“What a beauty!” Misten exclaimed when he saw her.
Lasgol smiled. “So she is.”
“A magnificent specimen, yes sir,” Enker agreed.
Lasgol jabbed his thumb behind him. “If you could lend me a hand to protect her from all those soldiers, I’d be grateful.”
“Don’t mention it,” Misten said. “We’d be delighted to help.”
“You know what soldiers are like. Particularly on campaign.”
“We know,” Enker chuckled. “We’d better stay together, the three of us, and away from them. The soldiers aren’t like us, they don’t have our sensitivity to nature and animals. They only care for military matters and killing.”
“Yeah, you’re not far off the mark there,” said Lasgol.
“I’ve been dealing with them for quite a few years. We Rangers understand one another, and we see things differently to how they do. Often I wonder whether their brains are taken out when they’re training. I swear to you, the impression I get is that they’re no smarter than watchdogs. And they don’t know much beyond how to bite.” Enker pretended to look horrified.
“Smart, what people would call smart … that’s something they really aren’t,” Misten said, and laughed.
Enker did the same, and Lasgol smiled too, though he looked back unobtrusively to make sure nobody was listening. They were a hundred paces ahead of the beginning of the column, so that they were safe from being overheard, for which he was grateful. It was not that he had a bad image of the Norghanian soldiers, but Misten and Enker were perfectly correct. Soldiers and Rangers were very different in the training they had been given and in their way of seeing the world, as well as the ways in which they faced problems and carried out orders. Lasgol tried not to regard Rangers as superior to soldiers, but in many respects they were. Perhaps the exceptions were hand-to-hand combat and assaults on buildings and walls, where the Norghanian soldiers had no rival. Lasgol acknowledged these virtues, but not many more. When it came to thinking for themselves, looking for solutions to complex problems, survival in mountains and forests, they were hopeless. All the same, he was glad to have three thousand Norghanian soldiers with him, strong and trained to kill. He had an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was going to need them all.
“Much better to surround yourself with Rangers,” he commented under his breath.
“That’s for sure,” Enker said with a broad smile.
The first days of the march were quiet. Lasgol, Enker and Misten took turns, so that two of them were always half a league ahead and exploring to make sure they met with no trouble. It was unlikely now that the war was over, but a Ranger who did not look ahead was a dead Ranger. So said the Path. The troops advanced slowly, even choosing broad roads in good condition, compared with those the Rangers were used to, but they would have to adapt. Infantry soldiers were hard as rock and strong as an ox, but quick, in any sense of the word, they were not. They went on steadily, all at the same military pace which ensured they could cover long distances – but slowly.
At night they camped on the road itself, lit campfires and put up wide red-and-white tents. They set up watch posts and rested. Sven and his Royal Guards did so alone in a group around a fire beside an enormous, beautifully-made tent, worthy of a wealthy nobleman. Gatik and the Royal Rangers made up another group with Ranger tents, which were small but very well-made. The Magi formed a third group around a fire, with a round, snow-white tent on whose surface Lasgol could make out silver runes. He supposed they would protect against other types of magic, though he had no idea which. Nobody went near the Magi’s fire, since everybody respected and feared them – the latter more than the former. There were few things a Norghanian soldier feared more than magic. The soldiers formed a hundred separate groups. Lasgol and his two comrades rested together a little ahead and observed this curious night-time military formation.
For a couple of weeks, they went on without complications. The weather was good, and the soldiers were holding up well. At first Ona was wary of Enker and Misten, which both they and Lasgol knew was normal in a great cat. The two Rangers treated her as if she were the fourth member of the team they had formed with Lasgol, and gradually, as the days went by, they earned the trust of both Ona and Lasgol. As they were experienced Ranger Specialists, both Lasgol and Ona felt very comfortable with them. They were excellent company, and he knew that when the moment of truth came, he could trust both of them.
That moment was drawing closer.
After making out the majestic Eternal Mountains in the distance which divided the northern part of the kingdom, they reached the pass of the White Dragon’s Gorge.
At the entrance to the pass, they found traces of death.
Chapter 13
Lasgol crouched down to examine the tracks at the entrance to the pass, while Trotter waited a few paces behind him. He found a dozen footprints of Wild Ones of the Ice, which were unmistakable. The two Norghanian soldiers impaled on either wall of the pass left no doubt about who had done it. Each had been impaled through the torso with a war axe whose ice-blue tip was embedded in the rock. It was a brutal sight.
Lasgol sighed. A sad ending for these two poor wretches.
Ona was sniffing a little further into the pass. She growled.
Yeah, I’m sorry too, Lasgol transmitted to her. She could smell them. They were very close, probably
