Trials

by Pedro Urvi

  Aliana turned her eyes to Komir’s medallion.

  “Unfortunately, I am.”

  Hartz waved his hands in the air.

  “We’re not going to go into hostile territory and have our heads cut off just because a blasted magical spell tells us to. That would be completely idiotic. I’m not going anywhere that devilish Ilenian magic tells me to. No, no way!” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

  “The two medallions are telling us we should follow the path they’ve shown us,” Aliana said soothingly.

  “To what end?” asked Kayti.

  “We’ll know when we get there,” answered Komir with unshakeable conviction.

  “I have to go and look after Kendas” said Aliana as she looked at Komir.

  He nodded, and the group went back to the small camp with worried thoughts.

  A week had passed since his conversation with Aliana, by the pond. During that time, the Healer had devoted her time to caring for Kendas, managing miraculously to restore the Lancer almost entirely to health. In the evenings by the camp-fire the group exchanged stories of their adventures, and soon an honest bond had formed between them. Every night Komir watched the Healer in silence, during those moments when she withdrew into herself, and he could almost see her thoughts flying. Komir knew that Aliana was seriously pondering everything the two of them had talked about but he did not dare to ask, or to set off again until she said something.

  On the seventh evening, Hartz was entertaining them with a fantastic story from the Norriel folklore. Aliana looked at Komir and nodded, to let him know she was ready. When Hartz finished his story Aliana turned to Komir.

  “I’ve thought about our meeting for this whole week, Komir, about the meaning of our encounter and the course we have to follow. The longer I think about it, the more sure I am that your destiny and mine must be linked. That’s shown by the fact that we’re both medallion bearers and that we’re linked by their Ilenian magic. And also by the fact that we’ve met here in the middle of nowhere, and even more by the fact that you were guided here by the witch Amtoko. That being the case, I’m led to believe that somehow my own destiny forms part of yours. If that destiny is so terrible, and will bring about the devastating tragedy that your Norriel Witch has foretold, then we must go on together, and try at all costs to prevent it from happening.

  “Do you mean you want to come with me?” asked Komir with surprise, trying to make sure he had correctly interpreted Aliana’s wishes.

  “I do. I believe it’s what I must do,” said Aliana, convinced. “I can’t allow this omen to become true. I could never forgive myself if I took a different course, knowing what I know, and let that horror spread through Tremia. It would be against all my principles, against everything I am, to allow our people to suffer such a fate. I’m a Healer of the Temple of Tirsar, and as such, my duty is to help those in pain. I have meditated carefully, and I know what I must do.”

  “You know I go to a destiny I might not be able to defeat…” warned Komir.

  “Maybe you alone might not win, but you’re no longer alone. There are two of us now who bear medallions. Together, without doubt, we’ll be much more likely to come out victorious.”

  “I can’t allow it. I can’t take the responsibility of protecting your life too, if anything should happen to you… I…”

  “It’s not a load that you need to carry, Komir. It’s my load, my responsibility, my choice,” Aliana spread her arms wide as she spoke from her very heart.

  “Even so… the dangers…” began Komir.

  “And besides, there’s a very important fact you don’t know, something which reaffirms my belief that this is the way I must follow, the way written for me too.”

  “I don’t understand you. What’s that?”

  Aliana told Komir and the rest of the group about their adventure in Usik territory, from the moment they had left Rilentor to their final flight out of the woods with Asti and Kendas, including how they had found the charred body of Haradin. Komir listened to the story in complete absorption, trying to assimilate all the information and events the Healer was talking about. When she had finished Komir spent a long time in thought.

  “That’s an adventure, right enough!” exclaimed Hartz.

  “Of blood and death…” said Aliana.

  “That Mage, Hara…din? Is he powerful?” Kayti asked.

  “In the Court of Rilentor, they say there’s no greater Mage in all Tremia”

  “So what was such a powerful mage doing looking for the medallion of Earth? What did he want it for?” insisted the redhead.

  “That’s precisely what makes me think I’m on the right path. Haradin, a Mage without equal, an eminence in the arcane arts, was looking for the medallion of Earth which finished up in my hands. This search nearly cost him his life, and ours too. That’s why I believe it must be something of overwhelming importance. Otherwise Haradin, powerful and intelligent as he is, wouldn’t have risked his life to find it. Komir, my medallion is linked to yours and to your destiny. That’s why I’m convinced I have to join you in your quest. The Bearers must walk together, united in one goal, in one destiny.”

  Komir shook his head, trying to dissuade the Healer. Staring into her eyes he said: “It’s too dangerous. Death follows our every step.”

  Aliana held Koimr’s gaze without blinking. There was a fixed determination in her eyes.

  “I’m perfectly aware of it. But it’s my duty and my belief. I’m convinced this is the right path, the one I must follow. I’ll go with you. We’ll prevent the destruction of Tremia, or else perish in the attempt!”

  “Let’s hope it’s the first of those” said Komir with growing concern.

  “It will be, have faith,” replied Aliana.

  “So, she’s coming with us, then?” asked Hartz cheerfully.

  Komir relaxed his shoulders as he looked at his friend.

  “Yes, Hartz. If Aliana wishes to, she’ll join us.”

  “Awesome! It’ll be great to have a Healer on our side,” said the big warrior.

  Kayti glanced at Hartz with a jealousy she could not hide.

  “Really, with all the trouble you get into, it won’t be one Healer we need, it’ll be a dozen!” said the redhead.

  Hartz turned his wide smile on her once again. “I don’t know why you should say that.”

  “He’s too much for me,” admitted Kayti, shaking her head.

  And that evening, by the camp-fire, two paths became one: One which would change the fate of Tremia forever.

  Pursuit and pitiless war

  Lasgol had been tracking the Assassin all over the north-east of the Kingdom of Rogdon for more than two weeks, and wherever he went he saw only death and destruction. The Norghanian Army was razing everything they found in its path: nothing could escape the destructive will of the men of the snow. The Rogdonian soldiers were heavily outnumbered, yet as they retreated they caused all the damage they could. The Norghanians occupied the entire north-eastern part of the kingdom with their pavilions and flags rippling proudly over the land in the Rogdonian wind.

  Leaving the cover of the fir-wood, Lasgol went down to the path. A new column of smoke to the East caught his attention. He closed his eyes, searched for his Gift and activated his far-seeing skill so he could see what was happening in the distance more clearly. A greenish flash ran through his body and he was then able to clearly see the vultures flying over the area. That was an unequivocal sign that the Norghanians were razing some Rogdonian city or hamlet. By the size of the houses and the way they were spread out, Lasgol guessed it must be quite a populous village. Could it be Rostembur? He had heard it was famous for its excellent horses, but… that was something it would never be again, thought Lasgol sadly.

  An unpleasant voice screeched behind him: “Our glorious Army in action, eh? It seems we make progress in the conquest of these lands. Aren’t you gladdened by our victories, master-chief?”

  Lasgol shivered when he
heard the voice of the man who had become his shadow. He turned to look at Morksen’s bulldog-face which was staring at him with amusement, his head slightly to one side so that his unpleasant empty eye-socket was visible. The disgust he felt for the man was becoming pure hatred with every day they spent together.

  Lasgol looked at him coldly.

  “This war isn’t my concern. I’m here to carry out the mission General Rangulself entrusted me with, nothing more. I’m no soldier. I’m a Forest Ranger and a Royal Tracker. War is not my trade and doesn’t interest me in the least.”

  “I know, Ranger, I can see it in your eyes. But still, you ought to be glad of our Army’s victories. We’re Norghanians and patriots after all, aren’t we? I certainly am,” said Morksen with a mocking sneer. “As to the mission entrusted to us: capture that Assassin with the slanting eyes, you’ll see it through, won’t you my young comrade? Although it doesn’t matter… that’s why they sent me, the old fox of the Royal Trackers… maybe because I’m hard to trick, or else because I always complete the mission I’m given…”

  “Don’t you worry, Morksen, I’ll do what I have to do, rest assured. I’m a man of honor. I never fail either my duty or my word.”

  Morksen sneered, showing his blackened teeth, and winked at Lasgol with his good eye.

  “If that’s the case… there’s no need to worry” said One Eye with a touch of irony. “This old fox will sleep more easily.”

  Lasgol doubted whether the man even slept, and worse still, it made him keep an eye always open. Otherwise one day he would end up with his throat cut, he was sure of that. He would have given anything to get rid of the man and go on by himself, but he had a direct order from the General and he could not disobey it. They would hang him if he did.

  They went on down the path for some way. After a while, as they turned a rocky corner, they came upon an appalling scene, another consequence of that senseless war. A dozen or so corpses had been piled in a ditch. Lasgol walked to it slowly, his heart heavy him: men, women and children alike had been sacrificed. They had been put to the sword and left there, lying one on top of the other like animal carcasses. He felt anger and disgust. By their rags he guessed they had been peasants of the area fleeing from the war with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Unfortunately they had met with despicable, heartless men, most likely soldiers from his own army. He studied their wounds: they had been cleanly killed. This was not the work of some clumsy outlaws or deserters, this was the work of professional Norghanian soldiers. He crouched beside the ditch staring at that barbaric act, unable to understand what could push men to commit such atrocities.

  “That’s the work of our army too,” he said reproachfully to Morksen when the latter came to his side.

  “Ah… but such is the nature of war, my young Ranger. Didn’t you know? You can’t achieve victory in battle or glory in the conquest without other acts, not quite such glorious ones.”

  “Do I gather you approve of this?”

  Morksen looked at him out of his good eye and thought before answering.

  “I don’t condemn it, which is very different, even though it may sound the same.”

  “Enough of your subtleties, Morksen! This is the work of cowardly, corrupted, heartless soldiers who deserve to be strung up from a tree.”

  “My honorable comrade, you should know by now that war isn’t a fair game between kings and knights. On the contrary, it’s foul and full of abominable deeds. You’d better get that delicate stomach of yours used to it, because whether you like it or not, whether I approve or not, you’re going to see a lot of this. It’s inevitable. It’s the nature of war… I’m telling you this as an old fox who’s lived through quite a few in his time.”

  Lasgol knew the veteran Ranger was right. The same scene was repeated every few leagues. The invading army had left bodies hanging in those village squares where there had been resistance. Outside the conquered cities they had left the heads of those who had dared to fight stuck on spikes, as monstrous warnings intended to crush the Rogdonian spirit. Death and destruction such as only war and the evil in men’s hearts can generate.

  Lasgol sighed, trying to rid himself of the sadness which oppressed his heart like a tight fist. He was aware that his spirit wilted a little more every day, like a plant deprived of water. He had tried with all the means he could think of to stop that crazy war, but had failed utterly. When Kings made war there was no place for reason. At the sight of the horrible consequences of human barbarity his heart bled, and his soul was beginning to doubt the goodness of man.

  “Let’s get back to our horses,” he told Morksen. “The trail goes dead on that bushy hill lower down. The Assassin must have crossed the wood, so his tracks will reappear on the other side. We’d better ride around the woods following the path. That way we should gain some time.”

  “I agree,” said Morksen. “Let’s get a move on, or else the trail will go stale and be harder to follow. That damned Assassin has a gift for covering his trail.”

  Somewhere in the woods the Assassin was hiding, Lasgol had not the least doubt, but they could not chase him through trees and thick undergrowth, and what was more he had an advantage of several days over them. They would never catch him on foot before he came out of the woods on the south-east side. But something else puzzled Lasgol. He could not understand the Assassin’s strategy. He should have left Rogdonian land more than a month ago, but he had not. What was it he was looking for there? Why had he not left Rogdon already? It made no sense for him to remain there risking capture, still less when he knew he was being hunted. And the Assassin was well aware of the fact. On the other hand, facing someone as lethal as this killer meant facing death itself. Lasgol could feel the scythe’s blade on his neck and he did not relish the sensation.

  “Worried, Tracker?” said Morksen with his usual mocking sneer.

  Lasgol did not wish to play this particular game.

  “Very much so and so should you be. We’re up against a very unusual man who’s out of the ordinary and highly dangerous.”

  “I’ve found myself up against a lot of unusual men, and they all fell dead at my feet. This one doesn’t worry me any more than the others who came before him. He’ll die just the same,” said Morksen and spat to one side.

  “You’re making a big mistake underestimating the danger of this man. I tell you there’s very little chance that we’ll come out of this alive…”

  “Don’t try to scare me, Tracker, I have many more years of experience than you, and nobody will catch this old man unawares. I’ll capture the Assassin as ordered, and if he resists I’ll take his head back in a bag.”

  Lasgol gave up. “As you wish, but I must warn you that this is no ordinary man.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that already? I’m not so stupid as not to study my adversary before I hunt him down. I know we’re facing someone with the Gift, and I’m aware of the difficulty it adds to our mission. But even so, I’ll get him. After all, I too have someone with a Gift with me…”

  Lasgol looked at Morksen in surprise.

  “As I was saying, my young Tracker, I always prepare my chase. The amount of information you can find out about a man if you know where to ask, and if you have the necessary means, is unbelievable,” said One Eye with a wink and a sneer.

  Lasgol shook his head.

  “Let’s get to our horses,” he said, not wanting to pursue that subject.

  A few hours later Lasgol, mounted on his beloved and tireless friend Trotter, was at the southern edge of the woods. He stopped the horse with a gentle word, using his Gift, “Thanks my loyal friend,” he whispered in the horse’s ear, “I can always count on you.” Trotter shook his head and snorted.

  With renewed spirit Lasgol jumped off Trotter and went into the woods. Morksen followed behind in silence. Lasgol nodded to him to stop and both men began to look for signs of the Assassin among the low bushes of the wood. It took them several hours to find any trace. E
ven though Lasgol made use of all his experience as a tracker, he would not have been able to find the Assassin’s footprints without his Gift. The man seemed to fly above the woods without his feet ever completely touching the ground or his body brushing against the leaves. Morksen was unable to find any trace at all, which pleased Lasgol. The frustration reflected on his ugly face was priceless. But he did not say a word: his pride would not let him. He would rather die than admit he could not find a man’s trail.

  “I notice signs of worry on your face, Morksen,” said Lasgol.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Less chatter, and let’s get on with the search. There’s a brothel I’ve heard of near here I’d like to visit, with highly recommended ladies of easy virtue. The sooner we find that damned Assassin the better. I’m already looking forward to the big bag of gold I’ll get for capturing him.”

  “Remember, he’s already killed two of the best Royal Trackers.”

  “I know the story. But no matter how much you insist, you won’t daunt me. He’s just a man, nothing more, and as such he’ll bleed red blood like everyone else. You wait and see, no doubt about it.”

  Lasgol shook his head at this. Morksen might not want to listen, but he could see a growing concern in the old Ranger’s face. He was beginning to get nervous, something Lasgol welcomed if he wanted to survive the mission. He used his Gift, activating a deep-seeing skill. His eyes were now able to notice small changes in the vegetation around him which he had been unable to pick out before. The almost-invisible trail the Assassin had left through the woods appeared to his right. He followed it with his eyes and then went on at a crouch, trying to make as little noise as possible. After a couple of hours, the trail vanished into thin air at the edge of the woods. They had reached the entrance to a village.

  A little confused, Lasgol looked at Morksen, who nodded at the trees around them. Lasgol stared at them thoughtfully, trying to guess what his forced hunting partner was trying to convey. With an eloquent hand gesture, Morksen indicated that the Assassin had probably climbed up a tree, then had leapt from the branches on to the roof of one of the first houses on the edge of the woods. Clearly Morksen was right, and that was how the trail had vanished. One Eye was clever no doubt, and astute, which —combined with his lack of scruples— made him dangerous, perhaps too much so.