Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (18 page)

A simple plan was laid out in the few short hours before dawn. Weapons were stashed in various places. Stone and Lorik tried to convince Vera to go down to the escape passage. Lorik couldn’t be sure, but he thought the mutated soldiers of the witch’s army were too big to get into the tight space. Vanz was busy moving food down into the small passage. If worst came to worst, they could take refuge in the passage or at least make a final stand where the enemy could only come at them one at a time.

Vera wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted on taking a place beside Stone on the castle walls. Lorik finally convinced her to serve as lookout on the high watchtower. Lorik and Stone joined her as dawn finally cast its light over the city and across the rolling hills. What they saw as the sky began to lighten was more frightening than any nightmare in the darkness. The city was crawling with mutated fighters, and thousands more were streaming around the castle.

“Oh,” was all Vera managed to say.

The witch’s army looked like a swarm of bees crawling over a beehive. They had breached the city walls by physically raising the portcullis and battering down the massive wooden doors. They thronged through the streets, moving closer and closer to the castle.

“At least there aren’t any Leffers,” Stone said grimly.

“They must have moved past the city,” Lorik said, looking north to where the enemy army was surging toward the horizon.

“What are we going to do?” Vera said.

“We’re going to fight,” Lorik said. “We’ll make them pay for every inch they take toward this castle. You keep an eye on the walls, but stay focused on the gate. They’ll tear it down eventually. When you see them starting to break through, sound the alarm, then get downstairs as fast as you can.”

“I want to help,” Vera insisted.

“You will be helping,” Lorik said. “There will be plenty to do. Get behind the first choke point and make sure the volunteers who make it there fight hard.”

“Where will you be?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“We’ll be there, unless something happens. But no matter what, you have to stay calm. You can’t worry about us. Not until this is all over. Keep fighting and falling back. You understand?”

Vera nodded and Lorik turned to leave. Stone kissed Vera passionately.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“And I love you,” Vera said. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

“I promise,” he said. Then he hurried after Lorik.

“To the walls!” Lorik bellowed to the volunteers. “They’re almost here. Take your positions. When you hear the horn from above, fall back to the first choke point.”

Lorik felt his strength waning. He’d snatched a couple hours of sleep, which should have been plenty to restore his stamina, but his ankle was swollen and aching. His chest was black from where the Leffer had kicked him and it hurt to move his arms. He felt dizzy at times, his eyes burned, and his arms felt weak. One of his swords had been blunted from being thrust into the frozen ground as he leaned on it during his trek back to Ort City, but Stone had used a whet stone to sharpen it again. Still, Lorik felt tired and unprepared to fight, even though he knew he had no choice.

Lorik hobbled out the front doors of the castle and down the broad steps to the open courtyard. Stone walked beside his friend, neither speaking. They climbed the stairs that rose up to the castle walls on either side of the heavy, wooden gate, taking the most vulnerable positions.

The city was covered in a blanket of white snow and Lorik thought it only fitting that the filth and destruction around the city was now hidden. It was almost as if Ort City had been transformed into a place of innocence and purity.

“It’s a good day to die,” Lorik said.

The sky was clearing and the sun was reflecting off the white snow. The braziers along the walls had been filled with glowing coals. Lorik and Stone stood near the small source of heat that was positioned directly over the castle gate as they waited for the mutated fighters to arrive.

“They’re quiet, aren’t they?” Stone said. “I’ve never heard such a large group of people be so quiet before.”

“They aren’t people,” Lorik said. “Not anymore.”

They could see the witch’s minions moving slowly through the wide streets toward the castle. They spread out, moving through the ruined buildings searching for anyone who might be hiding there.

“They’re thorough,” Stone said.

“And slow,” Lorik said. “I hope they don’t move faster when they’re fighting.”

“You’ve looked better,” Stone said. “You sure you should be up here? You could direct the fighting from the castle.”

“No,” was all Lorik said.

His friend nodded and they waited in silence after that. Lorik tried to fill his lungs, but breathing deeply only made him cough. He wanted to lean against the parapet, but he didn’t want to seem weak in front of Stone and the others. He didn’t expect to live through the day, and as he waited for the mutated fighters to come within range of their weapons, he thought about Queen Issalyn. He should have written her and sent one of the volunteers back with the message. He felt bad having given her false hope. Under different circumstances, he would have loved her wholeheartedly, but it seemed as if the world they knew was coming to an end. As Lorik looked around the city, he couldn’t imagine how even the entire army from Baskla could stop the massive swarm of fighters.

The enemy soon closed the distance to the castle, plodding toward the thick walls with no apparent regard for the armed men on the walls. Lorik and Stone both selected pikes and began stabbing down at the mutated fighters. They were even more vile up close; their faces were swollen, their features distorted. They looked strong physically, but they gave no indication that their minds were intact. They had a vacant look in their oversized eyes, and didn’t even try to fend off the heavy axe blades that dropped onto their exposed heads and necks from above.

“They aren’t even defending themselves!” Stone shouted.

“They don’t have to,” Lorik said. “There’s so many, they’ll overrun us eventually.”

They stabbed down, again and again, killing the enemy fighters, who dropped to the snowy ground which was pink from the bloody spray. The ground near the castle gates was soon covered with bodies and slick with crimson mud. The mutated fighters near the gate raised their weapons to beat against the iron banded doors. Lorik and Stone fought hard, but looked more like farmers hoeing down weeds. The fighters ignored the danger from above and trod carelessly over the bodies of their fallen comrades. They carried thick, iron weapons that were little more than long strips of metal that had been sharpened on one side. Lorik thought the weapons must have been heavy, but the mutated fighters didn’t seem to notice the weight or care. Still, Lorik didn’t think the weapons would be very effective against the gates, which were reinforced with steel bands. The real danger lay in the pressure the enemy soldiers put on the crossbeam. They were big, strong creatures and there were so many of them, all pushing forward. The locking beams would break under the strain eventually.

Lorik and Stone concentrated their fight over the gates, but the enemy fighters around the walls began dropping to their hands and knees, one on top of the next. They were creating a living ramp to scale the walls. Lorik and Stone were forced to hack their way down the walls toward the next volunteer to keep the enemy fighters from breaching the castle. When the mutated fighters were killed, their bodies were used to help others climb. Occasionally the pikes would get wedged in bone and threatened to pull the volunteers over the wall. They had to drop the weapon and pick up another. Luckily, Stone had filled the barrels at the fighting positions with spears and pikes.

The first hour passed and the volunteers had slain over a thousand enemy fighters without a single casualty, but the number of enemy troops was limitless. The city was filled with fighters and thousands more were streaming past. Lorik had to take a moment to catch his breath. Bending over the parapet and hacking at the mutated fighters didn’t put stress on his leg, but his chest and back ached with the strain. He was just about to go back to his gristly business when he heard the thick locking beam crack.

The gate had three beams, one was a massive, square cut beam of oak. The other two were support beams that were thinner and lighter. The support beams lent added strength to central beam, but once the thick timber broke, the smaller beams would be quick to follow. Lorik knew it was only a matter of time before the evil army broke through the gate and stormed the castle. He renewed his efforts over the gate.

“Pace yourself!” Stone shouted to Lorik.

The big warrior was too winded to respond. He knew his friend was just looking out for him, but Lorik also knew that once the gate was broken down, it was only a matter of time before the mutated fighters backed the group of volunteers into a corner. Their superior numbers would eventually allow them to overwhelm Lorik and the people he cared most about.

His breathing was more of a rasping wheeze as he fought on. He knew he needed to conserve his strength if he was going to keep fighting, but he had already decided that holding the gate would be his final effort in the battle. Once the gate broke, he would cover the retreat of his men and if he died, so be it, he was just too tired to keep fighting.

A group of the mutated fighters managed to scale the wall on Lorik’s side of the gate and he was forced to confront them. He dropped his pike and drew his swords. He hurried to where the witch’s troops were staggering to their feet. The wall around the castle was wide enough that a horse could traverse it without fear of falling, but the mutated fighters made the space seem small. They could only come at Lorik one at a time.

“Here!” Lorik shouted, his voice a gravely bark. “Fight me!”

Two of the three fighters ambled toward him, the third turned and shuffled the opposite direction. Lorik rushed to meet them. The nearest fighter raised his crude weapon, but Lorik batted it aside with the sword in his left hand and then slashed through his opponent’s abdomen with the sword in his right. The man should have dropped, screaming in pain as his entrails fell in a steaming pile on the wall’s walkway. Instead he just looked down stupidly, as his life’s blood poured out of the wound.

The mutated fighter behind the first didn’t wait for his comrade to move aside, instead he rammed his makeshift sword straight through the first man. The thick blade punched through the wretched man’s back and shot out of the opening in his stomach. Lorik had to sway backward to avoid the deadly weapon. He slipped on the snow covered stone walkway and fell onto his back, pain shooting through his exhausted body from the jarring fall.

The mutated fighter shoved his dead comrade to the side, letting gravity pull the lifeless body off his long, rusty blade. Lorik rolled to his side and was scrambling in the blood slicked snow when a spear whistled past. The spear buried itself into the second fighter’s chest. Lorik stood looking on as the mutated fighter toppled off the wall and into the courtyard below. He turned and saw Stone snatching up another pike from the barrel of weapons and resuming the fight without so much as a nod in his friend’s direction.

Lorik pulled a spear from the barrel to hurl at the fighter trudging toward the next man on the wall, but his chest was so sore that he couldn’t throw the weapon with any accuracy or power. The spear flew wide and Lorik was shocked to see the volunteer run the witch’s soldier through with a spear of his own. For the first time in his life, Lorik felt helpless. His strength was ebbing away, but he swore to fight until his last breath.

He snatched up another pike and hacked at the fighters scrambling to scale the wall. Bodies fell, knocking the fighters behind them to the ground with bone breaking force. Once Lorik had stemmed the tide of fighters along the wall, he hurried back to the gate. The heavy wooden barrier was bending under the weight of so many fighters pressing against it. The wood creaked and the well-oiled hinges groaned. For the next hour, Lorik fought savagely, trying to hold back the witch’s horde, but eventually the heavy locking beam of the gate broke. When the beam snapped, it cracked as loud as thunder, and made all the volunteers flinch.

Lorik dropped his pike and bent over, putting his hands on his knees and struggling to breathe. A horn sounded from high above the castle, the long deep note echoing off the cobbles below.

“That’s it!” Stone shouted, hurrying to Lorik’s side. “Time to go.”

“Get everyone inside the castle,” Lorik said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Not without you,” Stone insisted.

“I’m coming, just go!”

Stone hesitated, but a second beam snapped and an upper hinge broke free. He waved his arms at the other volunteers, some of which were wounded and limping down from the wall.

“To the castle!” he bellowed, hurrying past Lorik.

It took another long moment before Lorik stood up and moved slowly down the snow covered stairs to the bailey in front of the sagging gates. He made his stand just beyond the reach of the gates, leaving enough room in case they fell inward. He didn’t think he could move out of the way fast enough if they fell inward and he didn’t want to die being trampled to death beneath the massive wooden doors.

A few of the volunteers stopped when they saw Lorik draw his swords. They were torn between taking a stand with him at the gates and sticking with the plan that had been crafted in the wee hours of the morning.

“Get inside,” he hissed, his voice completely gone.

The men moved on up the steps to the castle and Lorik tried to steady his breathing, it was no use. He was reminded of his father who had struggled to breathe as he lay on his deathbed. His father had choked and sputtered, each ragged gasp was a monumental feat. Lorik felt the same way. His lungs seemed to be clogged with thick mucus and the cold air burned with each breath. His chest ached, his shoulders were on fire, his arms felt like they were tied down with heavy stones. He could only put weight on his bad leg for a second before it threatened to give out beneath him.