Lorik (The Lorik Trilogy) (17 page)

He watched as the sun finally appeared. He was tired and grumpy, but there was only one clear path ahead. He had to help the people of Pallsen and hopefully restore some order to the Yorick Shire fief, if for no other reason than to get trade going again. He checked on the horses and started a fire. He didn’t want to stay in camp too long, but he wanted to check his bow before they left. If the outlaws were roaming the countryside, it was very likely that they would encounter another group before too long.

His bow was a simple weapon. It was made from yew, an evergreen tree that was easy enough to find in the forest even though it wasn’t found in the marshes. Lorik had found the tree when he was a young man. He had cut it down and traded the lumber to a bowsmith in Yorick Shire in exchange for the longbow. It was almost as tall as he was, and the cord was made from sheep’s gut. He made his own arrows, carefully planing the narrow shafts and tipping them with steel broad-head arrow points. He used goose feathers for the fletchings and could hit a target the size of a small plate at over a hundred paces. He used the bow for hunting mostly, but he had occasionally used it to ward off bandits.

He checked the wood for cracks but the weapon was solid, even after years of use. Then he strung the bow, which took several minutes and left him panting with exertion. Then he tested the bow’s draw. The feeling of power that came from drawing the bow boosted his spirits a little. Then he spent time checking every arrow in his quiver. He normally kept the bow and arrows wrapped in deerskin and slung under the bench seat of his big wagon. He had rigged small hooks to hold the weapon within easy reach in case he needed it on the road, but he wanted it even more accessible than usual.

He roused the others. Griff complained about being woken up, and for a moment Lorik wanted to strangle the boy, who had slept through the night while Stone and Lorik stood watch, but he held himself in check.

“It’s cold rations this morning,” Lorik told them. “We’ll have to be on the lookout for more outlaws today, and I want to reach Pallsen before dark.”

“I’ve got hard bread,” Stone said to Roran and Griff. “But that’s all I have left.”

“I’ve got a couple of overripe apples,” Lorik added.

“I’ll take some mead, if you have enough,” Roran said.

“We have plenty of mead, help yourself,” Lorik said.

He grabbed Griff by the shoulder as the young man started to follow Roran toward the keg of mead.

“I don’t think you need mead to start your day,” Lorik told him.

“Why not?”

“You haven’t earned it,” Lorik said.

“What? I’ve done as much as Roran.”

“No, you haven’t,” Lorik said pointedly. “You need to show us how you can help in this enterprise before we can trust you. I’m not sure you won’t simply hand us over to Thuryk when we get to Pallsen.”

“How am I supposed to show you I’m trustworthy?” Griff asked.

“You can start by not getting drunk when you first wake up.”

“One cup of mead isn’t enough to get me drunk,” he said angrily.

“I want you clear-headed. You’re going to be walking a long way today, and if we run into trouble you may have to fight. Drink some water and have some bread. That’s the best offer you’ll get this morning.”

They set out soon after that. Lorik drove his team, and Stone rode ahead in hopes of spotting any roving bands of outlaws. Roran and Griff walked, but the candlemaker was simply too old and tired to keep pace for long. Lorik allowed the older man to ride in the wagon, but Griff was forced to keep walking.

It was midday before they stopped. Pallsen was only a few more hours away, and so far they hadn’t spotted any outlaws. They let the horses rest while Lorik and Stone talked strategy.

“This is probably a stupid idea,” Lorik said.

“Probably,” Stone agreed.

“So, do you have any ideas?”

“Not any good ones,” Stone said. “I’m not familiar with the town, but I think our best bet is to go in late at night. We’ll have to kill the raiders as quietly as possible.”

“Is that really feasible?”

“I think so. Thuryk will have men on guard, but they’ll be sloppy. They won’t be expecting any trouble. If they’ve taken control of the town, they’ll most likely be overconfident, and that could be to our advantage.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about killing defenseless men,” Lorik said.

“They wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. They’re all guilty of heinous crimes, probably more than they can even remember.”

“It still goes against the grain for me. I don’t run from a fight, and I know better than to think that anyone fights fair, but I don’t know if I can kill men who are sleeping.”

“Well, I can,” Stone said coldly. “I’ve known men like Thuryk and Marsdyn. They’ve earned the death they get and usually deserve worse. My sword master was fond of saying, ‘If you live by the sword, you will die by the sword.’ It was true for him.”

“So, does sneaking into a town in the middle of the night to kill Thuryk’s raiders constitute living by the sword?”

“I doubt it. Besides, you’re an axe man.”

“I like the heft of a heavy weapon.”

“And you use it well. At least as well as any of the outlaws we’ll likely have to fight.”

“But we will have to fight,” Lorik said. “I’d rather a fight come on suddenly. This waiting wears on my nerves.”

“We should get moving and find a place to make camp. We could both use a few hours’ sleep before pushing on into the town.”

“I know you’re right, but I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what you can do when you put your mind to it,” Stone said. “We may both die tonight, there’s no denying that. But we can’t run. I don’t think you could live with that, and I know I couldn’t. I’ve done plenty of bad things; it won’t hurt to even the score a little.”

They moved on again after watering the horses and eating a little more bread. Lorik walked until they made camp a few hours later. They parked the marsh schooner under a large oak tree near a small stream that ran over and around rocks worn smooth by the water. It was cool and clear, with tiny fish darting along near the bank where the current wasn’t too strong. They unhitched the big Shire horses and unsaddled Stone’s mare. Once they had seen to their horses, they rechecked their weapons. Stone’s knives were razor sharp, and he also carried a dagger hidden in his right boot. Lorik sharpened the big axe he now carried. The weapon was cumbersome and not ideal for the stealth mission they were planning. He had purchased the axe to serve as a deterrent as much as an actual weapon. He checked his own dagger, which he carried in his belt, and rechecked his arrows.

Then, they both lay down in the shade to rest. Griff was already napping, or pretending to. Lorik didn’t trust the young man, but he didn’t have much choice. Roran stood watch, since he wouldn’t be going with the others into Pallsen. It was dusk when the older man woke the others. Lorik hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, but he sat up and rubbed his face. He felt horrible, his stomach aching and cramping, threatening to spill what little food it contained.

“Riders,” Roran told them. “They’re coming from the west.”

“Have they spotted us?” Lorik said.

“I can’t imagine they haven’t,” Roran replied. “There’s no cover out here.”

They all got up, and Stone moved toward the wagon while Griff looked around nervously.

“Do you have any training with weapons?” Lorik asked the boy.

“No,” Griff said.

“Here,” Lorik told him as he handed Griff and Roran javelins. “They’re not great as spears, but they’ll do in a pinch. Don’t throw them, just use them to fend off anyone who gets too close.”

Roran and Griff both nodded, the older man looking determined, the younger man looking scared.

“You should take a position in the wagon,” Stone told him. “Use that longbow of yours.”

“All right,” Lorik agreed. “Don’t get killed. It would ruin our partnership.”

“Very funny. Can you tell how many there are yet?”

“It looks like two on horseback, and maybe three following on foot.”

They waited anxiously, trying to keep the big wagon between them and the approaching riders. When the riders were close enough to see, they reined in their horses.

“Hello at the camp,” shouted one of the men on horseback.

“Don’t answer him,” Stone said quietly.

“He’s trying to figure out who we are, isn’t he?” Lorik said.

“Yes, he’s expecting the wagon to be the spoils of one of the other outlaws. Can you hit a rider with your bow?”

“I should be able to,” Lorik said.

“Good. If they send one of the men toward Pallsen you’ll have to take him out; otherwise we’re as good as dead.”

“Thanks, nothing like a little pressure to make a difficult shot easier.”

“Sorry,” Stone said. “Look, they’re moving again.”

The two riders split up, one riding to the north, the other south. Two men went with the southern rider and one with the man to the north.

“Keep your eyes glued on the rider to the north,” Stone said. “If he turns and rides for Pallsen at any time, you take him out.”

Lorik nodded, hoping he looked more determined than he felt. He was in the back of the wagon, but he was staying low so that it wasn’t obvious he was there.

“You two stay here, near the wagon,” Stone told Roran and Griff. “If anyone gets past me, it’ll be up to you to kill them.”

“Hello at the camp,” shouted the man to the south. “I’m coming in.”

Stone didn’t answer; he just stood and waited. The rider came close enough that he could see everything. Stone saw the man’s sword hanging from his belt. The other two men, on foot behind the rider, looked grim and determined.

“I don’t know you,” said the man.

“No, you don’t,” said Stone.

“What’s in the wagon?”

Stone didn’t reply.

“Well, now, I need to know. I can’t let just anyone roam around the countryside,” said the outlaw.

He nudged his horse forward. It trotted a few steps and then he turned the animal, galloping to the side. The men behind the horse charged ahead, screaming as they ran. Stone was motionless. He seemed vulnerable, but he was simply waiting for the two men on foot to get close enough.

From the north the horseman who waited there waved, obviously sending the men on foot forward. Lorik was sitting on the bags of rice, hunched low behind the bench seat. If the rider saw him, he paid no attention. It was difficult not to look back when he heard the two outlaws screaming a battle cry, but he knew he had to trust Stone to deal with the men. Now that the attack was happening he felt better. His grip on the longbow tightened, and the feel of the sturdy wood in his hand gave him courage. He already had an arrow nocked, and now that it was obvious the riders were outlaws, he stood up and took aim at the outlaw on horseback. The man was as still as a statue but the distance was far enough that Lorik had to aim above the rider and hope that he gauged the wind and trajectory right. He let the first arrow fly. It was temping to stand and watch to see if he hit his target, but he knew that was a waste of valuable time. He drew another arrow and carefully nocked it to the string.

The first arrow was true, but just slightly overshot. The rider ducked and in the same motion turned his horse as the arrow passed harmlessly over his head. The rider kicked his horse into a gallop as Lorik fired his second arrow, this time shooting more on instinct. The man on foot was almost to the wagon by the time the second arrow landed. It was high, too, but this time the rider didn’t see the arrow and didn’t try to avoid it. It hit the outlaw in the back of his head, punching through the man’s skull and killing him instantly. The horse continued galloping away even after the rider toppled lifelessly to the ground.

When the two men reached Stone they were in a battle frenzy. He dodged to his right, throwing out a low kick that tripped the closest man. The other outlaw turned, expecting to continue his attack, but the other man blocked his progress. In the moment of hesitation it took the man to navigate around his fallen comrade, Stone needed to rush in, ducking low and hamstringing the outlaw. Stone suspected the men were from the village, and he didn’t want to kill them. But they had worked themselves up in an effort to overcome their fear, and so he was forced to at least wound them badly enough that they couldn’t continue fighting.

The man who had been tripped was back on his feet, but he was backing away, wide-eyed, as he watched his companion screaming in agony and rolling on the ground, clutching his bloody leg.

The man who had called to the camp was now riding away as quickly as possible. Stone looked for the other rider and saw only the man’s horse. Then he turned to Lorik, calling for him to shoot the other rider, but Lorik no longer had his bow. The footman from the north had jumped onto the wagon to attack Lorik before he could nock another arrow. Lorik had dropped the bow and picked up his battle axe. He saw the man’s eyes open wide in surprise when he saw the big weapon. He started to speak, but Lorik swung the axe in a tremendous chop, as if he were splitting wood for a fire. The outlaw scrambled to the side but wasn’t quite fast enough. The axe slammed down on the man’s upper arm, severing it, before lodging in the side of the wagon. The outlaw looked up in shock, and Lorik kicked him in the chest, sending the man flying off the wagon as blood sprayed from the stump that stuck out from his shoulder.