by Pedro Urvi
You know, there’s something I’ve been thinking about …
If you not say, not know, Camu transmitted. It sounded like a question.
Lasgol chuckled. You’re right. If I don’t tell you, you won’t know.
Ona, beside him, made an inquisitive sound.
Camu moved his head from one side to the other. I always right.
Lasgol shook his head at this. What I’m thinking is that we ought to be better prepared for situations like that one with the mercenaries. Our lives are always going to be surrounded by dangers, and one of the commonest tends to involve bandits, wrongdoers, corrupt soldiers and people like that. I think we need to practice a few tactics for when we find ourselves facing that type of danger again.
Ona growled and slashed the air with her paw.
That’s right, Ona.
Fun.
No, it’s not … fun …
Fun. Yes.
I’m not going to argue with you. I was thinking about that situation of the woman with the knife at her throat. I want to try something. A technique for disarming the attacker before he hurts his victim.
His two friends watched him attentively as he took a piece of wide replacement leather from Trotter’s saddlebags and protected his right arm with it, rolling it twice over the leather protector he was already wearing. Rangers wore two armbands of reinforced leather to protect themselves in combat and for use in archery and falconry. He took out his Ranger’s knife and placed it in position, as if he were threatening someone’s throat.
Ona. Stalk. Behind, he ordered the panther. She obeyed at once and crouched behind him, ready to jump on him if he gave the order.
I take. I near.
I’d guessed you’d be very close. But taking a knife from an armed man who’s threatening to kill someone can’t be done just like that.
I want learn.
Ona chirped, joining Camu.
You want to learn how to disarm an armed man?
Yes, disarm. No danger.
Yes, in fact it lowers the risk a lot, but it doesn’t eliminate it completely.
I learn.
Mmmm, but as you don’t have fangs … Ona can do it, but as for you … I can’t see how.
Ona growled, showing her fangs.
You see? You don’t have teeth like those, to tear flesh. Yours are for chewing vegetables.
I bite hard.
Maybe, but you don’t have teeth to bite with.
You see …
Lasgol rolled his eyes and abandoned the conversation as hopeless. Camu was going to stick to his idea, and there was no way of getting him to change his mind.
All right. Let’s see how you both do it. Ona. Disarm, he ordered.
The panther leapt and brought him down. When she had him on the ground she bit his forearm. Lasgol could feel her sharp fangs piercing the leather protections, and the strength of her bite on his arm.
Ona. Let go.
She opened her jaws obediently and moved back.
All right. Maybe we ought to try a more subtle approach.
Ona looked at him blankly and gave a little moan.
She not understand. I not too.
I mean by disarming the opponent without bringing him down. Just to go for the weapon.
Understand, Camu transmitted.
Right then, Ona. Let’s try again, but this time attack me from the side and go for the weapon first.
Lasgol did not need to explain twice, because the panther understood at once. She stalked Lasgol from behind, crept close, then with a sideways leap went for his forearm and closed her jaws tightly on it.
Well done! he told her, at the same time shaking his arm to ease the pain. Not even all that protection was enough to protect him from his panther’s fangs.
Camu meanwhile was flexing his four legs. Me. Me.
Are you sure?
Yes. Sure.
Okay then. You go too. He showed him the knife in front of his own chest.
Camu gave a huge leap, imitating Ona, as if he too were a panther, and bit Lasgol’s forearm. As he had expected, Camu’s tiny teeth failed to penetrate the protective layers.
See? Your teeth can’t bite.
Bite no, Camu transmitted, and went on biting Lasgol’s arm.
Well, there you are … you’re not a panther … you’re a reptile … or something like that… Lasgol was trying not to hurt the creature’s feelings because he was unable to bite like a cat.
I can pinch.
Pinch? All of a sudden Lasgol felt a tremendous pressure on his wrist.
Camu? What are you doing?
The pressure grew stronger, and he began to feel an intense pain. It seemed that his wrist was about to be crushed by the tremendous pressure Camu’s jaws were exerting on his forearm and wrist.
He was forced to drop his weapon. “Ouch!”
Camu opened his mouth and freed him. I can, he transmitted triumphantly, and began his dance of happiness. Ona joined him, pleased at her partner’s achievement.
Lasgol shook his arm and wrist, which were now useless and painful. Every day he found out something new about Camu, and it was always something amazing. With the use of his arm still not fully regained, he set off toward the mission which awaited them, and which in all probability would have a few more surprises in store.
Chapter 3
When they arrived at the outskirts of the village of Isverien, Lasgol stopped to survey it from a distance, together with the winding road that led to it amid fields. It was quite a large village, and if it went on growing, it would soon reach the size of a small town. Unlike Skad, it was not a mining village; its inhabitants cultivated crops and were cattle-farmers on a small scale. It was in the far northwest of the realm, and one of the chief grain-producers for the West. It was said that if Isverien had a bad harvest, the adjoining regions would go hungry. Lasgol had always wanted to visit this area and enjoy its cultivated landscape, but had never had the chance. This mission was offering him the opportunity, and he did not intend to waste it.
As he stared out at the buildings on the horizon, he knew that bringing Ona into the village would not be a good idea. There were too many people there, and the three of them would get into trouble. The best thing would be to leave her with Camu.
Ona, Camu, go around the village without being seen. We’ll meet at the other end, the north side.
Not come? Camu transmitted, sounding disappointed.
Best not to take Ona there. People get frightened and nervous when they see her. And when they are a lot of them, they act stupidly …
Attack Ona.
Lasgol nodded. That’s right. I want to avoid an accident.
Ona defend.
Yes, that’s exactly what I want to avoid, either them hurting her or her hurting someone in self-defense.
I understand.
I’ll see you on the other side as soon as I’ve spoken to the village chief.
We wait there. Camu transmitted. Ona gave a mournful moan.
It’ll only be for a short while, he promised, and the two friends went into the forest to the east.
Let’s go, Trotter, Lasgol transmitted to his faithful pony, and they set off to the entrance of the village past the fields. Lasgol, who was not used to seeing such large expanses of cultivated land, looked at them with interest. He wondered what the farmers had planted. It was not long before he saw several men intent on their daily tasks. A farmer’s life was always hard, which was a constant through the whole of Tremia, but especially in Norghana, because of the hostile climate. The farmers had to work their land without pause to feed their families, particularly during the productive times of year. Once autumn, and then in particular winter, reached the North, the farmer needed to have his barns well-stocked to survive the icy winters. Unfortunately, this was not always the case. Lasgol remembered these lessons his father Dakon had taught him when he was a child. It was curious, he thought, how the mind worked, making him suddenly remember things like this
as he watched the farmers working in their fields.
He exchanged greetings with a couple of them as he passed. He would have liked to have stopped and asked them about their work, but as they seemed very busy, he went on. He guessed it must be cereal crops that they were planting, although in some places he could see vegetables and even some fruit trees.
When he entered the main street, the people looked at him curiously. Lasgol nodded to a couple of them to show that his intentions were honest, then went on to the central square. As he was clad in a hooded cloak and was carrying two bows on his back, the villagers looked at him suspiciously. He could not blame them; he would have done the same himself. He was a stranger, coming armed into their village. He noticed that even though its center was ancient and built of stone, the houses around were humbler and had been built in rectangular blocks. This showed that the village was growing, which was a good sign, even though the war had brought development and expansion to an end. Many of those who had fought for the West in the militia were from that region, and there must have been many casualties among the village’s inhabitants.
He signaled to Trotter to move forward slowly and went on into the main square. At once the blacksmith, the carpenter, the butcher and the other craftsmen who were at work stopped what they were doing to look at the new arrival. Lasgol did not mind the scrutiny, which he was growing used to. He could not blame them for wanting to make sure the stranger had no evil intentions, since bandits took advantage of troubled times like these and preyed on honest workers.
He stopped Trotter and stroked his neck, looking for someone to ask. Those who had turned to look at him had gone back to their tasks and did not seem inclined to conversation. He thought about dismounting and approaching the blacksmith, who would presumably pay attention to him, since he had a horse and the blacksmith must need work in a village of farmers with few horses. At the same time, he noticed one of the farmers, an elderly man, who was loading a sack of grain on to an old mule. It was hard to tell which of the two was older. He decided to ask him without dismounting.
“I’m looking for the chief of the village.”
The farmer raised his head and squinted to get a better view of his face. Lasgol had the feeling he must have problems with his elderly eyesight.
“Chief Dolstar?” he asked in a raspy voice.
Lasgol nodded. “He’s waiting for me.”
The farmer now looked him up and down and noticed the two bows slung over his shoulder.
“I don’t know you. You’re not from around here. Have you come about the trouble?”
“The Chief sent for me,” Lasgol said evasively.
“A question deserves an answer,” the old man pointed out grumpily.
“All right, then … I’m a Ranger.”
“That’s much better,” the villager said, and half-smiled. “I hope you can sort out the problems we’ve got.” He pointed north. “It’s one thing for a few sheep or a cow to go missing, but a few men have vanished too. That’s not normal, however much Dolstar insists that it must be some hungry brown bear. It doesn’t smell good to me.”
Lasgol was surprised to hear this. He had not heard anything about missing people. The mission had mentioned trouble with a wild beast.
“It could be. Some bears attack humans when they’re hungry.”
The old man touched the side of his nose. “Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve got a feeling there’s something else.”
Lasgol remembered another of his father’s sayings. “Usually, the simplest explanation tends to be the right one.”
The farmer twitched his nose. “I have a sense for these things, and about storms. I always know when they’re coming before they do. The Ice Gods blessed me like that.”
“That’s a useful asset,” Lasgol said. He was beginning to regard the old man as something of a character.
“He’ll be in his house,” said the old man. He pointed to a long house with a steep roof. “He doesn’t go out much these days. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t either if I were him.” He shook his head.
“Thank you,” Lasgol said, surprised by the comment.
The man waved his hand, making light of it, and went on down the street with his mule.
The locals stared at Lasgol in surprise as he went over to the Chief’s house. Although the war was over, times were not good and any foreigner tended to arouse suspicions in the hearts of those good people.
I’ll be right back. Wait for me, he transmitted to Trotter, and tethered him to a post under the porch of the house. He knocked twice at the door.
“Just a moment!” came a man’s strong voice from inside.
The door took longer than normal to open. When it finally did, Lasgol was confronted by a man leaning on a pair of crutches. His left leg had been amputated at the thigh, and it looked as though he had not yet fully recovered from the dreadful wound. He was big and strong, as was to be expected of the chief of a village, but now looked weak and gaunt. Lasgol noticed his feverish eyes.
He gave his visitor an unfriendly look. “Who are you?”
“I’m looking for Chief Dolstar. I’m the Ranger he asked for.”
The man’s face changed at once. “They listened to me?”
Lasgol smiled, doing his best to look friendly. “It looks like it.”
“I can’t believe it. Come in, come in.”
The interior of the house was a complete mess, and very dirty. It reminded him of Ulf’s, except that this one was three times as big and solid.
The chief indicated some chairs beside a table which was obviously used for meetings. “Sit wherever you can,” he said, and collapsed clumsily into the chair at the head of the table. A grimace of pain appeared on his face.
“Thanks,” Lasgol said. He sat down, sweeping aside a change of sweaty clothes as he did so.
“Everything’s a mess, I know. I haven’t had the strength to clean anything.”
“I suppose the chief of a village as big as this must have an assistant and someone to clean the house, some boy or other …”
He glowered. “Yes, yes, I have. My assistant has vanished … and I sent the boy to the country. He was more of a hindrance than a help.”
Lasgol considered the untidiness in the large common area. The Chief had installed himself here, and probably did not use the rest of the house because of the wound.
“A bit of cleaning would help,” Lasgol said, trying not to make the comment sound insulting. “It would improve the air in here. It’s a bit stale. Dirtiness could lead to a fever …”
“Yes, I know! I know!” Chief Dolstar barked bad-temperedly. “Tomorrow I’ll call the boy back. I thought I wouldn’t need him and that I could manage on my own, but I haven’t been too good at it. This blasted leg is killing me with pain and I can barely sleep.”
“Is there a healer or a surgeon in the village?”
“Old Ulmitch. He visits me every other day and treats me with herbs that taste disgusting. The Count’s surgeon came by a week ago and won’t be back for two days more. There are a lot of people who need his help. It’s the consequence of the bloody war: cripples, injured, sick and dying all throughout the realm. Hundreds of them.”
Lasgol indicated Dolstar’s amputated limb. “Where did it happen?”
“At the siege of Estocos,” the Chief said angrily. “I was defending the eastern wall. It was Count Volgren. Three of us attacked him with axe and shield and the bastard finished off my two comrades with his sword, then sliced off half of my leg with a clean stroke.”
Lasgol was surprised at the Chief speaking so openly about having fought with the West. After all, he was talking to a Ranger who served Thoran. On the other hand, there was no need for him to hide the fact, since it was obvious that he had fought in the war, and as they were in the West of the realm it was logical that he would have fought for the Western league. Whatever the case, he found it curious.
“A great swordsman, this Eastern count. The three of
us knew how to fight – we weren’t just ordinary militia – but even so, he finished us off with lethal strokes and blows. If you have to face one of those nobles one day, be it from the East or the West, be very careful. They know how to fight. They’re raised to rule, and most of them are born with a sword in their hands.”
“I don’t believe anything like that will happen again. Peace reigns in Norghana now. Let’s hope it lasts for a long time.”
“Ha! No way. Sooner or later the West will try to take possession of the throne again! You just wait and see. This time I won’t be able to fight.” He shook his head. “But even so, I’ll put my arm and head in the service of the West, just as I’ve always done.”
Lasgol knew that nothing he said would be able to dissuade the chief. He had lost a leg fighting against the East – at the hands of one of its nobles, no less – and he would always hate the King and the East. Lasgol sighed, taking care not to let it show. Wars brought nothing but pain and hatred, and these refused to fade away.
He decided to re-direct the conversation, which had turned a little awkward. “So why am I needed?” he asked.
Dolstar nodded repeatedly. “Strange things are happening …” he began. Lasgol looked him in the eye. This explanation was not starting well.
“Strange things?”
“Animals have been going missing … and now men too.”
“A large predator?” Lasgol ventured.
“It could be. That would explain the cows and sheep. But men … that’s stranger. My assistant is one of the ones who’re missing.”
“Attacks by panthers, tigers and bears aren’t exactly unfamiliar incidents.”
“I know. When I say strange things are happening, I mean there’s no trace left of the missing, either animals or men. It’s as if they’d been spirited away in the air.”
This certainly surprised Lasgol. For a bear to attack a cow, or even a man, was possible, and it was something they had to live with. For no trace to be left was not normal. Generally large predators either tore their prey up on the spot or else dragged it to a safe place to eat later. In both cases, the tracks were easy to find.