The King's Secret, page 13
part #2 of Path of the Ranger Series
“A real motivator,” Viggo commented.
Gerd laughed.
Lasgol thought that Viggo was not that far off.
Trotter greeted Lasgol with a happy whinny, shaking his head as was his habit. Lasgol smiled and stroked him affectionately.
“Good pony,” he said, and kissed his muzzle.
For three days more they rode up-river, going further into the great valley. Lasgol remembered that it had been Daven who had led them the previous year. He wondered what had become of him. He had attacked the King, but then he had been possessed by Darthor at the time. What would his punishment have been? Was he in prison? Could he have been hanged? It was a complicated question, as although Daven had tried to kill King Uthar he had no memory of it. He did not remember anything because he had acted under Darthor’s influence and control. Lasgol decided that it would be better to ask Dolbarar when they reached camp. Maybe they had discovered something new about Darthor’s plans, or his powers…
The moment came to continue on foot, deeper into the forest under the thick fog. Taking care not to trip on roots and underbrush, they went on through the forest until dusk fell. The journey was hard because of the fog which was growing thicker all the time, so that they could hardly see a thing.
And at last they arrived at the Camp.
Lasgol looked ahead. All he could see was the edge of a great forest, very close and dense, which formed an impenetrable wall. A barrier which surrounded the Camp and kept it hidden and safe.
Three long whistles sounded. For a moment nothing happened, then three of the trees moved back to reveal a way through. They went in. Lasgol felt a mixture of excitement and wellbeing at returning to the place where he had lived through so much in a single year.
The Camp was just as he remembered it: a vast open area, with great forests, rivers, lakes, interconnected by clearings as far as the eye could reach. To the east the oak woods rose to surround lakes of quiet waters. To the west firs populated the land and the woods were thicker. To the north were wide green clearings dotted with woodland amid lakes and rivers. Lasgol was enchanted anew by the place, just as he had been the first time he had seen it. Further on, the first buildings appeared. He recognized the different workshops: the smith, the tanner, the carpenter and the butcher. He also recognized the warehouses and the stables. They left their mounts and were led to the cabins, those of the second-year Apprentices. They were like the ones they had lived in the year before, but a little larger.
They were received by Master Instructor Oden. He had not changed in the slightest, although he seemed to Lasgol not quite so big as he remembered. He was a strong man although not particularly large. He had the same unfriendly manner, his face marked by his forty years. He still wore his long copper hair tied back in a queue, revealing the sullen gaze of a pair of intense amber eyes. Lasgol knew that gaze well: hard and soulless. Oden did not beat about the bush. He made them line up in front of the cabins.
“Last year, when you started the first year of instruction, you were in thirteen teams. This year you’ll be starting your second year of instruction. But because of various departures and the expulsions at the end, the teams have now been reduced to nine. Those that have lost members, go and check the lists. We’ve redistributed the students and combined several teams.”
Lasgol saw half a dozen teams milling about at the doors of those cabins where the up-to-date lists were posted. Eagles, Panthers, Owls, Bears and Wolves were still intact. Protests and complaints from the new teams soon made themselves heard. But Oden silenced them.
“Everybody be quiet! These are the new teams, and there’s nothing more to be said about it! Is that clear?”
The protests died out slowly, although obviously a number of them did not agree.
“And I warn you: this year will be harder than the last. The first year we’re more permissive, but not so in the second. Instruction will be more demanding in every way, not only physically, but also in what you’ll have to learn. If you really want to be Rangers, this is the year where you’ll have to prove it. Those of you who have doubts, those of you who miraculously passed the first year, those of you who don’t think you’ll be able to cope with harder effort and much stricter training, now’s the time to think about it, and think about it very carefully. If you want to give up here and now, I don’t mind in the least.”
Gerd turned to Egil and whispered with terror in his eyes: “Much stricter training?”
Egil was looking resigned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“This is really going to be fun,” Viggo said ironically.
Nilsa was biting her nails. “I’m scared to death.”
Lasgol said nothing, but he shuddered.
“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Ingrid said. “It doesn’t matter what Oden says, we’ll get through this.”
But this time Ingrid’s encouraging message did not work. They all knew that Oden was not exaggerating and that they were in for a hard time.
Oden went on with his harangue: “We’re the Kingdom’s Rangers. There’s no place here for weaklings, either in body or spirit. Only the best walk the Path of the Ranger and serve the King. And now leave your bags in the cabins, go to the dining room for dinner and then take a rest. I’ll come by at the first hour of the morning to begin your instruction. Welcome to the Second Year of the Path of the Ranger!”.
Chapter 12
Lasgol barely slept at all that first night. He was too nervous to relax properly, so he decided to play with Camu. The little creature was delighted with the new cabin. It was bigger, which meant that there were more nooks and crannies to explore and more space to leap around in crazily, which was what he most enjoyed doing these days. Lasgol had the upper bunk bed, Egil the one below. On the other side of the cabin Gerd was on the lower bunk and Viggo in the one above.
With dawn came Oden’s obnoxious little bell. They woke up and started getting ready to assemble outside. Camu woke up too and jumped off Lasgol’s bed to play.
Viggo saw him leaping in his direction.
“Get out, vermin!” he said, and shook his woolen shirt to scare the little creature. But Camu chose to interpret this as meaning Viggo wanted to play with him, and nipped the shirt with a happy shriek.
“Leave me alone, you horrible little muskrat!”
“Camu!” Lasgol said. “Leave Viggo in peace!”
Camu looked at Lasgol with his large eyes and his everlasting smile. His little shriek sounded like a question.
“No, not Viggo,” Lasgol told him. He was trying to make him understand without having to use his Gift. He had the feeling that Camu interpreted his mental communications as orders, and he did not feel comfortable giving those all the time.
The creature looked at Gerd. The giant had just put his trousers on. Before Lasgol could stop him, Camu leapt toward Gerd with a shriek of joy.
Gerd’s face changed. Terror appeared on it.
“No, no!” he said, and began running around the cabin.
Camu was excited now. He took up the chase, bouncing and shrieking happily.
“He’s not going to do anything to you,” said Egil, who was trying not to laugh. It was rather funny to see someone of Gerd’s size and strength running around terrified because the little creature wanted to play with him and was chasing after him.
“Nothing? What about what he did to the Troll?” Gerd said. He was running in circles around Egil, Lasgol and Viggo with Camu at his heels.
Egil smiled from ear to ear. “That was something totally different, you’re not hostile towards us.”
Gerd was already panting from the effort. “How does he know I’m a friend?”
“If you keep running around in circles you’ll get dizzy,” Viggo commented.
“Lasgol, tell him not to chase me!”
“Camu, stop, come here!”
The creature stopped, looked at Gerd, then at Lasgol and finally went to him.
Lasgol put him on his shoulder. “Very good, stay here with me.”
Gerd stopped running and immediately felt terribly dizzy.
“The cabin ’s turning… I…” Unable to say anything else, he leant to one side, lost his balance and fell to the floor as though he had drunk a whole barrel of beer.
Viggo burst out laughing. Egil could not help doing the same. Lasgol felt bad for the big guy.
Oden’s little bell rang again.
“We’d better hurry,” Lasgol said.
At the bottom of their trunks, under the rest of their clothes, they found their cloaks, perfectly folded. When they unfolded them they saw that they were yellow.
“Well,” Viggo commented, “we’re improving.”
“I liked the red one better,” Gerd said. “People can see you from far off. Much better when you have to avoid someone hitting you with an arrow thinking you’re an animal.”
Viggo shook his head. “You’re certainly a real animal,”
Egil put on his own cloak. “The colors of the Rangers’ cloaks show levels of advancement. So says the Path of the Ranger. First year: red. Second year: yellow. Third year: green. And Fourth year: brown.”
The door opened and Ingrid and Nilsa came in, ready to go.
“Get a move on and come out quickly,” Ingrid said. “You’re a bunch of slug-a-beds.”
The Panthers went out to take their places in front of their cabin, one knee on the ground, looking straight ahead.
“I see things don’t change from one year to the next.” Oden commented. “The Panthers, as ever, are the last.” He gave them one of his you’re playing with fire glares. “Everybody follow me!”
He took them to stand in front of Dolbarar, who was waiting at the Command House in the middle of the lake. When he saw them coming, he pushed back his hood and pulled down the Ranger’s scarf that covered his face.
“Welcome all!” he said with a benevolent smile.
They bent at the knee and took their places in front of the Master Teacher Ranger. Lasgol was still surprised at the power and agility he projected, given his age. It was said that he was more than seventy springs old, and closer to seventy-five. His long white hair fell straight to his shoulders. His skin was fair, and there were very few wrinkles on his face. After all that had happened the year before, Lasgol knew those intense emerald eyes well. The well-trimmed beard looked as though a waterfall of snow had been drawn on his chin.
As was his custom, he carried his long wooden staff with silver decorations in one hand. In the other was a green-covered book with The Path of the Ranger engraved in gold on its cover. Egil thought the book had arcane qualities. Lasgol was not so sure. Dolbarar was a Ranger, not a Mage or a Sorcerer, and would not be able to handle an arcane book. In order to do that he would have been blessed with the Gift, and he had not been, at least as far as Lasgol knew. Although on the other hand the Rangers had so many secrets that he did not know what to think.
“I’m very happy that you’re here to continue on the Path of the Ranger. I promise you that with great effort and tenacity, you will reach the end of this path. You will succeed in becoming Rangers, and you will carry everything written in this book that guides us engraved on your hearts.” He raised his arm to show the teachings of the Rangers.
“I think they’re going to engrave that book on our flesh amid suffering,” Viggo whispered.
“There’s a saying,” Egil said: “spare the rod and spoil the child.”
“Don’t talk about rods and pain,” Gerd protested.” It’s putting me in a cold sweat.”
“Panic attack, you mean,” Viggo taunted him.
“Leave Gerd alone,” Nilsa snapped.
Dolbarar spread his arms wide. “You’re all here because the same wish guides you all in your desire: to become Rangers. We are the protectors of the lands of the realm, of its forests, mountains, valleys and rivers. We protect them against enemies, both internal and external. We are the eyes of the King, the protectors of the realm, the heart of Norghana. We are the Rangers.”
Lasgol remembered the motto his father had repeated to him so often when he was a child. He gave a deep sigh, and his eyes moistened.
“Everything all right?” Egil whispered.
“Yes, don’t mind me, it just reminded me of my father…”
Egil understood. He gave him a nod.
“We are the realm’s five senses: the eyes that see the danger approaching, the ears that detect the sound of the enemy in his advance, the sense of smell that detects the stench of treason and death, the touch that feels the blood upon our snowy ground, the sense of taste that detects the flavor of war and ruin. Nothing escapes our trained senses.”
Lasgol gave Egil an exaggerated shrug to suggest the difficulty presented by this.
“My senses can’t offer such praiseworthy attributes,” Egil admitted.
“Sight in particular,” said Viggo. “You’ll go blind from all that reading.”
“You’re about to lose your sense of taste,” Ingrid snapped at him.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. I’m going to cut off that venomous tongue of yours.”
Viggo was left speechless. He frowned.
“Yeah, that’s what you’re going to end up like.”
Viggo poked his tongue out at her.
Ingrid was about to say something more, but Dolbarar went on with his welcome message and she stopped talking in order to listen.
“We Rangers are the special body of men whom the King entrusts with the custody of the realm. We must not fail him, nor must we fail the realm. That’s why we train ceaselessly, because the enemy doesn’t pause, ever. We must protect those who can’t protect themselves: the peasants, the fishermen, the woodcutters, the farmers, the miners, the craftsmen, and the traders: the good people of Norghana. And how do we do that?”
A long silence followed the Camp leader’s question. Nobody dared reply.
“We stay ahead of the enemy. We locate them, we follow them, we gather intelligence, we intercept them and we make them fall into a trap. We make sure death and suffering never reach our people. That’s our greatest goal. To protect the innocent of the realm. Don’t expect glory and honors. That isn’t our way. We stop wars before they are unleashed, in secret, and nobody except those we serve will ever know of our successes and our glory. And that is our greatest pride, because we do it without expecting any reward or recognition whatsoever.”
Gerd shivered.
“What’s your worry, old pal?” Lasgol whispered. He could read fear in the big guy’s face.
“That we’ll die in secret too… nobody’ll ever know our fate. We’ll die alone, without anybody knowing why, or whether we reached our goal or not… we’ll be anonymous heroes buried in some sad, nameless grave.”
“Don’t you worry, we’re not going to die.”
Gerd glanced at Lasgol. He was afraid.
“You know that’s not true. There are plenty of us who won’t live to tell the tale of our battles to our grandchildren.”
“I guarantee that you will, big guy. Don’t you worry so much about what you can’t control. It only creates more insecurity and fear. Focus on what you can change, here and now.”
Gerd bowed his head. He did not seem very convinced. Neither was Lasgol, though he was trying to sound it.
“We’re living through difficult times,” Dolbarar went on.” War is at hand. Most of the Rangers have left to serve the King. We’re going to try to stop Darthor’s advance and defeat him before he brings death and destruction to our people. At the same time this must not be allowed to affect your training. In the Camp we have a bare minimum of instructors, but enough to go on with this year, and that is what we intend to do. To train you, as well as the students of the first, the third and the fourth years. The path of the Ranger must always be followed. It’s the only way to ensure our continuity. And in order to ensure that you don’t deviate from the Path, the four Master Rangers will continue with their duties as your instructors.”
Dolbarar turned to the House of Command. “And now I’ll give way to the four Master Rangers, the highest representation of the four Schools. They wish to say a few words.”
The door opened and out came Ivana, Esben, Eyra and Haakon. They were all dressed in Ranger garb, and they went to their leader’s side.
The first to address them was Ivana, the Master Ranger of the School of Archery. At the age of thirty she was nicknamed “The Infallible”. She always awoke a strange sensation in Lasgol. She was beautiful, with a cold, Nordic beauty. Her eyes were grey, with a dangerous glint in them. She usually wore her hair, which was blonde, almost white, tied in a queue. Beautiful, yes. But cold as ice.
She greeted them with a light wave of her hand and addressed the group.
“My mission is to turn you into expert archers, lethal fighters with knife and short axe, to prepare you for guerrilla war and skirmishes. So it is laid down in the Path, and so it shall be. This year, the second of your training, you’ll begin to become all those things. But it’s not going to be easy. It requires hard training, going to the limits of your efforts, and pain. Always follow my instructions, carry out the work I demand and I promise you you’ll make it. But anyone who doesn’t want to make the necessary effort, the weak in spirit, may leave here and now, because all they’ll gain is expulsion at the end of the process.”
“We’re going to become expert fighters,” Ingrid whispered. Her face had lit up. “It’s wonderful.”
“For once I’m not going to argue with you,” Viggo said. “Actually it sounds pretty good.”
Nilsa half-closed her eyes and said: “I’m going to turn into an expert archer.”
“That won’t be much use to you close at hand,” Viggo pointed out.
“I won’t let anybody get closer than two hundred paces.”
“Oh, I see…you just want a long-distance way of killing mages and sorcerers.”
She nodded.
“Well, if one of them were to dodge you…”
