The King of the West

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The King of the West Page 5

by Pedro Urvi


  “Hmm, this is new,” Lasgol said in surprise.

  Egil was giggling. “What…? Hahaha!…”

  “The fact that Ona should start to play with you like that. She’s very distrustful.”

  “She seems sweet-natured and playful,” Egil said. He was scratching Ona’s head as she fought Camu on the bed. They were both nipping at each other and rolling over, then they threw themselves at Egil who could barely breathe, what with their weight and his own chuckling. But he was having a wonderful time.

  “They might be siblings.” Egil covered his face with his arms to avoid Camu’s licking.

  Lasgol was left watching the scene thoughtfully.

  “Could be… Ona must see Camu as one of her siblings. She had two. Maybe that’s why she’s decided to play as well, seeing Camu has absolute trust in you.”

  “That’s… a good guess…. hahaha!” Egil was now protecting himself from Ona’s caresses, which left scratches on arms and hands.

  “Ona, be careful…” Lasgol told her.

  “Never mind, a couple of scratches will help to give me a tougher image, and that won’t do me any harm.”

  Lasgol let Camu and Ona play with Egil for some time, all over the cabin: first mock-fighting, then hide-and-seek, which was Camu’s favorite game, because of course he had the advantage. But oddly enough, Ona was getting better at the game and was beginning to find him even in his invisible state. Lasgol was not sure whether she could smell him, or whether her feline instincts told her where he was. Whatever the case, he thought it was very interesting. It also troubled him, because if she could perceive him, then perhaps other animals, or even humans, could do the same…

  Egil was left lying on the floor of the cabin, totally exhausted after playing and laughing with the two wild creatures.

  “I… can’t… move…” he said, with his arms outstretched, looking up at the ceiling.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Those two have endless energy, and unfortunately, we don’t. Look at them still playing.”

  Without moving from the floor, Egil looked at them and smiled.

  Seeing his friend smile made Lasgol happy. It had been rare to see him enjoying himself lately. He had suffered a great deal.

  “What mission have they given you?”

  “I have to join the northern explorers. On the other side of the great mountains.”

  “To keep an eye on the movements of the Wild Ones of the Ice?”

  “Looks like it, yeah. I haven’t got the details yet. I’ll find out when I get there.”

  “The King fears another invasion from the Ice Hordes.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  Egil nodded. “When are you leaving?”

  “At dawn. I came here to cross the mountain by the secret pass. It’s faster. Besides, I wanted to see you and find out how you were.”

  “Good thinking. Nobody will be able to accuse you of taking a detour. You’ve chosen the fastest way – for a Ranger, obviously.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Tell me everything that’s happened this year. I want to know it all. I have a feeling we won’t get another chance like this for some time.”

  “Sure.”

  Lasgol told him all that had gone on, in as much detail as he could remember. As he told his story, night fell over the Camp. Re-living everything he had been through during that time they had been apart, he realized that it had been a very intense year, full of experiences and emotions, some of them very harsh. When he had finished, he gave a snort of relief and lay down on the floor, empty of emotion, as if he had freed himself of a great burden he had been carrying inside him which had been oppressing his chest.

  “It really has been quite an experience,” Egil said, nodding.

  “It has, yeah…”

  “What worries me greatly is the appearance of the Dark Rangers…” Egil commented. His gaze was distant. Lasgol knew that look; it meant that he was trying to decipher the meaning of it.

  “We don’t know anything about them, but they exist. Erika confirmed that.”

  “And she had no reason to hide it, or to try to trick you…”

  “No, she was under orders.”

  “To kill you…”

  Lasgol nodded. “That was her mission in the Shelter.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Lasgol repeated. He looked dumbfounded.

  “Sorry. I didn’t express myself precisely enough. What’s interesting is the fact that this secret group has appeared, and that they want you dead.”

  “I still don’t find it very interesting,” Lasgol complained.

  Egil gave him a half-smile of encouragement. “The fact that there’s a faction within the Rangers with its own leader and agenda, distinct from faithful service to the realm, is rather interesting. It suggests that there’s a division among our people – and not because of support for whoever ought to take the throne of Norghana, but because of something deeper. It occurs to me that this secret group is made up of not-very-honorable Rangers. I’m intrigued by who they are and how they came to join together.”

  “And who their leader is.”

  “Exactly. And what goals that leader is pursuing.”

  “Well, one of them, is getting rid of me.”

  “Yes, but why? That’s what we need to verify. The reason. Perhaps that way we can find out who ordered your death.”

  “What if it’s a commission?”

  “Well, yes, it could also be that. But considering that they sent an agent to the Shelter, of all places, to train with the rest of us, tells me that no, it isn’t something outside this faction, it’s within it. Too much effort and risk to be a commission awarded to a third party. Or at least that’s what I think.”

  “You’re not wrong very often.”

  “Take my case, for instance. There’s a contract on my head with a Zangrian syndicate. But they haven’t sent anybody to the Camp. Here I’m safe. As long as I don’t set foot outside this place, they can’t touch me. That really is a commission awarded to a third party by that syndicate of assassins. You see the difference?”

  “I think so… it seems a very risky and elaborate business, Erika going to the Shelter and joining us.”

  “You need to have means and influence for that. If you think about it carefully, it was a very ambitious and risky plan. To infiltrate an agent into the Shelter and wait for an opportunity to kill you would involve considerable planning and preparation. They didn’t want you to get out of there alive.”

  “But why? I don’t pose a threat to anybody.”

  “As far as we know…”

  “Oh ...”

  “These Dark Rangers are dangerous. If they could infiltrate Erika into the Shelter, they might have members here in the Camp, or in any city, any fort that’s regularly frequented by Rangers. That troubles me.”

  “Well, that’s just wonderful. I’m not even safe among my own people.”

  “Sorry, pal, but I’m afraid not. And the sooner you accept it, the better. You can’t trust any Ranger. Not until we find out who the Dark Rangers are, what they want and why they want you dead.”

  “Except for the Panthers, of course.”

  Egil smiled. “You can trust our group.”

  “I’ve only just realized: they want us both dead, and we don’t know why.”

  “Very true, although in my case I have a pretty clear suspicion: that whoever’s hired the syndicate of Zangrian assassins has done so to cover their tracks and put us off the trail. They want to hide who they are. I’m sure the interest in my life doesn’t originate in Zangria.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “I’ve analyzed it and thought about it at some length. I’ve been gathering all the information I’ve been able to. You’d be surprised at what you can get to know by inspecting mail and chatting to any passing Ranger. The most significant reason has to be my lineage. There’s no other motive why anybody would want
me dead.”

  “Then it has to be King Thoran or his brother Duke Orten.”

  “Yes, those are the main suspects. By hiring the services of foreign agents from a rival kingdom, they wash their hands of the matter. And they’ve already hired Zangrian mercenaries to support their army.”

  “Well, those are pretty powerful enemies.”

  “So they are. But let’s not jump to conclusions so quickly. We need more evidence if we’re to be sure.”

  “But why want to kill you now that you’re a Ranger?

  “Because lineage never goes away. I’ll always be an Olafstone. And as long as I live, I’m a risk for Thoran and Orten, because I’m the heir to the throne. That’ll never go away. Until I die, obviously.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Lasgol said fiercely.

  “I haven’t the slightest intention of doing so.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “The best and most prudent course of action right now is to carry on with our daily routines, and at the same time focus on finding out who’s trying to get rid of us.”

  Lasgol breathed out heavily and slowly. “Do you think someday we’ll be able to live in peace and lead a quiet life without being involved in intrigues and attempted murder?”

  Egil put his head to one side and looked at Lasgol while he considered his answer.

  “I very much fear, my dear friend, that there’s very little chance that day will ever come.”

  Chapter 5

  Lasgol woke up with a start. Someone was knocking on the cabin door. Dawn had already broken, and the light was streaming in through the windows and bathing the room. He was desperately sleepy. When he opened his eyes as much as he could, he saw Egil already dressed, on his way to the door. They had spent the night talking about a thousand and one things, as had always been their habit. By the time they realized, it was almost daylight. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that it had happened. With a huge smile on his face, he had decided to shut his eyes and rest for a while longer, however short.

  He had been unlucky. Egil opened the door a crack and looked out.

  “Yes?”

  “Dolbarar wants to see you, and Specialist Lasgol too,” came a deep voice.

  “All right, we’ll be there right away,” Egil replied, and the Ranger left at once.

  He closed the door and turned around. “It seems he knows you’re here.”

  Lasgol yawned. “Dolbarar always finds things out, sooner or later.”

  “That’s true. It also means everyone in the Camp knows you’re here and who you are.”

  Lasgol began to get ready. Egil went over to his trunk, and suddenly Camu became visible and jumped on him from the table at the far end of the cabin like a flying squirrel.

  “Camu… what on…”

  He had no chance to finish the sentence. Camu landed on top of him, and he fell backwards. He was left lying on the floor with the mischievous creature on top. Unable to stop Camu from licking his face, he began to giggle.

  “Camu… no…” Lasgol scolded his small friend, without much conviction.

  Then Ona, who had been in the kitchen area, climbed on to the table, imitated Camu’s leap and fell on to Egil in turn.

  “Ufff!” he gasped when she landed on top of him and began to lick his hair.

  “Ona… gently…” Lasgol said, although he was sure the panther would not stop playing.

  “Let them… they’re wonderful…” Egil muttered from the floor, amid laughter and licking.

  Lasgol rolled his eyes, delighted at what a good time his friend was having with the two little fiends.

  They left the cabin, leaving Camu and Ona inside. Lasgol ordered them to stay inside and behave properly. He had not much hope about the latter, but Egil shut the door and the shutters to avoid curious looks and to let the two animals play in peace, although they would probably destroy some of the furniture in the process. He did not mind.

  On the way to the House of Command they passed different groups of contenders heading to their respective formations. Lasgol noticed that all eyes were on him. He also noticed that those gazes were not ones of curiosity, as they had been the day before. These gazes were different… they were of hate. They knew he was Lasgol, son of Darthor, and they hated him for it. It saddened him. Not for himself, since he simply ignored the stares, the malicious comments and whisperings his presence aroused, but for them. They hated for the sake of hating, without real motive, without understanding. And hate for the sake of hate, apart from being meaningless, poisoned and rotted the heart, which was something he knew well.

  He sighed, remembering what had happened to Isgord and the sad, tragic end which hate had led him to. He shook his head, feeling bad about his death. Not guilty, because he had had no choice but to do what he had done. It was rather because Isgord had not found any way of leaving behind the hatred which had led him to his death. Dying for hate or killing for it had no meaning for Lasgol, least of all after everything he had been through with Isgord. It was a lesson of life he would remember to the day he died: hate and love were two extremely strong feelings. That kind of feeling could save lives, but could destroy them just as easily. He made one promise to himself: never to hate anyone, because it was a dark path which led only to the abyss.

  More whispers and unfriendly looks from a group of Fourth-Years in their brown cloaks made him listen more closely. He heard: “Traitor, enemy of the realm, you ought to be dead, get them to throw him out, there’s no place among the Rangers for someone like you, you ought to hang, get out, let’s give him a lesson, he deserves the noose…” and other pleasantries. Lasgol ignored the scornful comments and empty words. He went on with his head high. Egil walked beside him, also with his head high.

  They passed through the center of the Camp, by the well, and to the comments against Lasgol there were now some directed against Egil: “the son of Darthor with the son of the Duke of the West, another traitor, enemy of the realm, who serves the West and doesn’t belong here. Two traitors in the Camp, he’s the brother of that one who calls himself King of the West. He should hang for high treason…” Egil did not flinch. He seemed to be more than used to these comments, which although whispered, were loud enough to be heard. The veteran Rangers they passed neither opened their mouths nor glared at them with hate. Instead they simply ignored them, and neither did they do anything to stop those all-too-audible hurtful comments.

  And then Master Instructor Oden appeared. “Everyone back to work and shut up!” he ordered in his usual commanding tone of voice, which sounded like a bark.

  The groups dispersed at once.

  Egil and Lasgol looked at each other and smiled. They reached the bridge which gave access to the island where the House of Command was. Lasgol stopped in the middle of the bridge to look at it. Memories of moments he had experienced there came to him all at once, so that he felt joy, fear, sadness, confidence, love and endless other feelings, all at the same time. His skin prickled.

  Egil noticed that he had stopped and was staring at the great house with his eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah… memories… a lot of them, and… at the same time.”

  “Oh. That’s understandable. This place is full of significance. This is where we suffered and triumphed. This is where we became Rangers. It’s where Dolbarar and the four Master Rangers exercise their authority.”

  “Yeah… so many moments…”

  “Don’t worry, this’ll be just one more. A positive one.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m sure. Dolbarar has a soft spot for you. There’s nothing bad waiting for us in there.”

  Lasgol nodded. He felt a little easier. He let all those memories and feelings settle in him.

  “Let’s go.”

  Egil smiled at him. They knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” came a voice from inside.

  At the other end of the great central hall they saw the four Master
Rangers, who were sitting, talking by the fireplace. They stared at the two friends curiously.

  Egil bowed his head. “Good morning, Master Rangers,” he said respectfully, and bowed. Lasgol did the same.

  “Egil, Lasgol,” Esben acknowledged them.

  “Lasgol, what a surprise to see you here,” Eyra said. Her voice was friendly

  “I’m on my way to a mission,” Lasgol explained.

  He was glad to see the Erudite again. She was just as he remembered her: well past her sixty springs, with curly white hair. Her long, crooked nose gave her something of the air of a good witch. She did not seem to have grown a day older, as if having reached a certain age she did not put on any more years.

  Ivana meanwhile was watching him with her icy grey eyes. “And judging by his clothes, he’s come back as a Specialist,” she commented. Her beautiful Nordic face seemed frozen in ice. She still wore her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” said Haakon. “If I’m totally honest, I didn’t think you’d make it.”

  Lasgol was not surprised by this comment from the Master Ranger of Expertise, since they had never gotten along. He had the same dark gaze, which Lasgol did not like at all. He still had the impression that there was something wrong about Haakon, that he was hiding something.

  “Well, I certainly knew he’d make it,” Esben said in defense of his former pupil. “In fact, I never had the slightest doubt. One of my brightest students, with innate skills for tracking and dealing with animals.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Lasgol said, and nodded respectfully to him.

  “Are you the Specialist who arrived at the Camp with a snow panther?” Ivana asked.

  “Yes, that’s me. She’s my familiar. Her name’s Ona.”

  “He’s a Beast Whisperer,” Esben explained proudly, obviously pleased about his former student’s achievements.

  Haakon’s face twisted, but he said nothing.

  “Beast Whisperer?” Eyra repeated. “That’s a fine specialty, and a rare one. You must be very pleased.”

  “Yes, very pleased,” Lasgol admitted. He looked down, feeling a little embarrassed.

 

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