Dragon Spirit, page 48
part #12 of Path of the Ranger Series
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Here you have The Prologue and Chapter 1 of the series, see if you like it.
Prologue
Haradin. —Norriel Lands, Northwest Tremia—
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We shall not die here today, my dear friend, of that you may be sure!” promised the traveler, his intense gaze penetrating the worsening blizzard which was swirling through the night. “The situation is growing more entangled, but fear not: Haradin is here to protect you from the cold and the lethargy from which there can be no return.”
The storm lashed at the Ampar Mountains, blanketing in a mantle of white every step of Haradin’s path. He advanced like a determined pilgrim climbing the winding mountain trail. In the shadow of that immense rocky formation the traveler fought against the elements like a tiny boat striving to avoid capsizing in raging, icy seas.
With each passing moment he felt his meager reserves of strength waning, eaten up by the exertion. Even so, the tall, gaunt traveler continued onward, unfazed by the elements. He shook off the snow that covered his long blond hair and pulled his hood back into place. At twenty-five years of age, thanks to an unusually perilous life, he had already faced his share of dangerous situations; unfortunately this was turning by leaps and bounds into another of those.
The freezing mountain wind howled, forcing its way through his dirty garments, now unrecognizable below the layer of crystal snowflakes. He sought refuge among the nearby oaks, taking shelter under one of the mightiest. Leaning his staff against the trunk he set his satchel on the ground, dusted off the snow that was covering his arm and pulled the woolen glove off with his teeth.
He half-opened his overcoat and pushed aside the blanket he was carrying tight against his chest to protect his precious load: a beautiful child who had just completed his first year of existence in a cruel world. The infant was tied to his torso with an improvised fastener of goatskin and linen cloths. The little one looked at him with enormous emerald eyes and smiled joyfully, apparently immune to the storm that sought to devour them.
Haradin was aware that time was running out; the cold would soon make its mark on the little boy. A feeling of anguish took over his soul, gripping him by the stomach. He pondered for a moment the possibility of seeking refuge in the rocky slopes, but bearing in mind the strength of the storm there was no guarantee he would find enough protection to save the child. He shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to guess how much of the journey was left before they reached the end of the tortuous path. But the inhospitable night would not allow it.
“We’re getting close. The end of this infernal flight is right there, almost within arm’s reach,” he reassured the child. He recalled the beginning of the frenetic flight he had set forth on a week ago, to save the tot’s life. The escape had been full of danger. Their sinister pursuers had been very close to catching them... too close. Fortunately, he had been able to hide their trail and elude their trackers in the nick of time.
However, something inside—an uneasy feeling of alarm—continued to warn Haradin of danger nearby. Unfortunately, in the heart of the storm in the middle of the night, it was impossible to confirm anything. By the same token, their pursuers would have serious difficulties finding their tracks. The gusts of wind and the heavy snowfall would have instantly erased his footsteps, leaving in their place a snow-white blanket. He tried to catch sight of any pursuers in the distance, but it was impossible. He sharpened his ears, paying absolute attention, but all he could hear was the gusts of wind through the trees and the moaning sound as it swept over the side of the mountain. He faced the valley they had left behind, closed his gray eyes and inhaled deeply. His mind tried to capture any strange odor, anything out of place, but he noticed nothing. The cold was too intense.
“It’s all right, little one, Haradin will protect you. Soon we’ll reach our destination and be safe at last.”
He gazed tenderly at the little boy, who on hearing his voice began to wave his arms and babble happily. Haradin closed his eyes, uttered a spell, and conjured up an enchantment that wrapped the baby in a pleasant halo of warmth.
“Now that’s better, isn’t it, little imp? We can’t let you freeze.”
He covered the child again, then used the same protective spell he had used on the baby on himself. Unfortunately there was little else he could do. I would sell my soul to be able to fight off this weariness. But my Gift cannot help me there. Nor will it alleviate the stabbing pains caused by my overexertion or create a refuge where we might find shelter. He slung his satchel over his back, picked up his staff and resumed the ascent with an unshakable determination to reach the summit and find the refuge they so desperately needed.
Several hours later Haradin crested the summit of the mountain, exhausted but triumphant. From there the path gave way to a large flatland surrounded by oaks and vegetation buried under the snow. The plain led to a distant valley between the lower peaks of the mountain range.
Sighing deeply, he tried to release the tension that had been distressing him for so long. He had finally arrived at his destination: the small village of Orrio, situated at the end of the valley which was opening up before his eyes. It seemed as if at the same time they had gained a refuge from nature, for the snowstorm was losing intensity and the icy wind had almost completely died down. This was the end of the journey, the place he had chosen to hide the child from the fatal destiny that was relentlessly pursuing him. In that small, remote town, isolated from civilization, surrounded and protected by these impenetrable mountains, he would be safe.
The region was under the dominion of the proud Norriel, whose origins had been lost in the annals of time. Grouped into thirty sister tribes, they reigned over the highlands and had done so since the dawn of man. These lands were rarely visited by strangers, due as much to their inaccessibility as to the distrust their inhabitants inspired.
“You’ll be safe here, little one; no one will find you in these faraway mountains. Just a little while longer... one last effort and we’ll be safe, my happy little companion.”
Suddenly Haradin heard a strange sound, like a muffled whisper behind him. Alarmed, he immediately stopped in his tracks, spun around and saw a dark figure huddled down just a few steps away.
One of their pursuers!
An Assassin, without a doubt.
The killer was well-concealed by a dark cloak; the only visible feature of his face was the glimmer in his eyes. His arms, hands, legs—his entire body—was covered in black, as if a shadow had come alive, as if a malignant darkness had been reincarnated as a living being. Fortunately on that snow-covered terrain he was discernible. Haradin studied him carefully.
I wasn’t mistaken; my instincts warned me faithfully. I sensed that danger was near. Something within whispered to me, and here he is, ready to put an end to our lives.
“What are you looking for, servant of the shadows?” Haradin asked coldly.
“You know full well what I am looking for, Mage of the Four Elements,” whispered the Assassin, his voice revealing the accent of a faraway land. “It is what you are hiding beneath your garments.”
“Turn around and return to the world of shadows from whence you came.”
“My mission is to end the life of the Marked,” responded the Assassin in a calm voice, very sure of himself. “My lord and master has entrusted me with a mission of blood, and blood must be spilled. Deliver the Marked to me and I will allow you to leave here with your life.”
Haradin smiled, full of irony.
“Do you truly believe that I am going to hand over this defenseless child so that you can sacrifice him? I am his protector, and you will have to finish me off first; no harm shall come to him as long as I am alive.”
“My daggers are poised, waiting for the order to spill and drink the red fluid of life.”
Haradin was not intimidated.
“Another of your dark brothers caught up with me three days ago. He too was sure he would finish me off, but the only thing he managed to do was to kill my poor horse. I had no choice but to send him back to the darkness from which you both came. If you wish to meet the same destiny, the decision is yours. I will not allow you near this baby.”
“If that is your desire... We shall see who survives this time, Mage.”
Haradin tensed and wielded his staff in a defensive stance. He had already established in the two previous encounters with these assassins that they were lethal—supremely deadly. He was not familiar with the secrets of the arcane art they used, but he had withstood the superhuman agility and speed of these executioners, as well as their dark abilities. After his first encounter with them—which he survived by sheer luck—he had ended up poisoned. As a consequence of the second he bore two deep cuts on his chest and back that were not yet healed. And his left arm was still partially crippled.
The black silhouette crouching in the snow showed him two daggers with curved blades. He made a sudden gesture as he whispered the words of an incantation. A brief flash of reddish light washed over the Assassin’s body and daggers.
Haradin instantly identified this as the use of dark magic. The Assassin had invoked a mortal ability to be used against him. This enemy was not a Mage as he was himself; he could feel that. The Gift was not as strong in the Assassin, but he possessed a source of power. Haradin could recognize them: men with the ability to carry out impossible feats.
“Much time and discipline are required to command the Gift... Who is your master?”
“Of my lord you will learn nothing.”
“You are not from these lands... Where do you come from?”
“You will not get me to reveal anything to you.”
In the blink of an eye the Assassin attacked. He vaulted forward with an astounding agility, more like a great feline than a human, so that he reached an unimaginable height. As he executed the leap, with a snap of his right hand he threw a metal object and followed through his movement.
Haradin reacted instinctively. He invoked the force of the wind and fixed his eyes on the Assassin who was in mid-leap, directing his aim and increasing the power of the spell with his staff. The spell exited it with a short but intense explosion of blinding white an instant before the Assassin reached him. Its energy struck the Assassin full on, with the strength of a gale-force wind, exploding on contact. A deafening crack surged forth from the impact, as if a massive branch of a tree had broken off. The Assassin, forcefully driven back, shot through the air. He slammed into the ground, then tried to get up but was unable to. He clutched his ribs; he was wounded.
“You are powerful, Mage... very fast... extremely fast,” said the dark figure with an agonized moan.
“You will not catch your prey this day, Assassin. Only death awaits you here.”
“Perhaps... but nothing will stop me from achieving my goal. Dishonoring my master is punished by torture and an unbearable death.”
The Assassin placed his right hand on the snow and managed to push himself up. The pain showed on his face. Seeing his opportunity, Haradin began to cast another spell. But with inhuman velocity the Assassin took a black ball from his belt and shattered it on the ground in front of the Mage.
A cloud of black smoke engulfed Haradin.
Disoriented, he hesitated; he could not see the Assassin and therefore was unable to aim the spell at him. He could not get his bearings.
Suddenly, as if materializing out of nowhere, the Assassin appeared in front of Haradin, poised to slit his throat. The two bloodthirsty daggers, crossed in a slashing motion, sought his neck. Haradin tried to take a step back to avoid the attack, but was unable to. His left leg was paralyzed; it simply would not move. His heart skipped a beat. He managed to pull his head back just enough to escape the reach of the daggers at the last instant. A stinging on his chin told him he had been cut. He looked at his useless leg and saw a small metal object sticking out of his thigh. He had not noticed it before.
He’s crippled me with a paralyzing poison!
Haradin raised his staff and quickly conjured a powerful flash of light. The explosion blinded the Assassin. Haradin leaned to one side, dodging his opponent’s attack as it brushed past his cheek.
I have to finish him off right now. This Assassin is too dangerous; now’s my chance. He pointed his staff at his enemy, who was already preparing to attack again. Haradin immediately muttered an incantation.
A deafening burst of thunder crashed in the night.
A bolt of lightning was unleashed on the black figure.
Struck down in mid-leap by the lethal bolt, the Assassin fell to the ground.
He was dead.
Haradin, shaken to his very soul, swiftly pulled his coat open. Luckily he found the little one smiling and waving his arms as if pleading for more action, apparently excited by all the commotion. Thankfully, he had not been harmed.
The Mage sighed, greatly relieved. He smiled at the child and with a deep feeling of joy stroked his little nose.
“You liked all that action, didn’t you, little one? You have the soul of a fighter, I can tell already.”
He tucked the child back under his coat, then examined his lifeless leg and found the small dart that was stuck in his thigh. He pulled it out and looked across at the Assassin lying dead in the snow.
Almost...
Without wasting another moment Haradin began the last part of his journey, dragging his useless leg.
The house was dark. It was not large, but it was welcoming. A structure of the Norriel: built almost entirely of stone, with wood trimming. Half-home, half-farm, it housed a family and a few head of cattle. A necessary pairing for survival in the highlands. The roof was covered with snow, and since the chimney was still giving out a dancing thread of smoke, Haradin assumed the residents were sleeping in the warmth of the embers of a smoldering fire.
He approached the door and knocked. He was so exhausted he could barely stand. But thanks to the heavens, he had reached the final destination of his flight. The door opened slowly, but no-one appeared. The interior was completely dark, and as it was the middle of the night he could make nothing out. Haradin slowly removed the hood which protected his head so that his face would be revealed.
“Ulis, it’s me, Haradin!” he called out, directing his words into the darkness of the entrance. “I need your help!” he pleaded.
For a moment nothing happened; only silence and tension hung on the threshold. Something bright and metallic appeared in the doorway, and Haradin soon realized it was the tip of a Norriel sword pointed at his neck. He stood perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. A few seconds later a muscular arm appeared, brandishing the sword. Finally a powerfully-built man came out.
“I see that hospitality in the highlands is as frigid as ever,” Haradin commented with a smile.
“Only a crazy man or an idiot wakes a sleeping bear in the mountains in the dead of night,” the man replied gruffly as he lowered his sword. “Mirta!” he said toward the inside of the house. “You can put down your bow. There’s no danger here. It’s our friend Haradin.”
“Are you sure, husband?” came a woman’s voice.
“Yes, don’t worry. Come out and welcome him.”
Mirta came to the door with the string of her bow still drawn back, the arrow still nocked. She smiled and relaxed when she saw the unsteady traveler at her doorstep.
“It’s been a long time, my traveling friend. It gladdens my heart to see you in one piece. You look very tired. How is it that you’ve arrived in the middle of the night during a winter storm?” Mirta asked, her face showing profound concern, as if she sensed danger. “You hadn’t warned us of your visit the way you’ve always done. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine, Mirta. I just need to catch my breath.”
Ulis approached the Mage, beaming, as he prepared to hug him.
Haradin put his hand up to stop him.
“I bring with me a small traveling companion who requires immediate attention. He is hungry and tired,” he said. At the same time he unfastened his coat and showed them the little boy with emerald eyes.
Ulis stared at the baby in astonishment. “But... what in the world... I don’t understand...” he exclaimed, completely stunned. “What are you doing with a baby in the middle of a snowstorm, you crazy Mage?”
Mirta, on the other hand, reacted immediately on seeing the child. She dropped her bow and went running to the Mage to take the baby into her protective arms.
“I knew something was going on. I felt it in my gut.”
“Norriel women have always had that virtue,” answered Haradin with a wink.
“Boy or girl?” Mirta asked while making sure the baby was well.
“It’s a boy. His name is Komir.”
“Let’s go in where it’s warm—you both must be frozen!” exclaimed Mirta. She guided them inside, all the while rocking the baby in her arms.
A feeling of relief and immeasurable solace radiated from Haradin’s very soul, as if all the fatigue, all the pain in his weary muscles, all the tension of the long and dangerous escape, had disappeared in an instant, to be replaced by a feeling of wellbeing as sweet as honey.
“Refuge at last...” he murmured.
And he collapsed, exhausted.
Norriel
Komir. —Norriel Lands, Northwest Tremia—
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Eighteen years later, in the heart of the Norriel highlands, Komir was hiding behind a rock; surrounded by tall undergrowth, waiting for his elusive prey. He felt fidgety. The sky was clear, with just two small white clouds dotting the celestial canvas. The sun shone radiantly that morning, its smile shedding a golden glow over the fields and lighting up the great forest to the east.
