Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (22 page)

Suddenly he realized that it was beckoning to him and he raced down the curving stone staircase. He knew without a doubt that he had to leave the city. He had to ride north as fast as he could. His ankle flared with pain, and he had to use the wall to steady himself as he hobbled down the stairs as fast as he could. He felt a sense of urgency, but also a sense of relief, as if he’d finally been allowed to follow his heart’s greatest desire.

“Stone!” Lorik bellowed. “Vera!”

He was almost to the great feasting hall when his two closest friends appeared, looking nervous.

“What is it?” Vera asked, the tension in her voice made her sound much older than she was.

“I’ve got to leave,” Lorik said. “I’m needed in the north.”

“What?” Stone asked.

“I have to leave tonight. The mist has returned.”

“Lorik,” Vera said slowly. “There’s no mist here.”

“No, not here, it’s in the north. I saw it from the watchtower.”

“You can’t be serious,” Stone said.

“Of course I’m serious,” Lorik almost shouted. “What is the state of our horses? Vyrnon!”

“The horses are fine,” Vera said. “Vyrnon and Gee retrieved them. They’re eating now.”

“I’ve no time to waste,” Lorik said. “I need rations.”

“It will take time to get everyone ready,” Vera said testily. “You need to slow down.”

“No, I don’t need everyone,” Lorik said. “In fact, you should all stay. Get the castle in order, it will be needed soon. Take care of the wounded. I’ll go alone.”

“No,” Stone said. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You called for me, my lord?” Vyrnon asked as he came into the room, still carrying a mug of ale.

“I need horses,” Lorik said. “I have to ride north tonight.”

“I’ll see that they’re ready.”

“Just enough for me,” Lorik said.

“No!” Stone said. “Vera and I are going with him. The rest of you are staying. We need two horses each, ready to ride.”

“And a packhorse for supplies,” Vera said. “I’ll get the food and gather our belongings.”

“Hurry,” Lorik said, “we need to leave as soon as possible.”

Vera and Vyrnon hurried away.

“Now,” Stone said, looking his friend in the eye. “Tell me you aren’t going mad.”

“I’m not,” Lorik said. “You know I felt like I was needed in the north even before we left camp.”

Stone nodded.

“That feeling is growing stronger. I have to go. The mist is calling me north.”

“Okay,” Stone said skeptically. “We’ll go. Let’s make sure the men understand what we’re doing and who’s in charge while we’re gone.”

Stone made sure the volunteers understood what was expected of them. They were to stay behind, move the bodies of the dead out of the castle, and repair the gates. It took less than ten minutes before Vera had their belongings in three packs. Vanz brought out food, mostly salted pork, but vegetables and a sack full of the corn cakes he said would last for weeks.

When the three of them ventured outside, they found Vyrnon with the horses. There were eight mounts, and one horse ready for their supplies. Lorik looked surprised.

“You might need a man who knows horses,” he said. “Especially if you’re planning to move swiftly.”

“Alright,” Lorik said. “Come along then. Do we have enough rations for a fourth man?”

“Aye, my lord,” said Vanz. “There’s plenty for the four of you.”

“Good, then we’re off.”

They rode slowly through the city and found their way to the northern gate. They had to dismount and lead their horses through the small exit and out into the night. Stone was beginning to genuinely worry about his friend until Vera nudged his arm.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing at the soft glow in the distance.

“I don’t know,” he said.

The glow looked like light that was hidden, yet shinning up into the night sky, the way a city in the distance looks at night. They rode more swiftly once they were clear of the city. The road north was broad and well maintained. Ian had said that the stragglers from the witch’s army were avoiding the road and any sign of civilization, so Lorik felt safe enough riding through the night. They had no torches or lanterns, but the stars and moon gave enough light that they could see the road and the hills around them. Stone knew it wouldn’t be hard to hide along the road and not be seen until the last minute, or to rise up in ambush, but he kept his weapons close and tried not to worry about it. They could be rushing headlong into danger, but if so, then he would face it when the time came.

They were all armed, even Vera carried a short, delicate looking sword she had picked up somewhere in the castle. The curved blade was sheathed in an elaborate looking leather scabbard and tucked into a silk sash that she’d tied around her waist. Vyrnon carried a one sided battle axe, and had a large round shield hanging on his back. Lorik had the twin swords of Acromin, and Stone had two short, double edged swords, along with his last remaining knife with the brass knuckle guard.

Slowly the light ahead took shape. Stone’s nervousness changed once he saw the mist. He was glad that Lorik hadn’t lost his mind, but the mist worried him almost as much. The mist from the Wilderlands had always seemed ghostly to Stone. He had never been able to tell that it was moving in any one direction or beckoning in any fashion. It was unnatural and made him feel ill at ease.

“Well, he isn’t insane,” Vera said, trying to be funny but failing.

Stone guessed she didn’t like the mist any more than he did.

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Stone said. “I guess we should have known better than to doubt him, but what exactly is drawing him northward, that’s what I want to know.”

“Me too,” Vera said quietly.

Lorik was leading their small party, followed by Stone and Vera who rode side by side. Vyrnon led the rest of the horses, including their packhorse, and was a short way behind the others.

“I can’t imagine what evil would make Lorik feel the need to go north so strongly,” she continued.

“Me either, and to be honest I don’t want to,” Stone agreed. “It’s like we run from one catastrophe to the next.”

“Let’s just hope we survive this one,” Vera said. “I’ve got a bad feeling we’re up against something we’ve never dealt with before.”

Stone patted her shoulder, trying to reassure her, but failing. He knew they were in for a long, hard trek just to face something that could kill them all. It wasn’t a comforting prospect, but he knew they were doing the right thing. As long as they stayed together, they at least had a chance.

They rode through the night without incident. The next morning, they were tired and hungry. Lorik held up his hand for them to stop, then he stood in his saddle. He could see someone lying in the grass not far away.

“Let’s rest the horses and get something to eat,” he told them. “Then we’ll push on.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Vera said. “I haven’t hurt this bad since my father whipped me as a child.”

“My backside could use a break too,” Stone said.

Lorik dismounted and let his horse graze while he walked away from the road. As he approached the figure on the ground, he drew his sword. His ankle was better after resting as they rode through the night, but he was still slow, the pain reminding him that he still had a lot of healing to do. He approached the figure on the ground cautiously. He could see the chest rising and falling. It was one of the mutated fighters, the unnaturally long arms and legs spread out along the ground. It was a cold morning, but there was no frost and no sign of snow. Still, the figure on the ground was covered in dew.

“Hey!” Lorik said loudly as he drew near.

The thin, blue eyelids that barely covered the large eyeballs fluttered open in shock. The mutated creature scrambled away.

“Wait!” Lorik said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The fighter whimpered.

“Are you okay?” Lorik asked.

The wretched creature shook her head.

“I’m Lorik,” he said. “You were one of the witch’s army. What happened?”

The mutated fighter shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

“What do you remember?”

“I woke up like this,” she said, her voice muffled but understandable. “There were a lot of people like me and they started killing each other. I ran.”

“Okay,” Lorik said. “Did you see any that didn’t run?”

She shook her head again.

“Good,” Lorik said. “Are you hungry?”

The mutated woman looked suspicious but nodded just the same.

“We’ll leave some food by the road,” Lorik said. “Good luck.”

“What happened to me?” she asked.

“A witch changed you and thousands more like you,” Lorik said. “She sent you to kill the rest of us, but she failed. Now you’re free. Go back to where you came from. Start over.”

She touched her face and shuddered.

“Do I look like the others?” she asked.

Lorik nodded slowly, and tears fell from the mutated woman’s enormous eyes.

“Be careful,” he warned her.

“Please,” she cried. “Don’t leave me.”

“Ort City is about a full day’s walk to the south,” Lorik said. “Just follow the road. There are others of you there. Maybe you can move on together.”

The mutated woman nodded and Lorik returned to his friends. Vera handed him a strip of meat and a corn cake. They walked while they ate, leading their horses along the road, after Lorik had set a dozen of the little cakes on the ground.

“You made a friend?” Vera asked.

“One of the witch’s army,” Lorik said. “She’s just a scared girl really. But she said the army all woke up at the same time, and then turned on each other.”

“Can’t blame them for that,” Stone said. “If you suddenly woke up surrounded by people who looked like that, it would frighten anyone.”

“I expect we’ll find where it happened sometime soon.”

They saw the carrion birds first, the sky was filled with them. The black birds circled and wheeled like a vile black cloud. Then they began to see the bodies. As far as they could see there were dead members of the witch’s wretched army. The horses grew skittish and had to be forced to keep moving. The road was almost impassible. More than once the horses stepped on the bodies of the dead creatures. Even standing in his stirrups, Lorik could see the bodies from horizon to horizon.

It was almost nightfall before the bodies stopped. Lorik couldn’t imagine how many had died, killing one another, fighting savagely in fits of rage and fear. Lorik knew that the others were exhausted, but he pushed on until an hour after nightfall before stopping to make camp. He wanted to be well away from the dead before finding a place to rest.

Stone, Vera, and Vyrnon climbed down out of their saddles and rolled up in their cloaks, falling asleep almost immediately. Lorik saw that the horses were rubbed down, and hobbled for the night. There wasn’t much in the way of firewood, but he gathered what he could and built a small fire near his friends, hoping it would keep them warm. He was tired too, but he knew he could have continued on. If his ankle hadn’t been in such bad shape, he could have run on foot longer and faster than the horses could carry them. Still, it was good to have his friends around. He ate a small supper and then slept for a few hours. He woke well before dawn, the mist swirling around him. The need to keep moving north was like a nagging ache. He forced himself to lay still, and wait. He wanted to get moving, but his friends weren’t ready; neither were their horses for that matter. He would have paced to pass the time, but he knew it was smart to stay off his ankle.

He’d been lying still, watching the stars moving slowly across the sky, when he heard the quiet shuffling. His breath caught in his throat and his muscles tensed, ready to spring into action. He heard the shuffling again, closer this time and he was able to identify exactly where the noise was coming from. He had taken his weapons off to sleep, but they were close to hand. The fire had died long ago, without more firewood to keep it going. The moon had set, but the stars were still bright and he opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the poor lighting.

The shuffling stopped and he heard strange whispering. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He would have to move quickly and quietly to protect his friends. He only hoped his ankle would hold up. He had two options, he could wait until whoever was about to attack made their move, or he could get up and bring the fight to them. He still wasn’t sure how fast he could move on his injured ankle, so he decided getting up before he had to was better than trying to rise quickly and finding out how his ankle was going to hold up in the heat of battle.

He rolled over and got to his knees, trying to look tired and oblivious to the threat that was just a few yards away. He knew the little fire he had built had probably attracted the brigands and had done little to warm his friends, but he didn’t chastise himself. He would have to be more careful in the future, but for now, he focused on the threat at hand.

He stretched his arms wide and yawned. Then he used his walking stick to steady himself as he got up. He didn’t need the stick to get to his feet, and putting a little weight on his injured ankle gave him hope that the soreness was easing up. He strapped the sword belt to his back and sheathed his weapons. Then he turned toward the fire, with his back to whoever was sneaking up on him, and stirred the ashes. There were still a few glowing embers but he had no more to wood to build the fire back up. He wouldn’t have, even if he could have, he didn’t want to ruin his night vision by staring into the flames. He poked a stick around, but his mind was on the sounds behind him. More whispering, then a rush of heavy footsteps.

Lorik spun around to find two massive looking mutated fighters rushing toward him. They still carried the long, crude swords the witch had equipped them with. Both of the fighters had their blades held high, ready to strike Lorik down, but in one swift movement Lorik slid out of their path, drew both of his swords and stabbed one of the razor sharp blades into the nearest fighter’s side. Black blood fountained out as Lorik pulled his sword back. The tip of the blade had slashed in and shattered one of the mutated man’s ribs. The wretched creature howled in pain, as some of the blood splattered onto the remains of the fire and hissed.

“What the hell?” Vyrnon said, as he sat straight up, his eyes wide open in the darkness.

Stone was on his feet with weapons in hand without a word. He stood poised over Vera, ready to give his life to protect her. Lorik smiled. His ankle was still sore, but it was much stronger than before. The fighters turned to face him and were greeted with a flurry of blows. Lorik swung one sword then the other, taking a step with each strike. The wounded fighter fell back, holding his side and grimacing in pain. The other mutated fighter methodically blocked each of Lorik’s blows. The heavy, iron sword sparked as Lorik’s steel blades clashed with his. The mutated man wielded the crude sword easily, it’s weight and lack of balance didn’t seem to effect the man whose strength had been magically enhanced when the witch mutated him. But Lorik’s massive blows took their toll. Lorik knew he could have cut his foe down, but he didn’t want to kill the man, even though it was obvious that the mutated fighter was no farmer or shopkeeper. It made sense that some of the men the Leffers had captured would have been soldiers or outlaws skilled with a blade.

Stone started toward the injured fighter, who dropped his sword and began to run. The mutated fighters had long legs and massive muscles, but they were uncoordinated and clumsy. Stone caught up with the injured fighter easily and bashed the brute with the flat of his blade. The metal sword bounced off the thick skull, doing little physical damage to the man’s head, but knocking him unconscious.

Lorik took his time, wearing the mutated fighter down with heavy blows. Partly because he wanted to take the fight out of the man, and partly because it felt so good to have his strength back. He’d fought the witch’s army in Ort City with only a fraction of his ability, the injury to his ankle and the freezing race across the countryside had taken a heavy toll, but now Lorik felt more like himself. His opponent was a skilled swordsman, but Lorik was a master with his twin swords. He pushed the mutated man, playing it too safe to truly be considered toying with the man. His opponent was huge, with thick arms covered in coarse, curly black hair. The man’s neck was almost as thick as his head, and the long, tangled black beard looked out of place on the unnaturally large head.

Despite the cold, the mutated fighter was sweating and Lorik recognized the look of fear in his eyes. He needed to talk to the man, and so he took a chance. He knew he could wound his opponent, but he decided instead to try and reason with him.

“Do you yield?” Lorik asked.

The mutated fighter looked confused.

“Throw down your weapon and I won’t hurt you,” Lorik said.

The man looked doubtful, but Lorik took a step back and lowered his weapons. The mutated fighter was bigger than Lorik, but not as strong or agile. Nor did the man have Lorik’s incredible stamina. He was struggling to catch his breath, as Lorik waited to see what the man would do.

“Damn you!” the mutated fighter cried, jumping forward and raising his sword.

Lorik let the blade come down, and easily deflected it with one of his own weapons. Then, using the momentum from his parry, he brought the other sword up and around in a whirling attack. The sword caught the mutated man’s forearm and sliced cleanly through skin, muscle and bone. The heavy iron sword, still held tightly by the severed hand, dropped to the ground with a clang. The fighter staggered back, blood pouring from his arm, a look of shock and anger twisting his already disfigured face into a snarl.

“Don’t make me kill you,” Lorik said calmly.

His words only enticed the angry man, who dashed forward again, his good arm drawn back, ready to strike. Lorik merely raised his sword in front of him. The enraged man impaled himself on the blade.

“Tell me the other man lives?” Lorik said.

“He’ll have a headache,” Stone answered, “but he’s alive.”

“Good, douse him with some water, I want to question him before we leave.”

“Leave?” Vera said, “it’s still dark.”

“But we’re all up,” Lorik said innocently.

Vera scrounged through their pack looking for food. They were all hungry, but without a fire and only a few items in their pack, making breakfast was a chore. Vyrnon checked on the horses, making a few adjustments to the work Lorik had done bedding them down for the night. He clucked his tongue whenever he found something that wasn’t to his standards.

“He’s particular, isn’t he?” Stone said about the big horse-master.

“He is, but I’m glad he’s here.”

“He wasn’t much use in the fight,” Stone said.

“He can hold his own, but that’s not what makes him so handy.”

“Well?” Stone asked.

“He can have a conversation without always making fun of me.”

“You should keep him around all the time then, or stop being such an easy target.”

Lorik huffed as he bent down over the wounded man who’d attacked them. He opened a canteen and dribbled water on the man’s face. The wounded man moaned, clutching his side, which was still bleeding.

“Wake up!” Stone said.

“Who are you?” Lorik asked as the mutated fighter’s eyes fluttered open.

He had big eyes that seemed too big for his head. They protruded roundly, almost bug like. His mouth was crooked and his teeth looked too big for his mouth.

The big brute groaned, but didn’t speak.

“Hey!” Stone said, nudging the man in his wounded side.

The brute cried out in pain.

“Liam!” Vera said angrily. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said, trying to sound innocent.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Lorik said. “Forgive my friend, he’s impatient. I won’t let him do that again. Tell me your name.”

The mutated warrior looked suspiciously at Stone, then grumbled, “Porvar.”

“How did you get here?” Lorik asked.

“Don’t know,” his voice was deep and hoarse.

“Tell me what you remember.”

“I remember monsters,” he said. “Flying beasts with huge, stinging tails. Then I remember being here, surrounded by crazed killers. I had to fight for my life, then when everyone scattered I took up with Sulvan. We were hungry so we came to see if you would share your food.”

“If you wanted food, why’d you attack us?” Stone said, his voice as cold as the predawn temperature.