by Pedro Urvi
The third, the leader of the Arcane of the Glaciers, had his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes shut. He was short and thin in comparison to a Wild One or a Tundra Dweller. His skin was bluish, with patches of crystalline white. His face was almost human, less wild than that of his cousins from the Frozen Continent. His head was shaven and bore a tattooed rune in crystalline white. In his right hand he carried a staff of animal bones, decorated with strange symbols. He was a Shaman. Lasgol sensed that he must be very powerful.
The leader of the Arcanes opened his eyes, and when Lasgol saw them he shivered. He was reminded of Asuris, and bad memories came back to him: memories of Asuris stabbing his mother in the back during the great betrayal in the Throne Hall of Norghania. His eyes were violet, though not as intense as those of the new ruler of the Frozen Continent. Lasgol wondered whether Asuris was still in power or whether he had died by now. He hoped so. In fact, he wanted to kill him himself, which he realized was not a good wish, even though it would be fair. He deserved to die for what he had done. But killing him with his own hands would probably not be enough to quell the pain he felt over the loss of his mother. He recognized the feeling behind the search for justice: it was revenge. He tried to calm the unease he was feeling and the stab of pain in his chest. Revenge might not be the right path to follow, but it would certainly grant him some peace.
He sighed. He knew that seeking Asuris’ death would bring him nothing good, and he had enough problems already as it was. He had thought it over during the last year, and had come to the decision that he would not go after him. Although if fate caused their paths to cross, he would seek justice, whether it was really revenge or not.
Little by little the whole population of the village had come out of their houses and was crowding the central square and the streets next to it. It looked as though this was some important meeting or ceremony. Lasgol realized that what he had taken for shouts was really a strange chant, with a slow cadence they were chanting in deep tones, but at the tops of their voices. This was a ritual of some kind, and it made him think of Asrael. He remembered that Asuris had wounded him. Had the old Shaman survived? He certainly hoped so. He was a good person, who had not deserved to die. Unfortunately, one thing Lasgol had learnt was that life is sometimes not in the least fair and that good people, like his parents, died. He sighed again and tried to be positive. Asuris must surely have survived and would now be with Misha, Matriarch of the Creatures of the Ice, recovering in her cave.
Suddenly part of the mountainside beside the village seemed to sink. Lasgol narrowed his eyes, liking this less and less. From inside the mountain came several semi-giants, with one at their head who seemed to be their leader. The Semi-Giants always left him breathless. They were twice as tall as a Norghanian, and as broad-shouldered as three of them together. Their skin was blue, like that of the Wild Ones, but marked by white diagonal streaks. They wore the skins of the white bears of the Frozen Continent, while their hair and beards were long, icy in appearance and bluish-white. Their gigantic size was overwhelming, but even more so was their single eye, set in the middle of their foreheads, with a large iris, blue like their skin.
When the group reached the center of the village the leader of the Semi-Giants joined the other three, who greeted him and bowed respectfully. The leader of the Wild Ones moved aside to let him take his place. The Semi-Giants were acting as the leaders of the Wild Ones, which did not surprise Lasgol. From his experience as their captive, he guessed that inside that mountain there must be caves, and Semi-Giants living in them.
They began to perform a strange ritual around the Totem. The Wild Ones, Dwellers, and Arcanes went on chanting together as if this were a long prayer. The Semi-Giant and his two fellow-leaders knelt before the huge Totem. It had to be some god to whom they were chanting prayers and offering respect.
Sing? Camu asked him.
It sounds like it, or perhaps it’s some kind of prayer.
Prayer?
When they speak to their gods.
Camu blinked several times. Lasgol did not think he had understood the concept. Then he realized that he himself might be able to understand what they were chanting. He touched his mother’s ring, the Ring of the Frozen Tongues. He was a long way away, but it might work. Suddenly he began to understand the words in his head:
“Come to us, your servants. Come to us, Horror of the Frozen Abyss of no Return. Come and accept our offer. Come and take their souls with you. Let them serve you in the Abyss and never return. Deliver your servants from their presence. Feed your thirst for impure souls.”
Lasgol felt a tremendous shiver. Who were they invoking? For what purpose? Perhaps it was nothing more than a ritual to one of their gods and had no more importance than that. The chant had upset him, and he shook himself. Ona looked at him uneasily.
Easy, Ona, it’s nothing.
At that moment a group of Wild Ones appeared with three prisoners. For a moment Lasgol thought they were Isberson, Elkmun and Molsen, but when he looked more closely, they turned out to be three infantry soldiers from Captain Martens’s men. They were being led to the Totem.
The ominous chanting went on, and the three Leaders got to their feet, then went to stand behind the Totem. Meanwhile the Norghanian soldiers were put in front of it. They were given their weapons, war axes and wooden shields. Lasgol was very uneasy at this. If they were being armed, it must be to fight. But with whom? There were hundreds of Wild Ones, Dwellers and Arcanes there. The whole square was surrounded by them, and the soldiers could not escape. Surely they would not make them break through? That would be insane and cruel. The soldiers looked at one another, then at their surroundings, seeking a way out, but there was none.
Suddenly a corridor was cleared on the south side of the square. The three soldiers saw it and glimpsed the possibility of escape. The chanting sounded even louder now, deafening.
“Come to us, your servants. Come to us, Horror of the Frozen Abyss of no Return. Come and accept our offer. Come and take their souls with you. Let them serve you in your abyss and never return. Deliver your servants from their presence. Feed your thirst for impure souls.”
Once again, Lasgol felt a shiver. Then he saw what was approaching along the corridor which had opened among the crowd.
It was the Frozen Specter.
He had not the slightest doubt of it. It was ignoring the peoples of the Frozen Continent as it came, and it was huge, very tall, even more so than a Semi-Giant. It moved as if floating over the snow. Its spectral face seemed frozen in an endless expression of horror. It was partly translucent, partly ice. From its gaunt body, which was a mixture between a semi-giant and an arcane of the glaciers, there issued a mist that fell to the ground in a cascade and froze everything it touched. At the passage of that nightmare being, everything was left covered in frost.
Magic! Camu warned him.
You can feel it from here?
Yes. Powerful.
That’s not good news.
No. Magic bad.
Yeah, it doesn’t look good.
The being reached the square, and Lasgol had not the slightest doubt that it was deeply dangerous. He saw the three soldiers raising their shields and preparing to face the Specter. They were Norghanian soldiers, strong and tough; they would fight. They would not cower before that monster, in spite of the fear it aroused in anyone who laid eyes on it.
The leaders of the three peoples bowed respectfully to the frozen being. The whole village followed their example, all the time chanting the ominous song.
The Frozen Specter said not a word. It came to stand in front of the three Norghanian soldiers, who even though they were tall, strong men of the north, looked like children beside that spectral being of ice. It raised its arms toward the soldiers, who yelled war-cries and charged at it, knowing it had come for them, for their souls. Lasgol longed with all his heart for the soldiers to manage to defeat it. They attacked it from the sides and the front. The soldier attac
king from the right delivered a circular blow to the being’s outstretched arm, but it went through the incorporeal limb. The soldier attacking from the left reached the Specter in the side, and his axe struck ice. The soldier attacking from the center delivered a downward axe-blow straight to the heart, but the axe went through the torso, having found nothing but air.
Lasgol shook his head. They had not managed to wound it. Before the three soldiers could attack again, the Frozen Specter went for them. Both arms extended, immaterially, to the chests of the two soldiers at the sides. Enormous spectral hands touched their torsos, and an instant later the soldiers arched and their gazes turned blank. The arms lowered, and their faces turned white as snow. The third soldier launched another blow at the phantasm’s face. It reached the mask of ice which was its disfigured face with its eternal look of horror, but the steel could not penetrate.
The chanting was now deafening. The being let go of the two soldiers, who fell dead with expressions of horror on their faces. Lasgol had no idea whether or not the spectral creature had stolen their souls, but he was sure they were dead. The soldier who was left standing tried once again, delivering axe blows right and left as though possessed. Some met ice, others went through the being, but none of them wounded it. The soldier stepped back, seeing that he could not harm it. The Specter reached out its arm and touched the chest of the brave Norghanian. A moment later he too dropped dead, with the same look of horror on his face as his comrades.
The scene left Lasgol horrified and unable to think. He did not believe in Specters and beings from the beyond. Nor did he believe in other worlds apart from the one he lived in. But this scene put everything in doubt. It genuinely seemed that a Frozen Specter had stolen the souls of three Norghanian soldiers who had been unable to harm it. No, it could not possibly be a Specter. It had to be some kind of magical creature the peoples of the Frozen Continent knew and had awakened to help them. How they managed to keep it from attacking them puzzled him.
It can’t be a Specter.
Being with powerful magic.
Have you any idea what kind of magic it is?
Magic of Death.
Lasgol looked at him in surprise. Is that a guess, or do you really know?
I know. Feel.
You feel the kind of magic it uses?
Yes. I feel.
Lasgol found this discovery really astonishing. He knew that Camu could feel magic, and could even disable it. What he had not known was that he was able to identify it, to know what kind it was.
Can you feel my magic? The kind I use?
I feel.
What kind of magic is it?
You Magic of Nature.
Lasgol’s jaw dropped. He himself had not known what kind of magic he used. He had talked about it with Egil on several occasions and they had been unable to come to any definite conclusion. And yet Camu seemed to know, or at least to feel it rather than know it. Lasgol looked into the eyes of the creature, which was staring at him with his head to one side.
Magic of Nature. Yes, I think that’s my kind of magic, even though I don’t know much about it.
I know. You Magic of nature.
All right, I’m not doubting that you know, it’s just that I’d never been sure what kind it was.
Now you know.
How long have you known?
Since yesterday.
Yesterday?
Yes.
You mean not long ago.
Yes. Not long.
Lasgol understood. Camu’s sense of time was not the same as a human’s. He tended to confuse near and far in time.
Just like that, you knew?
Camu moved his head, first to one side and then the other. Just like that.
What else do you know?
Much. I smart.
Lasgol put his hand to his eyes and shook his head. Camu must be developing new skills. He was growing, and this must be a part of his growing process. Now he could sense and identify magic, and also the kind of magic it was. He wondered what else he would manage to do as he went on developing new skills and improving the ones he already had. Egil was going to love all this.
The chanting went on while the Frozen Specter turned and withdrew down the corridor they had opened for it. It did not attack the crowd, which Lasgol interpreted to mean that either it was under their control, or else that it was helping them for some reason. Whichever way, they were in great trouble, and he had to warn Captain Martens. They needed to leave the territory immediately, otherwise that creature out of a nightmare would kill all his soldiers, one by one. The few that Captain Martens still had left were no rival for that Horror of the Frozen Abyss of no Return.
He sighed. Now he understood why the Wild Ones were resettling the area and had no fear of the Norghanians. They had a new ally, and a very powerful one, one that could not be defeated with steel. To defeat that being they would need magic, and a very powerful form of it. Lasgol was not sure that Norghanians even had anything like that. Could an Ice Mage defeat this being? It would certainly be a fight worth watching. Lasgol knew that he had to tell not only Captain Martens but Dolbarar as well. The Rangers needed to know of that horrifying being’s existence, and to tell the King or the Ice Magi, or whoever was appropriate.
We’re leaving, he said to his two partners. Ona turned her eyes to him.
Ona. South.
The panther obeyed at once and began to lead them.
Lasgol followed, with Camu keeping up the rear. What he had seen had left him deeply worried. He had to report all of it, and quickly.
Chapter 18
He made his way to Captain Martens’ camp as quickly as he could. Ona led the way, with Camu following in the rear. They did not run into any more trouble, for which Lasgol was grateful, although he was not entirely surprised. Most of the Wild Ones, Dwellers and Arcanes of the area were sure to be at the ceremony of the Frozen Specter they had left behind.
How far? Camu asked.
We’re close, Lasgol replied without stopping.
Another day of travelling went by, and then another, and the little creature asked again: Are we there?
No, but we’re getting near.
By the following evening Camu was asking the same thing again. We there now?
Lasgol rolled his eyes. Do you know you’re a nightmare?
I not nightmare.
Stop asking me when we’re nearly there. I’ll let you know when we are.
Camu did not answer, but Lasgol knew he was not very happy. He did not blame him. They had been going at full speed ever since leaving the village of the Wild Ones and they were very tired. But there was not much of the journey left, and he wanted to get there and report what he had found out to the Captain. Camu, as usual, wanted to stop to rest and play and enjoy himself for a while. Unfortunately it was not the right moment for fun and play.
We’ll play when we’re safe, he said to soothe him.
When?
I wish I knew.
Now?
No, not now.
Lasgol made the two of them travel the distance as if they were being chased by possessed wolves. Ona did not complain, because she could put up with the pace. Lasgol too managed it fairly well, but Camu less so. Lasgol realized that the bigger he grew, the harder he found journeys that were either demanding or under pressure of time. If he went on growing, he would probably be unable to keep up with them, which would be a new situation they would have to adjust to. According to Egil’s estimates, Camu would become huge over time. He also thought he would be enormously long-lived. These were just his theories, based on what they had observed of their little friend and what he had found in tomes about other draconian creatures. As Egil was not often wrong, Lasgol was beginning to get used to the idea that it would eventually be so, and he would have to deal with it somehow.
When they arrived at Captain Martens’ camp, he sighed in relief. He would be able to report what had happened and they would be safe. At least for the mo
ment.
Camu, hide.
I wait outside. Rest.
Good. Sleep a little.
Sleep. Yes.
Lasgol smiled. Poor Camu was exhausted. He and Ona went into the camp. He was looking forward to seeing the soldiers and the sergeant, and even to have a little of the ‘corpse animator’ to recover from the exhaustion. He would be deeply grateful to be able to spend the night in one of the military tents which – in that environment – was the closest thing to being able to rest in a palace.
Suddenly Ona hissed and took up an attacking stance, with all her hair standing on end.
What’s the matter? Lasgol messaged her.
The panther clearly did not want to go into the camp. Puzzled, Lasgol looked around and did not see the watchmen who ought to have halted him from the top of the boulders. He readied his short bow uneasily.
Danger?
Ona hissed.
Understood. The panther could sense something bad, and he trusted her feline instincts completely.
With extreme wariness, he went up to the passage that opened on to the camp, with Ona, very tense, by his side. When they reached the end of the passage and saw the camp, he muffled a cry of horror.
The soldiers’ lifeless bodies lay in the open space in front of the tents.
They were all dead!
Lasgol stared at the scene, appalled. They all bore a look of horror on their faces which left no doubt as to the reason for their death. Or what had caused it: the Frozen Specter. With great sorrow he went in and walked between the corpses of those brave Norghanian soldiers who had confronted that nightmare being. They were all carrying their weapons and had all died fighting, trying to kill that ghastly being. They had not succeeded.
Ona hissed again.
Lasgol looked around with his bow at the ready. There was no-one. But on turning round, he saw Captain Martens’ body. Careful not to step on the dead bodies, he reached the Captain and knelt down beside him. On his face was that eternal look of horror. Part of his chest was frozen where the Specter had touched him. Lasgol tried to calculate how long he had been dead, but it was hard to tell because of the cause of death and because parts of his body were frozen. He looked closely at his hands: from the color, he guessed less than a week. There was no trace of any scavengers, either animals or birds, which was really surprising, because here was a feast for them. The fact that they had not come near meant that either the bodies were infected or that the place emitted some kind of evil aura which scared them away. Probably both.