Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (17 page)

Lorik wanted to scream from the pain in his leg, but he didn’t have time. The Leffer was struggling to rise onto its horse legs and Lorik stabbed the evil creature in the back with his sword, then fell back to avoid the beast’s tail which began to whip around violently as the creature died.

It took all of Lorik’s considerable strength to free his leg from the writhing beast. Every convulsion the Leffer had sent searing pain through Lorik’s sprained ankle and up his leg. He had to put his good foot on the creature’s back and pull his wounded leg free. When he finally got away from the dying Leffer, he was forced to crawl on his hands and knees until he was out of range of the beast’s tail.

He struggled to his feet, his entire body hurting as the bruising in his chest from the Leffer’s kick began to throb. Lorik assessed his enemies quickly. There was one uninjured Leffer and one that Lorik had wounded in the shoulder with his dagger. Lorik’s other sword was on the far side of the dead Leffer and a quick glance showed another group of Leffers approaching, while the rambling army of mutated fighters plodded closer every second.

Lorik had expected the final Leffer to attack quickly but it didn’t. Instead it moved to cut off his escape. The wounded beast moved toward Lorik’s fallen sword. The ground around Lorik was steaming as the fallen Leffers spewed hot, black blood onto the frozen turf. Lorik knew that if he didn’t start moving now, the witch’s horde might overtake him. He needed to get some distance from the army and hope that the other group of Leffers gave up on him. There was no chance of surviving another attack from a larger group of the vile creatures. But before he could flee, he had to get his other sword back. Leaving the powerful weapon behind simply wasn’t an option.

Lorik lumbered toward his fallen sword and the wounded Leffer moved to intercept him. Lorik was afraid the other creature would close in quickly from behind, but a quick glance showed him that the uninjured beast hadn’t moved. Lorik saw the look of utter hate on the injured Leffer’s face. He guessed his was just as savage and he raised his remaining weapon.

“Get out of my way!” he bellowed.

The creature hissed in reply, but Lorik wasn’t listening. He flung his good sword at the creature in an overhead throw, putting all his strength into the attack. The sword arced across the open space, flipping through the air. The Leffer raised a hand to ward off the sword, but its hand was severed and the sword lodged in the human chest. The creature fell forward, its body weight driving the sword deeper into the beast’s chest cavity and then out of its human back. The tail thrashed, causing the Leffer to topple onto its side. Lorik moved forward as quickly as he could, glancing back over his shoulder once more to insure the last Leffer wasn’t attacking. The horrible beast stood its ground, and Lorik reached his fallen sword. He snatched it off the ground and then turned to the beast where his second sword was lodged. The tail was flailing, just as the other dead beasts tails had done. Lorik hobbled forward, favoring his uninjured ankle, but managing to stay balanced. One massive strike with his sword severed the creature’s tail, so that the deadly, venom filled stinger was flung harmlessly away. The tail continued to flop but it was no longer a danger.

Lorik stepped up to the Leffer and grabbed hold of his sword. He tugged on the handle, which was covered in hot, black blood. His massive strength pulled the sword free, but the action caused the Leffer’s arms to reach out for him. Lorik wasn’t sure if it was a reflex or if the creature wasn’t quite dead. Either way, Lorik staggered back and the Leffer’s talon fingers cut across his shoulders. He had four deep lacerations on each thickly muscled upper arm. The cuts burned and Lorik’s blood seeped out and ran freely down his arms, but he had no time to worry about his wounds.

The enemy was getting closer and closer, and Lorik knew he had to flee now or die fighting alone. He fastened the two swords together, the second sword’s shorter handle locking into the butt of the first’s. He hated to abuse the weapon, but he needed to put his weight on something, so he used it like a walking stick. The sword tip dug into the frozen ground, but just even just the slightest easement of the weight on his sprained ankle was a huge relief.

Lorik hobbled forward, moving back up the rise where he’d begun his fight. He wasn’t moving directly toward the last Leffer, but the creature moved to intercept him. It didn’t engage, but kept its distance, trying to make Lorik wait. He understood the tactic. Lorik had proven himself a deadly enemy, but the witch’s army of mutated fighters and flying Leffers had the advantage in numbers. All the final creature had to do was hold him where he was until the other Leffers arrived.

Lorik kept moving forward. The Leffer hissed and roared at him, but kept moving backward. It was as awkward as any horse walking backward. It was obvious that the creature wasn’t built for moving in any direction but forward. Lorik knew that if he hesitated, if he waited for an opening from the Leffer, that the others would catch up to him, so he kept moving forward. The Leffer’s tail began to strike out at him, whipping forward and then back, but never actually coming close enough to reach Lorik. He wished he had another weapon to throw at the beast, but his twin swords were the only weapons he still possessed.

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Lorik needed to increase his pace. He hurt badly, every breath sent pain up through his sternum and across his ribs. Every step sent pain shooting through his injured leg, and his shoulders throbbed with pain from the cuts on his arms. The freezing winter air seared his lungs, burning his throat and nasal passages until they were raw from the cold, but still Lorik moved forward. He knew that eventually the last remaining Leffer that blocked his escape would attack and once again it didn’t need to kill him or poison him with its awful scorpion tail, it only needed to slow him down. Even if the Leffer died in the attack, if Lorik wasn’t able to dispatch the creature quickly he would be held up too long to make good his escape.

Another glance showed that he was keeping pace with the approaching Leffers, but Lorik had no idea how long he could keep moving with his injured ankle. He would need to rest at some point and if the beasts didn’t give up the chase, they would eventually catch him. There was nothing between himself and Ort City except rolling hills and stunted grass. He was close enough to the capital that there were no villages and very few farms. Not that hiding was an option, but if he could find a horse he could make good his escape.

Finally, after several more minutes of feinting and roaring at Lorik, the last Leffer attacked. It reared, the massive hooves pawing the air and when the creature dropped back down the tail whipped forward. Lorik raised his sword at the last instant. The bulbous tail struck the blade and at the same time a ripple of something warm shot through Lorik. The Leffer was knocked backward by the powerful force. Lorik didn’t stop to stare in wonder, although he was completely shocked. Once again magic had been deployed, although Lorik had no idea how or even what exactly had happened. The Leffer’s tail was blackened, as if it had been thrust into a blacksmith’s forge, the fat stinger was gone and thick black blood sizzled down the hard sections of the tail’s exoskeleton. The Leffer’s massive body had been tossed backward, as if it were a pesky mosquito. It landed hard on its back legs which snapped like dry twigs, and the beast’s roars turned to screams of pain. It flopped onto its back, front legs and arms stiff with pain, then it collapsed and lay still.

Lorik didn’t try to understand, he just kept moving. A glance back over his shoulder showed that the approaching Leffers were undeterred. Lorik ground his teeth together, ignoring the pain, and kept hobbling forward. It was the only thing left for him to do.

An hour had passed and Lorik was finally starting to slow down. His body, enhanced by the magic of the Drery Dru, was quickly losing energy. Lorik knew that if he slowed down, the small group of Leffers pursing him would finally catch up. But every step was agony. Sweat poured from his brow and his good leg shook from exertion as he hobbled down the wide northern road toward Ort City.

It had taken him three hours to run from the city to where the approaching army was slowly marching north. He guessed, at his current rate of speed, that it would take him twice as long to return. Despite his physical exertion, the cold weather was starting to take its toll. His chest ached from where the Leffer had kicked him. In fact, he was so sore from the savage blow that even leaning on his sword was painful. Yet, he needed the support of his sword to keep from putting too much weight on his injured ankle. Lorik knew it was a miracle that he hadn’t been killed by the kick; his body was not only bigger and stronger than a normal man’s, it was apparently tougher too.

The cuts on his upper arms and shoulders were also slowing him down. The blood flow had been alarming at first, but Lorik tore his shirt off and bandaged his wounds the best he could. The cuts hurt, it was like being touched with a branding iron with every jarring step he took. Still he hobbled on and on. All it took was a glance back at the group of Leffers who were tirelessly pursuing him to keep the big man in motion.

After the second hour, all Lorik could think about was lying down. He wanted to stop running, fall to the ground and die. He didn’t care that the ground was frozen hard beneath him and there was no comfort to be found there. He didn’t care if the Leffers tore him to pieces, either, but he knew that wasn’t what they would do. He knew that they would stab him with their scorpion tails and then carry him back to their evil witch queen, who would then cast some horrid spell over him, mutating him into a wretched creature forced to do her bidding. That fact alone kept him moving when all he wanted was to lie down and die.

Not long after Lorik forced himself to keep moving, dark clouds rolled in on an icy, northern wind. Lorik paid them no attention, not even when the rain fell in cold drops that soaked his clothes, nor when the rain started to freeze so that it was like being pelted with tiny stones as he hurried on toward Ort City. Then, finally the rain turned to snow. Lorik knew it was a lucky break. The snow fell hard, making his task of hobbling up the road even more difficult, but eventually the falling snow cut his visibility to the point that the Leffers pursing Lorik could no long be seen. Lorik didn’t know if the dreaded creatures could see better than him in the harsh weather, but he took his chances and turned off the road.

He was wheezing, his lungs felt sluggish in his bruised chest. It was as if fluid was building up inside them. He knew that if the Leffers caught him, he wouldn’t be able to fend them off, but he also knew he couldn’t continue at the same frantic pace. He slowed down, moving resolutely through the storm. Night fell early, the sun failing to pierce the thick veil of clouds and snow. The world was lost in a cold, white, gloom. Lorik looked back over his shoulders occasionally, but he couldn’t see his pursuers. The blowing wind and Lorik’s own labored breathing were the only sounds, even the incessant buzzing of the Leffer’s wings eventually faded away.

Lorik kept moving, even though every part of his body ached. Both feet were wet, his boots sodden from trudging through the snow, and so cold they stung painfully with each step. Death seemed to be hitting Lorik from every conceivable angle, but he forced himself to keep moving. As night fell it grew even colder. Lorik was shivering uncontrollably, and it was becoming hard to hold onto his sword.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of dark misery, Lorik saw light ahead. The snow was still falling, but not as thick and the light of the castle flickered in the distance. Lorik felt a surge of hope. He could make it back to the people who were waiting on him. He could survive that long, he knew he could. But they needed to flee immediately. They needed to ready the horses and flee north. The witch’s massive army would surround the entire city and they could tear it apart brick by brick if they wanted to.

Lorik looked desperately for the small farmhouse that was outside the city. He knew it was over two miles away from the looming the capital, but if he could make it, he could send for the others. It was his best hope.

It took nearly an hour of steady trudging through the ankle deep snow, past the shadowy form of the city, before Lorik finally caught sight of the little farmhouse. Light flickered from the small windows where the volunteers who looked after the horses were huddling inside the ruined house for warmth. Lorik managed to speed up his pace and soon he stumbled inside.

“What the devil?” Vyrnon shouted.

“Retreat!” Lorik croaked.

There were two men inside the farmhouse. The roof had been partially smashed in, but the debris had been cleared away and a fire was burning brightly in the stone hearth. The men had two chairs set near the fire and Lorik stumbled to one of them.

“You’re injured, my lord,” Vyrnon said.

“There’s no time,” Lorik said, his voice so ragged it was hard to understand him.

“He needs wine,” the horse master said.

The other volunteer, a small man with a fuzzy beard that revealed his young age, quickly poured a small cup of wine. Vyrnon helped Lorik drink. The wine tasted sharp to Lorik, but the warmth spread through his chest and out toward his frozen hands and feet.

“We need to get these wet clothes off of him,” Vyrnon said.

“There’s no time,” Lorik demanded. “The witch’s army is almost here. We must retreat. Go and fetch the others. They must come at once.”

“Alright,” Vyrnon said, a tremor of fear in his voice. “You heard him, lad. Run and fetch the others. Be quick about it.”

The younger volunteer swung open the pantry doors, revealing the dark tunnel that ran underground into the depths of the castle. He snatched a burning stick from the fire and used it as a torch.

Lorik drank the rest of the wine, which made him feel a little better. He was still finding it hard to breath, and his body shook violently from the cold.

“It’ll take him a while to get to the castle,” Vyrnon said. “At least pull off your boots and warm your feet before you get frostbite. I’ve seen men lose their toes from frostbite. It isn’t pretty.”

Vyrnon tugged off Lorik’s wet boots and set them near the fire. Lorik stretched his feet out by the fire and let the heat penetrate his frozen feet. It was the best feeling Lorik could remember. He wanted to stay in the chair by the fire and never move, but he knew that was impossible. Still, he found his eyelids drooping.

“You sleep,” Vyrnon said. “I’ll stand watch.”

It was impossible to see anything in the dark, snowy night, Lorik knew, but he appreciated the effort. Lorik dozed by the fire, his body slowly warming up. He knew he needed to look after his swords, which were propped against his shoulder, but he was too tired. He doubted that he could even ride. He grimly determined that he would see the others off, then take refuge inside the castle. He didn’t know if he would live or die, but he knew he couldn’t risk slowing the others down.

Half an hour passed and there was no word from the castle. Then, like a nightmare, Lorik heard the buzzing of the Leffer wings. He sat up straight in his chair, knowing full well that it was too late.

“What the hell is that?” Vyrnon asked, straining to see into the darkness.

“Leffers,” Lorik said. “We’re too late.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“We have to go now.”

“You mean leave the others?”

“No, there’s no time. We have to return to the castle.”

“But you said—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his argument. Lorik had stooped over and grabbed his boots just as a loud noise sounded from above. What little of the roof remained intact started to cave in.

“Into the tunnel!” Lorik shouted.

Both men dashed inside and down into the darkness as the Leffers, drawn by the light of the fire, smashed into the farmhouse. Their wings buzzed and the creatures growled like rabid dogs. Lorik knew that the huge creatures couldn’t squeeze into the tunnel, but he still wanted to get away from them. He leaned against one wall and pulled his boots on. His sprained ankle was swollen and sore, but he pulled his wet boot on despite the pain.

They couldn’t see anything in the darkness of the tunnel, having instinctively pulled back away from the entrance. Lorik sheathed his swords and leaned against the narrow wall for support.

“That was close,” Vyrnon said, his voice shaking.

“We have to get back to the castle,” Lorik said.

“But we can’t see.”

“It’s just a tunnel, there’s nothing to see.”

Lorik led the way. They passed through the standing water and the dripping ceiling. The tunnel was cold, but not freezing, and they made good time despite Lorik’s injury. When the water stopped dripping Lorik slowed his pace. He knew the pit was somewhere ahead and he didn’t want to stumble into it. Fortunately they saw light as someone entered the tunnel from the castle side before they reached the trap at the bottom of the stairs.

“Lorik,” Stone shouted. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a sprained ankle,” Lorik said. “I stepped in a damn rodent hole and twisted it.”

“Why didn’t you wait in the farmhouse?”

“It’s too late,” Lorik said. “The Leffer’s attacked. The castle is our only refuge now.”

“You mean we’re cut off?” one of the volunteers behind Stone asked.

“Yes,” Lorik said. “Our only hope now is to hold the castle. Let’s get to a fire and I’ll tell you everything.”

They hurried back up into the castle. There were still fires burning in various hearths. The volunteers had dropped everything, and hurried to the escape tunnel once the retreat had been called. Most of them had been roused from their beds. There was only a couple hours of night left, and Lorik dreaded what they would find in the morning.

The entire group of volunteers, including Vera and Vanz, gathered around Lorik while he told them what he’d seen. They all took a moment to realize that there was no real hope of survival. An army that vast would overrun the castle and kill them all.

“So there’s no hope then,” one of the younger men said, fear all too plain in his voice.

“There is always hope,” Vera assured them.

“We have a strong defensive position,” Stone said. “If we make it too costly for the bastards to attack us, we can survive.”

The volunteers all looked to Lorik, who had stripped out of his wet clothes and was wrapped in a blanket standing near the fire. He looked like an ancient god, angry and defiant. He waited a moment before he spoke.

“I won’t lie,” he said. “We’re facing near impossible odds. I don’t know how the army will fight. I don’t know anything about them other than they are slow and looked to be very strong. We’ll have to fight off the Leffers, but we’ve done that before. There’s a lot of them, but not so many we can’t prevail. Then we hold the castle no matter what. We’ll designate fall back positions, make use of the narrow corridors. We don’t stop fighting ever,” he told them, his ragged voice rising. “These creatures we face were once farmers and shopkeepers, they aren’t warriors. They are under the control of a dark power, but we fight for more than just our lives. In the north, the people we love will have to face every last one of these monsters that we don’t kill. So we’ll kill as many as we can. If you embrace that mission and you fight for the people you love, you’ll find a strength you never knew you had. You’ll find hope in this dark night. It may seem overwhelming now. You may see things that you wish you could un-see, but as long as you keep fighting, there is hope.”

“I’ll fight,” Stone said.

“And I,” said another volunteer.

Soon they were all chanting and raising their weapons in the air. Lorik looked at the small group of volunteers. They weren’t trained soldiers, but they had heart. He felt pride welling up inside him as he watched their enthusiasm grow. Even Vanz seemed prepared to take up a weapon and make a stand. They believed Lorik’s promise and had taken hold of the hope that flickered like a candle in a storm. Lorik could see the hope in all their eyes, except for one. Vera alone had the stern look of reality on her face. Her eyes were cold and Lorik could see the despair deep inside them. She had one hand on her stomach, in the other she held a short sword. She was no warrior, but she would have to fight before it was over, and she knew it. Lorik had to look away, as tears welled up in his eyes. Their hope was an illusion, a necessary fantasy to give them the strength to do what must be done, but Lorik knew the truth. They would all die, the city would be overrun, and there was nothing to stop the witch’s army from destroying everyone and everything they loved.