Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (28 page)

Queen Issalyn felt the heavy door slam behind her. She turned, shocked at the utter darkness of the hallway and put her hand on the rough wooden door.

“Lorik!” she screamed.

She beat on the wood, searching desperately for a lever or knob that might open the door, but there was nothing. She threw her shoulder into the heavy wood, but it didn’t budge. A wave of pain ran up her neck and down her arm. She was wrapped in the sheet the crone had put on her, but she had no shoes. She tried kicking the door anyway, but only succeeded in hurting her heel.

“No!” she cried. “Lorik, don’t leave me.”

She knew her only hope was to find help. Surely, she thought to herself, Lorik hadn’t come alone. She moved blindly down the hallway, trying to remember how she had gotten to the round room. Her legs were wobbling under her, her hands shaking from fear and exertion. Still, she kept moving, knowing she had to find her way out. Her hands found the doorway to the spiraling staircase. Her slow pace became even slower as she slowly climbed the stairs. She kept one hand on the wall, the other was held out in front of her as she climbed. She was soon panting, the darkness seemed to choke the very air in her lungs.

She had to stop and rest at one point, ignoring the voice in her head that was screaming for her to run. She was afraid that Lorik was being killed, but there was nothing more she could do other than get help. She pushed herself up off the stairs she had collapsed on and continued her climb. The light from the corridor ahead was little more than a gray haze, but it seemed like a huge success for Issalyn. She increased her pace, looking down and making out the steps as lighter shadows against the intense darkness of the pit.

Once she cleared the stairs she tried to run, hoping she could remember where to go after the long hallway. It had been a long time since she’d been escorted through the dark castle ruins, but instinctively she turned to her right as she came out into the large, cavernous room beyond the corridor with the high windows. There was no light in the larger room, and she was forced to shuffle forward, her hands out in front of her, feet inching along the smooth, but dusty stone floor. It took what seemed like an eternity to reach the far wall. There was no opening and she couldn’t remember where to go next. She made her way down the wall, guessing that if she didn’t find an exit that direction, when she reached the end of the wall she could retrace her steps and search the other direction.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to turn back. Her hand found the thick curtain of vines and she was instantly reminded of the terrible fright she’d felt when the guards forced her into the castle. She couldn’t see light through the vines, but she remembered that the doorway was hidden in vines, so she plunged ahead. Instantly terror struck, as suddenly as lightning snapping down from the sky above and dazzling everything in stark, white light. Only Issalyn’s terror was pitch black, even darker than the cavelike interior of the castle ruins. The rough vines seemed to push against her, trying to hold her back, but she fought hard, knowing that Lorik’s life was at stake. Then her hand felt stone and her heart sank even further. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t found the entrance to the castle after all. She ran her hands over the stone, swatting the vines aside, when suddenly she felt a small lever. She pulled it and the stone began to move, squealing as the ancient, iron rollers engaged.

Suddenly there was light in front of her and she was about to step out into the glorious sunshine, when rough hands grabbed her and shoved her back into the darkness.

Stone and Vera reached the castle safely and were scrambling along the wall when four of the gargoyles fell nearby. The shockwave of the heavy bodies hitting the ground slammed them back against the vines growing against the castle ruins. Stone was afraid the vines would try to strangle them, but the woody vines didn’t move.

“What do we do?” Vera asked.

“I don’t know,” Stone said. “Can you climb the vines?”

Vera drew her dagger, her face pinched in a frown of determination.

“I will if I have to,” she said.

The gargoyles were slowly rising to their feet. Stone knew they could sprint past the monsters, but they would have to come within striking distance of one of the gargoyles and although he wasn’t afraid to fight the green monsters, he was afraid that one might hurt Vera.

“Start climbing,” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”

“I’m not going without you,” she said stubbornly.

“This is no time to argue,” he cried, but his voice was cut off by the squeal of rusty metal and the grind of stone against stone.

“What’s happening?” Vera shouted.

“I don’t know,” Stone replied.

Then he saw a woman’s hand poke through the thick tangle of vines and Stone guessed that someone had opened the entrance to the castle from the inside. He didn’t hesitate, but grabbed Vera’s hand and pushed his way through the vines.

He felt the woman resisting, but his fear of the gargoyles made him strong. He shoved his way in, feeling the heavy darkness descend unnaturally around him. Stone wondered briefly if he was leading Vera to her death. Terror like Stone had never felt assaulted him. He heard Vera scream behind him and guilt hit him like a physical blow to his gut. His knees felt weak, but then the woman in front of him stopped resisting and tugged him toward her. He broke free of the vines and the unnatural terror subsided as he pulled Vera through behind him.

“Who are you?” asked a woman’s voice.

“I’m Stone, and this is Vera,” he answered, grateful for the woman’s help.

“Oh, thank the gods. Lorik is in trouble, come this way.”

“Who is this?” Vera asked, still clinging tightly to Stone’s hand.

“Issalyn,” the queen answered. “We have to hurry or they’ll kill Lorik.”

“Are you okay?” Stone asked Vera.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice trembling. “Just a little shook up is all.”

“Okay, we’re coming,” Stone said.

Vera led them back through the darkness. She felt that she was heading in the right direction and tried to hurry, but Stone and Vera were like anchors, shuffling slowly and making it impossible for the queen to increase her pace.

“It’s so dark,” Vera said. “How do you know where you’re going?”

“I’ve been through here before,” Issalyn said, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the castle ruins. “There’s some light ahead, just keep moving.”

“Tell us what happened to you,” Stone said.

He had one hand on Queen Issalyn’s forearm, the other was clinging tightly to Vera. He wished he had at least one hand free to hold his knife, but that wasn’t an option if he was going to stay connected to both women and in the utter darkness of the cavernous room, the fear of getting lost was greater than the fear of attack.

When they finally reached the hallway with the high windows, Issalyn relayed a quick version of her story.

“So they brought you here?” Vera asked, the relief in her voice at being able to see again was obvious.

They stood for a moment just looking at one another.

“Yes, they locked me in a dungeon cell deep underground. They did something to Princess Amvyr, she’s been converted to Josston’s magic somehow.”

“And Lorik?” Stone asked.

“They were using me as bait to lure him down to some type of sacrificial chamber,” she explained. “We had almost escaped when they caught him. They pushed me out and locked the door. I tried to get in to help him, but I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” Vera said. “Lorik can take care of himself. Show us where he is.”

“It’s this way,” Issalyn said. “Hurry.”

When Lorik opened his eyes, he realized must have only passed out for an instant. The man with the strange markings was staggering back toward him. Lorik’s hand came up, grasping the Larish, he pulled. The pain was so intense, it pinched his visual perception down to a tiny dot. He heard nothing, his mind conceived nothing, all he knew was pain. Time seemed to slow down, and he hovered in a world of agony for what seemed like a lifetime.

Then the Larish’s stem finally pulled free of Lorik’s chest, and everything came back to him. He was wounded, the pain from where the Larish had gouged into him burned, but compared to the pain of the wicked device itself, the wound was manageable. Lorik heaved against his other bonds and they too broke. The Princess fell back, away from the altar.

“Don’t drop it!” the man shouted. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Stay back,” Lorik said, his voice shaky as he struggled with a wave of dizziness.

“Give me the Larish,” the man said. “I’ll let you go. The queen too. Just hand me the cup.”

“No,” Lorik said, levering himself into a sitting position on the altar.

The man was several paces from Lorik, his hands out in a placating gesture. A quick glance down showed blood running down Lorik’s stomach. There was a dark hole in his tunic, but he ignored it.

“You can’t do anything with the magic,” the man said. “Once it’s pulled out of you, it can never be yours again.”

“Shut up!” Lorik shouted.

The man walked to the door and flung it open. He gestured to the dark hallway as he spoke.

“See, you are free to go. Just give us the cup.”

Lorik could see that the man was desperate. He glanced in the cup and saw a glowing liquid. He had no idea where it came from or what it was, but he knew the man who had captured Issalyn and used her to lure him to the castle ruins was evil. If he wanted the Larish, it could only be for dark purposes.

“We won’t harm you,” the man continued. “Princess Amvyr come here. See, we only want the Larish. We never meant you harm.”

Lorik watched as the princess stumbled over to the man. She was obviously exhausted from using her magic. Her face seemed pale, and her mouth was open as she panted for breath. Lorik stood up slowly. His swords had been tossed carelessly on the ground near the door. He moved toward them. His legs felt weak, and his back ached, as did the wound on his chest. It hurt to breathe and he doubted that he could fight. His strength seemed to be flowing out of him along with the blood that ran down his stomach in a hot, sticky trickle.

“I can heal your wounds,” the man continued pleading. “Just give me the Larish and I will make everything better, you’ll see.”

“No,” Lorik said. “I’m leaving, with the cup. Stand back or I’ll dash it on the floor.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, he grabbed Princess Amvyr by the hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. His other hand curled into a claw, his fingernails extended, shaping into deadly points right before Lorik’s eyes.

“Give it to me or I’ll kill her,” the man threatened.

Lorik looked doubtful, and the man pressed his nails into the princess’ throat. Blood welled up around the nails. He had pressed just hard enough to puncture the skin, but Lorik knew if the man wanted to he could rip the girl’s throat out.

Lorik had promised to try and save King Ricard’s daughter. The fact that the king had thrown that promise back in Lorik’s face didn’t damper his desire to make sure that the princess wasn’t harmed if he could help it.

“Okay,” Lorik said. “Let her go and I’ll give you the cup.”

“Give me the Larish and I’ll release her,” the man countered.

“Alright, just don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I want the Larish now!”

“Here is how we’re going to do this,” Lorik said. “I don’t trust you, so I’m going to gather my weapons and leave this room. You can follow me. When we get to the entrance of the castle, I’ll give you the cup, you give me the girl, and we’ll leave unharmed.”

The man laughed, it was a maniacal, insane laugh that made the hair on the back of Lorik’s neck stand up.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” the man said, yanking the princess’ hair so hard she cried out in pain.

“Don’t hurt her,” Lorik said, trying to remain calm.

He stooped, keeping his eyes on the man, and reaching out for his swords. He picked up one and tucked it under his arm. Then he found the other and tucked it next to the first. His dagger was on the floor too. He picked it up and then rose back to his feet. A wave of dizziness made him sag against the wall.

The man near the door glared hatefully at him. Lorik stuck the dagger into his belt, then slowly sheathed both swords into the scabbards on his back.

“I won’t let you leave with the Larish,” the man said. “I’ll kill the princess, then I’ll bind you while I hunt down your friends. Yes, I know about the man and woman with you, although I doubt they have survived the attack of my gargoyles. Still, I’ll find ways to hurt you for eternity. And only after you’ve watched the people you care about slowly tortured to death, will I start on you.”

“Sounds enticing,” Lorik said. “But I’ll pass.”

“Then give me the cup.”

“Not until you release the princess and let us leave.”

“Fine!” the man said angrily.

He pushed the young girl out of the doorway. She stumbled and fell.

“Go,” the man said. “I won’t stop you.”

Lorik moved slowly forward. He knew that he had to get within striking distance of the man to pass through the doorway. Lorik held the Larish in his left hand, with his right he drew his dagger.

“You try anything and I’ll kill you,” Lorik said.

The man didn’t speak and Lorik could hear Princess Amvyr crying in the hallway. The darkness seemed to press in around Lorik on every side. He felt weak, light-headed, and hot. His chest ached with every breath and his knees trembled as he walked slowly toward the door.

The man stood still, glaring as Lorik backed out of the round room, keeping his eyes on the man. The tension was palpable. The man’s anger seemed to pour out of him, and Lorik knew that the evil man would kill him if possible.

Once Lorik was in the darkened hallway, he realized he’d made a mistake. He didn’t have a torch or a light of any kind. Once he moved out of the light from the round room, he would be completely exposed and vulnerable. He was pondering how to get out of the mess he’d made, when he was hit from behind. Five points of searing pain lanced through his lower back. He screamed and turned, lashing out with the dagger instinctively. Princess Amvyr dodged back, but the hallway wasn’t wide enough for her to escape. She threw herself against the stone wall, turning away from Lorik’s attack, but the tip of his dagger slashed across her cheek. She screamed and fell to the floor, holding her face as blood cascaded down her chin.

The man rushed forward, grabbing the Larish. Lorik stabbed the man with his dagger, the blade wedging between the man’s ribs. The man grunted, and twisted, causing Lorik to lose his grip on the dagger. Despite being stabbed, the man was incredibly strong. Lorik was forced to grab the Larish with his now free hand to keep the man from wrenching the cup away from him.

They struggled, both men heaving to tear the others away from the Larish. The silvery liquid sloshed and churned, growing brighter in the process. Lorik pulled himself back down the hallway. The man struggled, his only aim was to free the Larish.

“Release it!” he shouted. “Give me the Larish or I will kill you.”

“No!” Lorik shouted.

They struggled down the hallway. In the back of Lorik’s mind was the realization they were getting nearer and nearer the stairwell and the dark pit beyond. If he didn’t break free soon, he would risk falling over the stairs. He thought it might have been possible to release the Larish and make a mad dash for safety, but that wouldn’t solve anything. The man he was fighting was the source of the dark magic, Lorik could feel it swirling inside the man, like a winter gale just waiting to be unleashed. Lorik guessed that giving the man the Larish with its stolen magic might just be the key to unlocking that fierce storm of sweeping darkness he’d seen on the altar in the round room. He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t give up and run away, the darkness would eventually find him. And if he didn’t stop the man now, the crazed sorcerer would only grow stronger. Now was his best chance, but first he had to keep the man from using the magic he’d stolen.

They were far enough from the room with the candles that the darkness overcame the light, but the glow from the Larish cast a pale light on the gray stone walls. Lorik glanced over his shoulder and saw the door frame, the darkness beyond it seemed like the open maw of some huge creature waiting to devour him. Lorik heaved himself backward, his shoulder crashed painfully into the door frame.

“It... is... mine!” the man shouted.

“Never!” Lorik bellowed back.

“Lorik!” came Stone’s familiar voice. “Is that you?”

“Stay back!” he warned.

“Give it to me or I’ll kill them,” the man hissed at Lorik.

Lorik wasn’t sure how the man planned to kill his friends while he was in the heat of battle with Lorik, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Hold on, we’re coming,” Stone shouted.

“No,” he cried. “Don’t!”

“Too late,” the man hissed.

There was a crack, almost like thunder, and then the sound of crumbling stone. Lorik knew, even though he couldn’t see the stairwell in the darkness of the castle, that the man had somehow destroyed part of the stairs. If Stone or Vera came rushing down the steps, they would fall to their death. Then Lorik realized what he had to do. He couldn’t protect the people he loved unless this man with the strange markings was dead. And there was only one sure way to kill the man and keep him from getting the magic in the Larish.

“You lose,” Lorik said through clenched teeth. Then he shouted to his friends. “The stairs are out. Go back!”

“Lorik!” screamed Issalyn.

Lorik had to ignore the deep desire to run to Issalyn. He had to fight past the pain and overcome the weakness he felt. He pulled with all his might, back pedaling out of the hallway, pulling the marked man with him. They stumbled onto the stairs, and then the world seemed to tilt. Panic seized Lorik as he felt himself falling. Every muscle contracted and the Larish was pulled from the marked man’s fingers. The glowing liquid spilled onto Lorik’s face and chest as they fell, both men screaming in the darkness.

The next few seconds stretched out, time seeming to slow as Lorik perceived only a few odd sensations. Darkness seemed to flee from him. It was still pitch black as he fell through the pit, but the suffocating darkness that seemed more of a tangible mire than an absence of light, receded. The air, flowing past Lorik as he fell, felt cool and refreshing. And, in the back of his mind, little more than an annoying whine, was the sound of the other man’s screams. Lorik guessed that he was screaming too, but it was impossible to tell.

What he didn’t notice was the way the silvery liquid magic of the Drery Dru seeped into his skin. It was a slow process, but some of the magic found its way home. The man with the markings on his body had lied. The Larish had drawn the magic from Lorik’s body, but it wasn’t lost forever. Most of the liquid magic fell in silvery drops that was slower than the frenzied plummet of Lorik and the other man.

Lorik saw a flash of yellow light below him, then he crashed into the solid rock at the bottom of the pit. Bones shattered and organs ruptured. Pain beyond imagining overloaded Lorik’s brain until it shut down all sensory perception except Lorik’s sight. The other man hit the floor of the pit a second after Lorik, who was lying on his back, looking up at the bright drops of magic that seemed to float down toward him.

The other man was dead, or so it seemed. The body was cracked open like the shell of a crab. Lorik couldn’t see the man without turning his head, which he couldn’t do even if he wanted to. His back was broken, and although he didn’t know it, he had lost the ability to even breathe on his own power. All that Lorik knew was the floating stars above him were coming closer.

The silvery magic fell on Lorik. Some of the drops hit the stone floor, where they sizzled briefly, like water drops in a hot skillet, before vanishing in a wisp of smoke. The drops of liquid magic that landed on Lorik soaked in and immediately began to heal and restore his body. Bones reformed and hardened. Muscles, blood vessels, and organs knit themselves back together and began functioning again. The pain eased slowly as the magic was absorbed drop by drop.

Lorik only knew relief, his eyes fluttered shut and he fell into blissful oblivion.