with,” Oden said. He acknowledged Lasgol’s worth with a nod.
Lasgol was surprised by the compliment. Oden never spoke well of anyone, least of all the contenders.
“Thank you, Master Instructor…”
“Not at all. I didn’t treat you right when you first arrived. I let myself be influenced by your stigma.”
“The Traitor’s Son…”
“Yes.” Oden cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable about admitting it.
“I don’t remember being treated any differently from the rest by the Master Instructor.”
“It was ‘slightly worse’, and it shouldn’t have been.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.”
“It’ll never happen again,” Oden said. There was determination in his expression. “People learn from their mistakes. That’s what experience is for.”
Lasgol nodded. “Experience is a step on the ladder.”
“Visiting or on a mission?” the Master Instructor asked, and he was grateful for the change of subject.
“On a mission.”
“In that case, don’t say another word. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’m glad you made it. Something told me you would.” Oden indicated Lasgol’s Specialist cloak.
Lasgol smiled. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I’ve no doubt about that. Good luck on your mission. Now I’d better get back to my duties.” With this, he hastened away to give a scolding to several Third-years at the top of his voice.
Lasgol laughed under his breath. “The Master Instructor’s still the same as ever,” he told Ona, and gently pulled her ears. The panther was looking all around her, very alert. There were a lot of strangers wandering about, and although they were all keeping a
t a safe distance, all that movement made her uneasy.
“Come on,” he told her, and gave her the sign to follow him. He set off to the Library. Everyone moved away when they saw them approach, which rather amused him. Who would have thought that one day the Rangers in the Camp themselves would be afraid of him? It was Ona they were really afraid of, but she was with him. He smiled, enjoying this. Two Second-years came out of the Library, gave an enormous start when they saw Lasgol and Ona and hurried away. A First-year who was following them ran off with terror in his eyes.
“You seem to be causing quite a sensation,” Lasgol said to Ona, who made an uneasy noise. She was still very uncomfortable among so many people.
“Does that surprise you?” came a voice, and Lasgol turned. He found himself facing Esben Berg the ‘Tamer’. Lasgol looked him up and down. He was just the same: middle-aged, large as a bear, with a mass of chestnut hair and beard. Big grey eyes and a snub nose gave him something of the air of a beast from the forests. Lasgol was very glad to see the Master Ranger of the School of Wildlife.
He greeted him with a respectful bow. “Master Ranger.”
“She’s a beauty,” Esben said, and knelt in front of Ona. The panther eyed him distrustfully and let out a warning growl. She tensed. But Esben began to whisper to her with knowledge and a great deal of skill. Lasgol realized that Esben was a Beast Whisperer, just as he was himself. He had never realized the fact when he was at the Camp learning from him, but then of course he had not even known that the elite specialty existed. Nor had Esben ever mentioned what his own Elite Specialization was, although being a Master Ranger, he must have had one. Lasgol watched as Esben, using several techniques and a great deal of experience in the way he was interacting with the panther, won her over. Ona looked at Lasgol with eyes that said “can I trust him?” and he decided to try an order he still had not mastered.
“Ona. Friend,” he said. He pointed to his own heart with two fingers, then to Esben. He was not sure whether it would work.