Destiny (10 page)

“All right, Amtoko, now tell me, what’s this summons about? If you’ve come to tell me we’re in danger, let me tell you that I already know. War is decimating Rogdon, the situation of the Kingdom is critical, thousands of Rogdonians have died and the survivors are behind the walls of Rilentor, fleeing from the death and destruction which stalks the realm. We’re on a mission for King Solin.”

“Yes, my inexperienced bear cub, I know what Haradin and the King have asked you: to find the other two Bearers and lead them back to Rilentor. That’s not why we’re here, you and I. Although… perhaps… in part… a part of something altogether more crucial.”

“I can’t follow your thoughts…”

The Silver Witch giggled.

“Since you left our little village in search of your personal vendetta, you’ve been very busy, haven’t you? What’s that hanging round your neck?”

Komir began to explain: “It’s a…”

“I know what it is, boy,” she interrupted. “I’ve been watching you as often as I could. I know your adventures well, and those of your companions. So don’t try to hide anything from me. I might be a half-crazy old witch and perhaps a tad senile, but my mind still runs astonishingly fast for my age.”

“I can well believe that you see everything and that your mind is as quick as always. But why would I hide anything from you?”

“Hah! The heart of men has a natural tendency to get confused when it comes into contact with power. The yearning for power, greatness, dominion, will corrupt the purest soul. That Ilenian medallion round your neck has such an amazing power I doubt whether you can ever come to understand it.”

“It’s a charmed medallion, and it’s saved my life several times. That’s all I know and all I care about.”

“Ah, now right there, in those words, lies the essence of what I’m trying to tell you. A medallion or any other Object of Power can’t save anybody, it’s just an object. My panther can save you, I can save you, but a magical object can’t. It’s just an object with one purpose, to be used by someone.”

“Well, this object has saved me, that’s all I can say.”

“And that, my bear cub, is precisely what’s important. That Ilenian medallion is linked to you, to your destiny. Otherwise you wouldn’t have found it, and it would never have acted to save your life.”

“What destiny are you talking about? That one you warned me about when I left the village or a different one? I’d remind you that you never mentioned either the medallions or the Ilenians. You told me to go to the Egia Lighthouse and on another occasion to go East, and that’s what I did.”

“And what did you find in the course of both searches?”

“Very nearly death both times…”

“There’s no reward without risk, young warrior. On both occasions you found Ilenian medallions. First the one you’re wearing and later those which two Bearers who were returning from the East are now wearing, a certain Aliana… and Asti… if I grasped it right.”

At the mention of the Healer’s name Komir tensed, and a bitter pain clutched his chest.

“I did what you asked me to. I don’t know the reason. But it didn’t lead me to the end I was after. I still don’t know who’s responsible for the death of my parents. I still haven’t been able to gain justice for them. But at least now I have the medallion, and I’m sure it will help me.”

“Ah, the eternal search for revenge your soul craves! A vain search and a senseless one, but your search nevertheless. As for your Destiny, it’s one and one only. It’s true I didn’t mention anything about the Ilenians, because my talent didn’t let me see any of them. Most likely because of the powerful Ilenian magic which hid them from my Gift. But don’t be mistaken, Komir, your Destiny is clear and still the same one I foretold to you back then. Evil is on its way; it’s very close, an evil carrying infernal suffering to all Tremia. I’ve used my Gift and traveled along the threads of Destiny, navigating the intricate spider’s-web which makes it up. I managed to glimpse the players of the great game at last, after trying for so long and only being able to intercept their veiled moves. The game is entering its final phase, Komir, you must be ready. What we were so afraid of is finally on its way. Rogdon will fall, the great nations will be overthrown, the balance of powers as we know them will disappear forever under a black wave of destruction and pain. Thousands upon thousands of people will die, men, women and children. Our people, just like others, will be annihilated. The Norriel won’t survive this sea of blood, pain and death which will reach even our highlands. That destiny, your destiny, has not changed.”

“What must I do, Amtoko? How can I prevent my people from dying?”

“You must rise strong before the black sea of hate and suffering, and fight against it. Keep firm, like a rock, and although savage tides of sorrow and blood lash against you, resist like an oak and in spite of everything, remain unmovable. Fight against evil, no matter how slender the chance of victory might seem. And when all hope seems lost, even then, you must stand tall, unshakable, defying the storms of evil.”

“Will I survive? Will we survive?” he asked, heavy with worry —not for his life alone, but for that of his friends and for all the Norriel.

“That, my young bear cub, is something we’ll very soon find out.”

Komir looked at her eyes and realized the old witch did not know the outcome of his Destiny. The pain of the blood link was growing stronger all the time until now it was a torment.

“One more thing. Two threads I see woven into your destiny above all the rest. One black as the death which approaches inexorably. Another golden as the sun, which to begin with I couldn’t see, connected with the Ilenians. Both threads will shape your final Destiny, the Destiny of all Tremia.”

Komir looked at her, heavy with uncertainty, feeling a load on his shoulders so huge that all he wanted to do was run away. As if she were able to read the fear in his eyes Amtoko turned her firm gaze on him.

“You won’t go anywhere, Komir. Those who make up the black tide are already coming. I’ve seen them with my power, but you won’t avoid them, even though their hosts are made up of thousands of soldiers.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because I’ve seen them, Komir, and they have slanted eyes. The same eyes as the Dark Assassins and the White Tigers.”

Komir felt pain and fury welling inside him.

“I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all!”

“And now, young Norriel, wake up, danger stalks close to you.”

Komir woke with a start and opened his eyes wide. On the other side of the fire two men in dark clothes were watching him.

“Look out!” he cried.

Hartz leapt to his feet and unsheathed his great Ilenian sword, while Komir seized his weapons. Kayti came out from behind the tree where she had been hidden.

“Where on earth did they come from?” she cried angrily.

“I don’t know, but they’re heading for a grave,” cried Hartz, brandishing his sword.

“That won’t be necessary,” said one of the two in a soothing tone. “Haradin sent us. We’re two of his Keepers. You must come with us right away, we’ve located the other two Bearers. Come on.”

“Why such a hurry? Let’s wait for dawn, it’s still the dead of night,” Komir said, not trusting them.

The Keeper shook his head.

“The enemy’s here already. By dawn we’ll all be dead.”

From his hiding place amid the dense foliage Lasgol was watching the distant valley carefully. From the top of the bushy hill, under a hundred-year-old oak, he scanned the distance with growing concern. The dreadful smoke of the war filled the horizon as far as the eye could reach, beyond the great lakes. Leagues and leagues of territory in the mid-east seemed to be burning, and in two particular areas the columns of smoke looked chillingly huge. Lasgol’s heart sank as he tried to puzzle out what he was seeing, because something was wrong, terribly wrong. The border disputes between Erenal and Zangria were familiar, but what he was seeing now was no consequence of simple skirmishes between border outposts but absolute destruction. Both kingdoms were burning and being devastated, which was unthinkable.

From among a cluster of roots the head of the ever-curious Sonea appeared at his side to watch the dreadful spectacle.

“But… it can’t be…” she stammered, anguished and unable to believe what she was seeing. “According to my calculations… that must be… Erenalia… and it’s on fire!”

Lasgol covered her mouth at once and glared at her in warning. It took Sonea a moment to recover, but still Lasgol kept up his gag to stop her laments reaching unwanted ears. At that height a cry carried on the breeze could travel far, and there was danger all round… At last Sonea seemed to regain some composure. The Tracker let her go.

“Lasgol, is… is what’s burning my home? Is… Erenalia burning? Tell me I’m wrong!”

“Try to stay calm, Sonea, we don’t know who might be lurking around.”

Sonea nodded and looked at Lasgol, her big black tearful eyes begging desperately for a denial which Lasgol could not give her.

“I’m so very sorry, Sonea…”

The tears began to flow.

“But it can’t be. Why? How? Have the Zangrians gone crazy?”

Lasgol looked at her, so petite, so intelligent and full of curiosity. Her heart was broken.

“I’m not so sure it was the Zangrians. Their capital and a lot of their kingdom is burning too…”

“That doesn’t make sense. King Dasleo wouldn’t burn half of Zangria, not even in revenge,” Sonea said. “He’s a wise, just man,”

“That’s exactly the point, Sonea. If Dasleo the King of Erenal hasn’t burnt Zangria, then who has? And who’s destroyed Erenal?”

Sonea wept, trying to muffle her sobs so that they would not be heard.

“Go with Lindaro, go back to the camp and tell them what’s going on.”

Sonea delayed for a moment, but in the end obeyed the Tracker and ran downhill.

Now Lasgol focused his attention on something closer and much more dangerous below, in the valley. His heart was beating more and more heavily.

Yakumo approached stealthily, crouched beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. In an almost inaudible whisper he asked:

“How many?”

Lasgol glanced at him and smiled briefly. “A thousand. They’re securing a way through the lakes.”

“Zangrians or soldiers of Erenal?”

Lasgol sighed. “Well, that’s what has me wondering. It worries me. They don’t belong to any kingdom I know. Their banners and flags are totally unfamiliar. Even their armor is… foreign…”

“They’re not soldiers from the two mid-eastern kingdoms?”

“No, Yakumo… they’re… they’re men like you…”

The Assassin’s face hardened as if a shadow had come over him.

“I’ll show you.”

Lasgol took the Assassin’s hand. Closing his eyes, he called upon his skill to see like an eagle.

“Close your eyes, Yakumo.”

Lasgol opened his own and fixed his gaze on the soldiers in black-laminated armor beside the lake. He concentrated and focused his vision on their faces. His eagle eye allowed him to see their faces in detail, as if a bird had swooped down from the sky past the soldiers.

“They’re men with slanted eyes, Yakumo. Men of your race…”

Yakumo remained silent for a long while, then opened his eyes.

Behind them Iruki appeared, crawling through the forest undergrowth.

“What’s the matter?” she asked uneasily.

“The end is near…” said Yakumo in a voice so deep and sorrowful that both, Lasgol and Iruki were taken aback.

“We must flee. Right away. The Dark Lady has arrived. We’re all going to die.”

Without any further explanation he turned back to the camp at the lower edge of the forest.

Lasgol followed, worried. He did not understand what Yakumo had meant, but the gravity of the situation had been branded on him as though with fire.

“What is it, Yakumo?” Iruki begged from after him. “You can tell me, my love.”

“Not here, my princess. Let’s go back to the camp.”

Iruki seemed to give in, and the three of them walked down through the forest to the brook where Lindaro and Sonea were waiting. To the north one of the thousand lakes was shining under the morning sun, with a blue as heavenly as the cloudless sky above them.

“What else have you found out?” Sonea asked when she saw them approaching.

Lindaro glanced at their serious faces as he poked at the fire. “Judging by their faces, it doesn’t look like anything good…” he said.

Yakumo came to stand beside Lindaro. Looking at the others, he said:

“I have very bad news. The worst. I had hoped this day would never come, because the repercussions for all of us are serious. Unfortunately, the day has come.”

They all looked at him as if hypnotized.

At that moment Lasgol sensed something strange; the hair on the back of his neck prickled, which could only mean danger. He called upon his skill to hear like a bat and stood absolutely still.

Yakumo also perceived something, fell silent and took out his daggers, fast as lightning.

Lasgol listened attentively and made out footsteps coming from the West, coming closer, hidden among the trees on the edge of the lakes.

Yakumo made an inquiring gesture.

Lasgol raised his right hand, showing five fingers.

Yakumo nodded. Putting a finger to his lips, he gestured to the group to keep quiet. A red flash ran through the Assassin’s body, and with a wave of his arms he gave a leap and disappeared.

Lasgol took three steps back with the greatest care, slipped in among the foliage and readied his bow. He used his camouflage skill, blending with his surroundings and vanishing from human sight. He waited.

Iruki sat down by the fire and gestured to Lindaro and Sonea to do the same. Without drawing attention to herself the young Masig placed her short sword on her right, unsheathed and at the ready.

Lasgol could not help but admire the brave Masig, whose spirit was indomitable, guided by a noble heart. He thought of Yakumo and how lucky he was. Being loved by a woman like that had to be the greatest good fortune in the world.
Don’t think about her, she’s not for you, her heart belongs to Yakumo, she hates your race, and you in particular. You’ve been chasing her non-stop for months across half the continent like a rabid dog.

Five figures appeared beside the lake. Three dressed in blue and silver and two in dark hooded cloaks. The three in blue and silver exchanged what Lasgol read as farewells with the men in the dark cloaks, who left, disappearing once again in the forest behind them. The three strangers walked up to the camp. An athletic young man, another big as a mountain and a redheaded young woman in Rogdonian clothes. Lasgol pointed his arrow at the heart of the young man with the emerald eyes.

“Good morning!” the young man said.

Iruki spun round, quick as a cheetah, wielding her Ilenian sword threateningly. When she saw the young man she cried out:

“It’s the spirit! The spirit of the Medallion!”

The young man took a step back in surprise and raised his arms.

“Wait!” cried Lindaro at the top of his voice.

In reply the giant unsheathed a huge two-handed sword and the woman a long sword.

Lasgol held his breath. The situation was getting complicated.

At that moment Yakumo appeared behind the woman out of thin air.

“Drop your weapons or she dies,” he threatened in an icy voice, and placed his daggers on her neck.

“Wait, wait!” cried Lindaro desperately, waving his arms crazily as he ran towards the strangers.

“But what the…” Lasgol cursed under his breath.

“I know them, they’re friends! Don’t hurt them, they’re friends!” Lindaro cried.

Lasgol let out his breath sharply.
What’s going on?

“Lindaro! How wonderful to see you safe and sound!” said the young man with the green eyes. “Would you mind telling your new friend to let Kayti go before there’s a nasty accident?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to take his head off,” said the giant. He was holding his sword high, with his eyes fixed on the Assassin.

“Yakumo, lower your weapons, please! I know them! They’re friends of mine.”

The Assassin looked at Lindaro for a moment, then glanced towards where Lasgol was hiding.

Lasgol saw the glance and stayed hidden, ready. He activated his skill to shoot true, sure that the Assassin would notice the flash of power as he did so.

Immediately Yakumo withdrew his daggers and stepped back.

“If they’re friends of yours, Lindaro, they’re welcome,” said Yakumo with his usual poise. He motioned to Iruki to lower her weapon.

The Masig hesitated an instant, her glance tense, but in the end she followed his example.

“This is much better,” the man with the emerald eyes said.

Kayti faced Yakumo warily.

“How are you? What are you doing here? Blessed be the Light!” Lindaro cried joyfully.

“Come here, little one!” the big man said, and they embraced heartily. The warrior lifted the thin priest into the air, roaring with laughter as he hugged him. When he put him down Lindaro, half dizzy, went over to the athletic warrior and gave him a big hug as well.

This made Lasgol feel easier. He did not miss a single detail.

“I’m so glad to see you!” the priest was saying. There was a look of delight on his face.

“And so are we, Lindaro. You had us very worried. You’ve been gone for quite a while.”

“I’ll tell you all about it,” he replied as he hugged the redhead, who winked at him conspiratorially.

Lasgol watched the two men and felt power emanating from them, a basic power, but a lethal one. Those two warriors were not ordinary men. The realization unsettled him.

“Come on, come beside the fire. Let’s sit down and get everyone introduced. We’re all friends, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. The Light has blessed us all with this wonderful reunion, here, in the middle of the Thousand Lakes. What a stroke of good fortune in this hour of need!”

The big man took a step toward the fire, but the other warrior raised his hand and stopped at once.

“Lindaro, could you tell your friend by the oak to come out into the open?” he said, and pointed in Lasgol’s direction.

Lasgol was perplexed. It was impossible that he could be seen… unless… he had seen the flash… and that would mean he was a Chosen.

Lindaro looked towards where Komir was pointing and said:

“Lasgol, you can come out. They’re friends, good friends. There’s no danger.”

Lasgol was not too happy about this. He would much rather have stayed hidden. But if he did not come out the situation might turn ugly.

“If they’re friends of yours, Lindaro, then they’re mine too,” Lasgol said, and came out into the open.

“Thank you, Lasgol,” said Lindaro, sounding relieved. “And now please put your weapons away, all of you, we’re among friends, I can assure you,” he urged, hoping to reassure both groups.

They all came to the camp fire. One group took up its position on one side and the other on the opposite. They watched each other warily. Lindaro, in the middle and obviously worried, looked at them all. Before the tension could grow again, he introduced them all one by one.

“And now that we know who we all are,” the man of faith begged, “please sit down, all of you.”

Still wary, they sat down one by one around the fire.

Lindaro spoke in a conciliatory voice, “I think the best thing would be for each group to tell of their ordeal up to this moment, and that way we’ll all know why we’ve all met here today.”

“It’s not always very wise to tell secrets to strangers…” Lasgol began. He still did not trust the three warriors. They radiated too much danger, and that made him nervous. He looked at Yakumo and the Assassin nodded imperceptibly. He was not at ease either.

Sonea was indignant. “These foreigners are friends of Lindaro’s, and he answers for them. My land has been devastated, my home is on fire, my dear tutor might be… I want to know what’s happening, I want to know everything!”

A tense silence fell on the group.

Lindaro stood up. In a quiet voice he began to tell all he had been through with both groups, as if offering a bridge of cordiality between the two bands with whom he had shared so many vivid experiences. When the priest had finished his story the tension seemed to ease, as if dispelled by the breeze. But despite this Lasgol’s eyes remained on Komir without missing a detail, since the Norriel warrior had his eyes fixed on Yakumo and his look was… too intense…