Conflict

by Pedro Urvi

  A thunderous howl of pure Norriel rage erupted in the courtyard.

  Guzmik, with his arm raised to kill Komir, grunted and looked down at his chest, wide-eyed with pure incredulity. Part of the great Ilenian sword’s blade was protruding from his chest. He had been skewered, impossible…With a jet of blood coming out of his mouth he fell to the ground.

  “Die, you swine!” Hartz yelled, and fell, drained and unconscious, to the ground.

  Farewell

  The first beams of morning light fell vigorously on the plateau, slanting through the thick darkness of night, which seemed jealously reluctant to leave. The rays of the Sun-King scattered the wide expanse with life, announcing the arrival of a new dawn. The sunrise was beginning to bathe the landscape in delicate light, revealing the silhouette of three solitary riders ascending the undulating hill. A man in dark clothes led the way. His slanting eyes revealed his faraway origin, while his hands, tied behind his back with strong cords and expert knots, betrayed the fact that he was a prisoner. Behind him rode a young woman with red skin and Masig clothing, her hands tied in the same way. A rope joined both riders by the waist, making sure neither could escape without dragging the other. Bringing up the rear, a bow ready in his hands, rode a blond rider who never took his eye off his two prisoners.

  The strong light forced Lasgol to shade his blue eyes with his hand. That early morning was so beautiful it had surprised the experienced Tracker, who was not in the habit of allowing his feelings to get the better of him, accustomed as he was to seeing splendid landscapes in his life outdoors. But that morning on the plains had impressed him with its unusual splendor. It helped dispel from his memory the horrible images of death and despair from that underground chase through the Temple of Water.

  He shook his head, annoyed at letting those thoughts back into his mind, at not being able to forget the death of his comrades, and concentrated on watching his prisoners. The Assassin was in a state close to death, his life hanging from a thread, surviving only thanks to an inner strength which was immense, almost superhuman. He was simply, flatly, refusing to die. Lasgol could not understand how the foreigner had managed to survive the journey down the mountain from the Fountain of Life in the pitiful state he was in. After the fight with the Guardian Mage of the temple, the Assassin had been left in such a frozen state that not even his healing powers or the care of the Masig had been able to restore him. The foreigner’s limbs barely responded, and all strength had left his body. When Lasgol tried to heal him, he realized that his limited curative powers could not help him, and what was even worse, it seemed that the spell had caused terrible injury to that body. Any other man would have been dead already, but this was no ordinary man, far from it. He was refusing to die with all his soul, and for now he was winning the battle against the ruthless lady of Far Beyond. The combativeness and inner strength of the Assassin had truly impressed Lasgol.

  Iruki had begged him with wrenching sobs to help her save the Assassin. Lasgol knew he had to take this man to his King, since otherwise he would not be able to prevent the dreadful war which with its pestilent breath was hovering above thousands of innocents. He meditated on the problem, then suggested a deal to his prisoners. He would help the Assassin and get him away from that mountain, where he would no doubt perish, on the condition that he handed himself over, giving his word that he would not try to escape. He would surrender to the Norghanian Army at once, without resisting or trying to get away. Carried away by her wild Masig temperament, Iruki had refused amid insults and curses, but to his surprise the Assassin had accepted. He had given his word. His slanting eyes showed absolute resignation.

  A week of long, arduous descent later they were now very near the Half Moon Pass, where Lasgol knew he would find a detachment of the Norghanian army watching the border with Rogdon and the fortress there: the Fortress of the Half Moon. He had not been able to head straight for Norghana, for the road and points of access to the great river Utla were watched by Masig warriors who were trying to rescue Iruki. Lasgol had found the trail of several groups fanning out across the plain, as well as a sizeable contingent of Masig warriors heading towards the great river and cutting off their escape route. He had no doubt that these were from Iruki’s tribe, The Blue Cloud, and that they were looking for her. Under no circumstance would he risk contact with them. Trying to reach the shores of the Utla River was too dangerous, since that was exactly what the Masig expected him to do: to try to board a ship and head northeast to Norghana, up-river. So he had to do the opposite: head south toward the border with Rogdon and look for the Norghanian detachment posted there.

  He glanced at the head of the group. The Assassin was still holding on to the saddle of his mount as intensely as he held on to his own life. Some color had returned to his ghostly cheeks, a sure sign of a slight improvement in his condition. He had not tried to flee, although Lasgol was sure he would not get far in that state. He could barely stay in the saddle, and his limbs seemed not to be responding to him yet, or at least not normally enough. But even so, Lasgol did not trust him in the least, and nor did he let him out of his sight. He knew that if he did not stay on his guard at all times, it could easily cost him his life. This man, even in the pitiful state he was in, was still a lethal assassin.

  He stroked the mane of his beloved horse Trotter. He was tired, and Lasgol knew it.

  “Just a little way more, my brave one, we’re almost there,” he whispered into the horse’s ear. He used his power to communicate with him, making use of one of the skills the Gift granted him. Trotter shook his mane, so the Tracker would know he understood. Lasgol smiled. How he loved that horse!

  Something unusual in the Masig’s bearing caught his attention. Iruki began to lean drowsily to her right, sliding from her mount as though she had lost consciousness. Caught by surprise, Lasgol reached out his hand in a vain attempt to stop her falling.

  “Iruki, be careful! Hold on to your horse!” he cried.

  But Iruki did not react.

  When the Assassin noticed the pull of the rope which joined him to the Masig he tried to hold on to his horse so as not to be dragged to one side, but the weight of the girl pulled him down. Both prisoners fell off their horses. Iruki hit the ground hard, while the Assassin, making use of his cat-like flexibility, managed to land on his legs and roll out of the fall. Lasgol dismounted hastily and went to check on Iruki, who was lying face down on the grass.

  “Iruki, are you all right?” he asked, worried, at the same time checking on the Assassin out of the corner of his eye in case he tried anything. He knew that he was still very weak, but even so…

  Bending over the Masig, he turned her over very carefully, hoping she had not hurt herself badly in the fall.

  “How are you? What happened?” he asked.

  With her hands still tied behind her, Iruki flexed both knees to her chest and before Lasgol could guess what she meant to do, launched a mighty kick to his genitals with both feet.

  “What the…? Argh!” he cried.

  Taken by surprise and in terrible pain, he could only bend double instinctively, cursing the clever Masig’s trick. She got me… ooh it hurts…

  Iruki, seeing her chance, launched another lateral kick, which caught him at ankle level and swept him off his feet. Lasgol fell like a log. The Masig, like a contortionist, brought her knees up to her chest and passed her hands under her backside and brought them up in front of her. With the Ranger on the ground and the Assassin carefully watching her, Iruki lunged for the Northerner’s mount, with her hands reaching for the sword hanging from it.

  Lasgol writhed on the ground, crippled by the intense pain in his nether region, but guessed her intention. He made an effort to concentrate so that he could use his power, but the pain was so strong that the attempt failed. He had to communicate with his horse.

  Trotter, run away! Don’t let them get close! he wanted to say with the help of his Gift. But pain frustrated the attempt, and his skill never material
ized.

  When Trotter saw Iruki approach, he glanced at his master lying on the ground and after a moment’s hesitation moved uphill away from the Masig, who was trying to grab the short sword of the Temple of Water which hung from one of the saddlebags. In a desperate attempt, she leapt to the saddle, and with both hands still tied, managed to grab the sword’s pommel and fall back to the ground as the horse trotted away.

  “Damned Norghanian, I’ll kill you! I swear by this steppe I love so much and which we’re now standing on that I’ll take your life if you try to stop us!” she yelled furiously as she got to her feet and brandished the sword she was holding with both hands.

  Lasgol, who was beginning to recover from the paralyzing blow, got to one knee and drew out his short sword, which he pointed at the Masig. He was still unable to utter a single word; he needed time to get his breath back. He took a deep one and felt a trace of relief, the ghost of well-being, which made him feel a little calmer. The pain was receding. What would the Masig do now? Would she be capable of trying to kill him? His guess was she would, she was scared and desperate, and any reaction was possible in that situation. I don’t want to kill her, I really don’t, but if she attacks me I might have no other choice.

  “Stop! Both of you!” the Assassin said in a broken voice. “There’s no need for any more bloodshed.” He looked at Iruki with imploring eyes. “I gave him my word. I’ll turn myself in, it’s what I must do. Drop your weapon, don’t risk your life for me.”

  “Never! I’m not going to let you turn yourself in so those bastards can torture you mercilessly for days and days on end, causing you inhuman pain, drowning you in a sea of suffering. Don’t you understand? They’ll kill you! They’ll kill you after breaking your spirit in a nightmare of pain which will last for days. Weeks, even. I know. I’ve seen it. Our tribe has to suffer it. The few of them these pigs have ever left alive have completely lost their minds, or their will to live. If he turns you in, you’ll suffer so much it’ll make you long for death to come to your rescue.”

  The Assassin looked at her gently, grateful that she should wish to protect him from the horrible destiny which awaited him.

  “I know, Iruki, but I must hand myself over. I’m infinitely thankful for what you’re trying to do for me, but there’s no need. I gave him my word at the Temple of Water, and my word is the only thing I have left. I’m a man without a soul, as you know, empty. My life is worth nothing, I’ve only spread death and desolation with my past actions. But in the midst of the evil and darkness in me there’s still something left, a spark of the man I once wanted to be. I can’t let that die, Iruki. You lit that spark the night our paths crossed on the Norghanian fortress. That’s all I have left, and I must hold on to it. It’s the only thing that lets me go on day after day, the only thing that stops me from taking my own life. No, I won’t break my word, I’ll accept my destiny, otherwise the faint light of hope I still feel inside me will go out and I’ll never be able to look you in the face again. Iruki Wind of the Steppes, I need that spark to go on burning, to survive, I want to be able to look into your eyes without shame.”

  “But don’t you see that if you turn yourself in, you’ll disappear forever?”

  “I don’t wish to kill you, Iruki, but if you attack me with that sword I’ll have no choice but to defend myself,” Lasgol threatened her, still on his knees, trying to get his breath back. Things were getting complicated, and could easily end tragically. He had no intention of killing Iruki, but he could not let them escape, still less now that they were so close to the end of that mad hunt.

  “Let’s go, and then no one will be hurt,” Iruki said, coming closer to him with fierce determination.

  “I can’t let you go. You killed the Grand Duke, and it’s my mission to bring the assassin to justice. Those are my orders. Direct orders from King Thoran. I have to carry them out, it’s my duty. I serve the crown, and that’s why I can’t let you go.”

  “Don’t talk to me about duty, you Norghanian jackal! Your despicable people bear the mark of shame, of those who rape defenseless women, those who kill and torture innocents, those who pillage and destroy anything their greedy eyes look upon. How many children and innocent elders have you killed in the service of your crown? How many Masig villages have you plundered and destroyed?”

  Lasgol lowered his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with shame. Deep down, he knew the truth of her words. The Norghanians were a race forged by war and conquest, plunder and pillage. They were a warrior people, born out of the frozen mountains to dominate warmer lands.

  Many were the heroes and men of honor who had shaped the brilliant history of victory and conquest for their country. But he was also aware of a weakness in certain men, of the evil that violence engendered in their hearts. Lasgol was aware of the despicable actions they were capable of, and could neither defend them nor condone them. It was true there were rotten apples among them, but the Norghanians were a great people, a proud people with a history and culture as rich as it was noble.

  He looked up and met the Masig’s penetrating ruby eyes.

  “I have to hand you over and prevent the war with Rogdon. As soon as I do that everything will be cleared up, the mistake of blaming the blue and silver kingdom will be brought to an end and war will be avoided, thousands of innocent lives will be saved, tides of red suffering will be averted.”

  “Nothing will prevent the war, and deep down you know it. Your people want bloodshed, they yearn for conquest and they’ll use any excuse for it. Tell me it’s not so, that you don’t believe my words are true,” cried the Masig.

  “I don’t know whether it’s so or not, but that doesn’t change the situation. I must do my duty and try to stop the barbarity…”

  With a cry of pure fury which took the Tracker by complete surprise, Iruki sprung at him with a savage thrust to his head. Lasgol blocked it from his kneeling position, deflecting the impulse to his left.

  “Stop!” the Assassin cried desperately. “Don’t kill her!” he begged Lasgol, and tried to put himself between the two, but his legs would not hold him, and he fell to the ground like a broken puppet.

  Iruki attacked again with all the fury of her desperation. Lasgol blocked her with some difficulty, which alarmed him. He took a deep breath and prepared for the next onslaught. But he realized he was recovering.

  The Masig hit with astonishing speed, right and left, using both hands with her wrists still tied together. Her blows seemed to have the force of a storm at sea. Lasgol blocked the blows, at the same time retreating several steps before the frenzy of her attack. The blows might have been savage and swift, but they were clumsy, lacking the years of training needed to master the subtle techniques of swordsmanship.

  Lasgol looked at his opponent. The attack was dangerous, he could not allow it to continue. One slip might be lethal. Iruki, panting from the effort, did not take her eyes off him.

  She attacked again, but her impetus was decreasing. This time Lasgol waited for the right moment, and blocking her sword he delivered a dull blow with his left fist that hit Iruki squarely on the chin. The courageous Masig fell backwards. Without waiting for a second chance, Lasgol leapt forward and stepped on her sword, then pressed the tip of his own against the neck of the defeated Iruki. She looked at him with visceral loathing and raised her neck in defiance.

  “Finish me off, you Norghanian dog!” she said without the least sign of fear.

  “No, no, please! Let her live, she had nothing to do with the attack on the Grand Duke Orten. It was I who was ordered to kill him. I was the one picked for that mission. You have to believe me, it’s the truth!”

  Lasgol, with great interest looked at the Assassin, who was trying clumsily to sit up.

  “Will you surrender peacefully and tell me who is behind this attack?”

  “Let her go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll tell you who’s behind the attack, who hired me to end Duke Orten’s life. You have my word. I swear it
. I’ll come with you to your camp and turn myself in, I won’t try to escape. I’ve kept my word until now. I’ve given you no reason to doubt my honor. In return all I ask you is to let her go instead. She’s a wild Masig, she has nothing to do with this and you know it. The murder was arranged by someone with plenty of resources, power and information. Why risk such an elaborate plan by bringing in a savage from the steppes? What sense is there in it? None, and you know it.”

  Lasgol looked at the struggling Masig. Defiant, proud, beautiful to the last, a worthy daughter of the prairies. He admired her for it. Inwardly he was certain that this young woman was no part of the plan to kill the Grand Duke. There was nothing to indicate otherwise.

  “Tell me this, and I’ll consider your request. Is Rogdon the one behind the murder?”

  The Assassin looked at him for a moment, trying to weigh up the truthfulness of his intentions.

  The Tracker waited restlessly for an answer. Many lives were at stake, beginning with the young Masig’s own.

  “No, it wasn’t Rogdon,” said the foreigner, with such sincerity that Lasgol never doubted his response for a moment.

  The Tracker sighed, greatly relieved. The weight of a mountain vanished from his shoulders. He had been right.

  There’s hope. I can avert this senseless war!

  He looked at the Assassin. “Do I have your word?”

  “You have it,” he replied coldly, with a nod.

  Lasgol took his sword off Iruki’s neck, picked up the other weapon from the ground. Staring at the Masig’s eyes, he said: “I’ll respect the foreigner’s wishes. Take a horse and go, get back to your tribe.”

  Iruki stared back at him incredulously, unsure of his true intentions.

  “Go back to your home and your people,” Lasgol said, helping her up, as he cut the cords round her wrists.