The King of the West Page 15

  They reached the end of the forest, and he stopped when he saw that the trail turned eastwards. He raised his fist to let Isberson and Elkmun know that he was going to investigate further east. The two veterans nodded and pointed to the spot where they were standing. They would wait for him there.

  “Ona. With me,” Lasgol whispered to her. Camu, go into the forest to the east and follow me from inside it, he messaged.

  I follow, came the reply.

  Lasgol set off into the forest to the east and followed it from the edge, under cover of the first lines of trees, but keeping an eye on the great open area parallel to the forest. He saw an enormous lake, the group of Wild Ones who carried the logs, and something else…

  A very large village.

  Lasgol stopped, and Ona, beside him, warned him of the danger.

  “Yeah, I see them.”

  Many houses, he received from Camu.

  I can count over a hundred houses.

  Big houses.

  They were: a very large and robust type of hut, round and raised a little above the ground. They had used quantities of wood to build every one of those houses.

  All of a sudden, with the arrival of the group of Wild Ones there was a great outburst of activity and noise. Hundreds of Wild Ones began to pour out of the houses, welcoming the new arrivals with deafening yells. They were festive yells, although they left the listener breathless.

  Many Wild Ones, Camu said, and with the message came a feeling of mingled danger and fear.

  Ona protested at the noise and the presence of so many Wild Ones and stiffened. She was very tense.

  “Easy, girl…” Lasgol whispered, and stroked her back.

  He called upon his Hawk’s Eye skill again and scanned the houses with his gaze. They surrounded an empty circular space. A little to the east he saw a stake stuck in the ground, with a man tied to it. Taken aback, he tried to see who it could be, but could not identify him. He was in very bad condition, covered with dirt and blood from wounds that were still open. But there was one thing he could see clearly.

  This man was a Ranger.

  And he was still alive.

  Chapter 15

  “That’s Ranger Molsen,” Elkmun said, squinting through half-closed eyes.

  Isberson rubbed his eyes. “Are you sure? I can’t see him properly from this distance.”

  “I can. My sight’s a lot better than yours.”

  Lasgol had led them to the closest point in the forest to the village. They could not get any closer, as they would be left exposed and be spotted easily by the Wild Ones. They could not leave the shelter of the forest.

  “He’s badly wounded,” Lasgol said. “I doubt whether he’ll survive for long.”

  Elkmun was surprised. “Can you see them from here?”

  “Yes… my sight is exceptionally good. It’s one of the reasons why I became a Ranger,” Lasgol lied.

  Elkmun nodded. He was staring at Lasgol’s eyes as though looking for an explanation for the fact.

  “That’s bad news,” Isberson said sadly.

  Elkmun was looking closely at the buildings. “What’s even worse news is this village and the number of Wild Ones in it. It’s new. They’ve only just built it.”

  “They seem to be re-settling the area,” Isberson said. He was shaking his head.

  “Yeah, looks that way. And when the Wild Ones resettle, they don’t leave, far from it. They expand their territory. The Captain is going to love this bit of news.”

  “The village is a big one,” Lasgol said. He did not know much about the lifestyle of the Wild Ones, but he seemed to remember that Egil had told him they were a race that lived in small communities of no more than a hundred. Here there were five or six times more than that, which was really strange. “But we can’t be sure they’re building settlements and repopulating the area, not yet. It could be a central settlement, and that’s why there are so many Wild Ones in it.”

  “You’re right. But if the weather’s cold… then as a rule water freezes,” Elkmun said, repeating the old Norghanian saying.

  “I’m just saying we ought to be sure.”

  “The lad’s right,” said Isberson. “A single settlement doesn’t prove it, though I agree that bad news never comes singly. I’d bet my pay there’s another settlement not too far off.”

  “Could be. But we need to make sure before we alarm the Captain,” Lasgol pointed out.

  “All right,” Elkmun said, but he did not sound too convinced.

  Lasgol watched the Wild Ones, who were still cheering the ones who had arrived with the logs. Suddenly twenty or so started to work in the center of the great open space, clearing the snow and beginning to dig. The ones who had brought the logs moved away, and others began to prepare what had been brought.

  “What d’you suppose those brutes are doing?” Elkmun asked. He sounded annoyed.

  Isberson was staring fixedly at them. “Building something?”

  The Wild Ones worked non-stop, then just before nightfall they finished their work amid shouts of what they regarded as joy, although it sounded deafening and would certainly have been terrifying to any civilized man. Hundreds of Wild Ones of the Ice shouting at the tops of their voices would freeze the blood of the boldest Norghanian. Lasgol felt fear gnawing in his stomach, but he pushed it down to stop it rising up to his chest and reaching his soul. Isberson and Elkmun were frowning and their eyes were doing their best to avoid showing any trace of fear, even though they must certainly have been feeling it.

  “It’s a massive totem,” Lasgol said. “I think it represents a huge Wild One of the Ice, or maybe a semi-giant… I’m not sure.”

  “It looks more like several totems,” Isberson said. He was staring at the strange wooden figure, his head to one side.

  “They join them together, to make one several levels tall,” Elkmun said.

  “I didn’t know those savages had enough brains to build statues,” Isberson put in.

  “They’re intelligent,” Lasgol assured them.

  “If you say so,” said Isberson. “To me they’re just beasts of the ice, brutal and mindless.”

  “That’s a misjudgment. They’re strong and rather primitive, it’s true, but also intelligent.”

  “Whatever you say…” Elkmun said. There was obvious disbelief in his voice.

  Lasgol regretted that his fellow Norghanians had that generalized and inaccurate idea of the Wild Ones of the Ice. They seemed brutal and primitive, that much he could not deny, but he knew very well that they were no fools: far from it.

  “It must be the image of one of their Gods,” he guessed.

  Isberson narrowed his eyes. “Seeing how ugly they’ve made what I suppose is the face, I’d say it’s in agony.”

  “The face isn’t much good,” said Elkmun, “but that’s because they’ve carved it out of the wood of those trees without much sense of style.”

  Suddenly all the Wild Ones of the village began to parade in front of the three-tiered totem they had created. They took handfuls of snow and rubbed them on their bodies, then they set up a kind of short chant and threw more snow at the totem. The scene was repeated until every single one of them had paraded in front of the totem performing this strange ritual.

  “Yes,” Lasgol said, “it’s a God, or a representation of some spiritual being. We’re witnessing a sacred ritual. That’s why they’ve brought the trees from so far away. They must be from a sacred forest, or something like that.”

  “Could be,” said Elkmun. “Or it could also represent death, or war, or whatever else.”

  Isberson shrugged. “Who cares?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It could be important in order to understand what they’re doing here,” Lasgol said.

  The two soldiers looked at him as if he were a smartass. They said nothing.

  By the time the last Wild Ones had paraded in front of the totem it was the dead of night. Several fires had been lit, and these faintly i
lluminated the houses and the center of the village.

  Isberson shook his head. “Pity about Molsen… I liked him.”

  Lasgol saw the Ranger, partially illuminated by one of the fires.

  “We can’t do anything for him,” Elkmun said sadly. “He was unlucky.”

  “Of course we can do something for him,” Lasgol said with total confidence. “We’re going to rescue him.”

  Elkmun and Isberson turned and looked at him as if he were out of his wits. “What did you say?” Elkmun asked as if he had not heard properly.

  “Have you lost your wits in the cold?” Isberson asked. He looked as though he could not believe what he had just heard.

  “I said we’re going to rescue him,” Lasgol confirmed, spelling out the words slowly and clearly.

  “There’s no doubt about it, his head’s frozen and he can’t think,” Elkmun said.

  “I’m perfectly sane, and we’re going to rescue Molsen. A Ranger doesn’t leave a comrade.”

  “This newbie hasn’t been in enough battles,” Isberson spat out. “Of course you leave a comrade who’s been captured by hundreds of Wild Ones of the Ice. What d’you think you’re going to do?”

  “I won’t abandon a fellow Ranger.”

  Elkmun gave him a stony stare. “In that case you’ll die with him.”

  “In any case,” Isberson said, “the Captain said no confrontations. Our orders are to go back and report if we found any Wild Ones, and we’ve found a whole lot of them”

  “If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. I’ll do it myself.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Isberson pointed out.

  Lasgol saw clearly that the two soldiers were not going to help him. He knew that they had good reason for this, because it was insane to attempt a rescue in a large village with hundreds of Wild Ones of the Ice. Probably he would meet his death. Even so, he could not let the Ranger die. He had made his decision. He would attempt the rescue, even if it was insane. Otherwise he would always regret it, and he did not want to bear the burden on his conscience of having done nothing.

  “Wait here. If I’m captured or killed, go back to the Captain and report.”

  “As you like,” Elkmun said, “but don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  Isberson gestured toward a dozen Wild Ones who were heading west on watch patrol. “If they raise the alarm, we’ll be out of here like lightning.”

  Lasgol nodded. He left his bows and travelling satchel there. He did not need them, and they would only get in his way,

  “Ona. With me,” he ordered, and began to move to the east, following the edge of the forest.

  Camu, let’s go.

  What we doing?

  We’re going to rescue the captive Ranger.

  Danger. Many Wild Ones.

  Yes. It is dangerous.

  Very fun.

  No, it’s not fun and it’s not a game.

  Rescue friend from enemies. A game. Fun.

  No! It’s not a game! We could all get killed! This is serious! Dangerous. Very dangerous!

  Fun dangerous, Camu concluded.

  Lasgol shook his head. Behave and follow my instructions.

  I always.

  Yeah, yeah, sure.

  Lasgol moved under cover of night and the protection of the forest. He came out on to cleared land and advanced at a crouch until he reached a hollow along which he could approach the back of the village. Crouching, he put his head out to see what he was up against and make a plan. There were several Wild Ones on watch duty beside the fires, talking among themselves. They were not moving.

  Camu became visible beside Ona, who gave a start and then hissed angrily.

  Don’t do that…

  Fun.

  Lasgol rolled his eyes,

  Ona went up to Camu and gave him a protesting shove.

  Go? Camu asked

  No. We wait.

  Wait not fun.

  Lasgol pointed to a patrol of a dozen Wild Ones who were coming toward them.

  Wild Ones.

  Watch patrol.

  Wait.

  That’s right. We wait until they go by.

  Ona, shifting uneasily beside him, gave a mournful moan. The night wind was buffeting them. It was not cold compared with what they had been through during the winter, but it was annoying and dangerous, since they were facing into it. Lasgol decided it was time to use mental orders with the panther. He could not risk Ona revealing them with one of her growls or chirps. Whispering orders with the wind in his face was not a good idea either. His words might be borne to the ears of the Wild Ones on the back of the treacherous nocturnal breeze that seemed to be gathering strength.

  He concentrated, found Ona’s mental aura and focused on it. He called upon his Animal Communication skill.

  Ona. Silence, he ordered.

  The panther was frightened. She crouched with her ears flattened back and her eyes wide open. She was rigidly tense.

  Ona. Here, Lasgol ordered again, and tapped his thigh.

  The panther looked at him undecidedly.

  Ona. Here, he transmitted again, and gave his thigh another tap.

  The great cat now understood that it was Lasgol talking to her, and relaxed. She did what he had asked her to.

  Ona. Good. He stroked her head and back.

  Ona. Lie low, he ordered when he saw the patrol on its way,

  They lay down in the hollow, and he covered Ona in snow while she stayed still, obeying the command to lie low on the ground, then himself. Camu camouflaged himself, and the patrol passed by them without seeing them. Lasgol waited until he was sure the patrol was far enough away, and for this he called upon his Owl Hearing skill. He followed the sound of their footsteps, which were so heavy that he could follow them even without the help of his enhanced hearing. The Wild Ones were not exactly light-footed and quiet. Then he left the hollow. It was night by now and the village was completely silent, with the exception of half a dozen points where they had lit fires for the watchmen.

  Ona. Lie low, he ordered mentally, and the panther obeyed at once.

  They crawled along the ground and entered the village from the north, dodging a fire where there were four Wild Ones on watch. The huts were so big and solid that beside them Lasgol and Ona looked like a couple of kittens out scouting. The problem was that if they were caught, they would be skinned alive. Very carefully they navigated the narrow passages between the enormous huts, always seeking the shadows. Lasgol bore in mind where the light was coming from at every moment, whether it was the moon or one of the watch fires. He followed the shadows, as he had learnt to do at the Camp.

  Suddenly a Wild One came out of one of the huts to their right. Lasgol froze still as a statue in the shadow of the hut opposite.

  Ona. Stop. Camu. Not a sound.

  Yes. Wild One.

  The Wild One came down the steps that gave access to the dwelling and stretched up to his full height. In his hand was a huge axe. He glanced toward where they were hiding, and Lasgol’s stomach shrank to the size of a walnut. The Wild One grunted and made his way to one of the fires with huge strides.

  Lasgol snorted in relief. They had not been seen. The Wild One took over from one of his companions at the fire, and the one he had replaced went to sleep.

  Much fun, Camu said and transmitted a feeling of excitement.

  It’s not fun. We’re risking our lives. If we’re found out, we’ll be killed.

  Risk. Fun.

  Not fun!

  A little fun?

  Lasgol shook his head and gave him up as impossible.

  On we go. Very slowly. Now comes the difficult part.

  They came to the center of the village, but could not go in because they would be seen. The stake where they had tied Ranger Molsen was to one side. From where they were, Lasgol could see the sad state he was in. He had been brutally beaten and had several nasty cuts, probably infected. His face had an ugly color. He could not let this man die there like t
hat, despite the danger involved. The Wild Ones on duty by the fire closest to Molsen were not paying much attention to him, but chatting in the strange language of the Frozen Continent. This did not surprise Lasgol. The prisoner was not going anywhere in his present state and the Wild Ones, as he knew very well, were not in the habit of paying attention or showing mercy.

  Camu and Ona were looking at him, awaiting instructions. The situation was complicated. If he tried to get to Molsen he would be seen. He wished he had Egil with him, but unfortunately he was alone and would have to come up with something by himself. He thought for a long moment, then suddenly saw that the Ranger was waking up from some nightmare and shaking his body in pain. He made his plan. It was not a very sophisticated one, but it would have to do. Very carefully, mentally, he explained it to Camu, and his little friend seemed to understand. He had better, or else they would end up like Molsen, or worse. Just thinking about it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

  Camu. Now. Very slowly, he transmitted as he watched the Wild Ones apparently arguing about something.

  The little creature, in his camouflaged state, went forward very slowly over the snow towards the prisoner. In his mouth he was carrying Lasgol’s scarf, which being white blended in with the snowy landscape. Because Camu was creeping very slowly, the scarf barely appeared to be moving. Lasgol’s eyes were on the Wild Ones, who did not notice anything. Camu reached the stake where Molsen was and went to stand behind him.

  Lasgol put his hands to his mouth and imitated the hoot of an owl, twice. He did it in a certain tone which Rangers would recognize. Molsen did not seem to realize. Lasgol swore under his breath and waited a moment. With one eye he was watching the Wild Ones, and with the other the Ranger. One of the Wild Ones waved his arms at the sky. Lasgol, seeing his moment, repeated the call. Molsen raised his head and looked in his direction. The Wild Ones took no notice of the hoot. Lasgol came out of the shadows for a moment to let Molsen see his face. Molsen glanced at the Wild Ones, waited a moment and then nodded.