Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) (30 page)

The second sword was too long to turn upright in the narrow space. And as he lifted the second sword his mind turned to the problem of getting both weapons safely back down. He was tempted to stay inside the tree and rest. There wasn’t much room, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about falling while he was in the tree.

Then suddenly there was a crack. The popping sound was so loud Lorik was afraid that lightning had struck the tree. And then, while he was still holding both swords, the floor collapsed beneath his feet. He dropped through the narrow opening, clutching both swords flat against his body, as fear ripped at his heart like a flower caught in a violent storm. He bounced against the insides of the Kingtree, the tough roots and vines peeling away his skin where he bumped against the roots, then after a long moment of terror the tree widened and there were vines crisscrossing the interior of the tree. Lorik was flipped and tumbled down through the massive tree.

He felt his body being destroyed as he fell and he realized he was dying. With each vine he hit more bones snapped. The pain was overwhelming, but his adrenaline, jumpstarted by the terror of the fall, kept him conscious despite the pain and panic. His head thumped against the thick roots, his arms and legs broke in multiple places. His ribs snapped like twigs and his back cracked over and over. Throughout it all, his only thought was to hold onto the swords, to protect the swords with his body. Death had come and it was not holding back, and Lorik could do nothing but accept the inevitable, protecting the perfect swords out of sheer instinct.

The fall seemed to last a lifetime. He saw Hassell Point again in his mind. He saw his parents, healthy and happy together. He saw Chancy and Yulver drinking together, saw Stone and Vera sitting close the way lovers do. He saw the horses and wagons he had worked with for so long, and relived the turbulent sea voyage up the coast and through the Sailor’s Graveyard in an instant. Finally he saw the sweet, caring faces of the Drery Dru, thousands and thousands of faces, watching him fall with looks of compassion.

The impact at the Kingtree’s Perkote, where the tree’s canopy began hundreds of feet above the ground, was slowed by the thickening vines Lorik tumbled through. Lorik’s body ripped through some of the vines, bounced and twirled off others. Then he hit the solid wood of the massive tree trunk below him. He felt everything in his body suddenly dying bit by bit.

“He’s alive,” Shayah said, as she bent over him.

“Not for long,” said Hennick, their faces bright and cheerful despite the awful news Lorik knew was true.

“He has the swords,” Shayah said.

“Yes, he protected them all the way down,” Hennick said.

“He gave his life for them,” Shayah said. “What incredible valor.”

“He gave his life to protect the swords,” Hennick said in a loud voice. “Now we shall save him.”

Lorik heard a thunderous cheering, then everything simply faded away.

Light. It was the first thing Lorik understood. Light was not just shining on him, it was shining in him. He opened his eyes and saw tiny forest elves clothed all in white. The light seemed to be coming from them.

Then he felt the pain. His body was completely ruined. He could feel bones splintered into his flesh, organs ripped apart, his skin peeled from his body. He had no idea how he was still alive. The intensity of the pain soon grew overwhelming and he passed out again.

When he woke up again things were different. He felt strange. He didn’t open his eyes but he could feel every part of his body, and they were changing. His muscles, every fiber of them, were growing. Blood ran through his veins in an intoxicating dance. His heart beat so strongly he couldn’t believe it. He could feel it pumping the blood through his body, like a drum beating the cadence of the dance. His bones felt like iron and his mind was light, his thoughts fast and nimble, like a deer dashing through the woods.

Time passed—Lorik wasn’t sure how long—while he lingered in this strange state of self-awareness. The most overwhelming thing he felt or recognized was the lack of pain. He didn’t move a muscle; there was no need to. Everything inside him was alive and moving. He reveled in what he could feel and understand: it was like seeing a sunrise for the first time. Then he slept, a deep, healing, dreamless sleep.

When he woke up he was in a small room in a hammock much like the one he had awakened in before. He looked around and saw the strong grain of the wood on the walls, and a small, arched window that let in a gentle sunlight.

Lorik realized his body didn’t hurt. He raised his arms and looked at his hands. There was no sign of any damage, not even his broken right hand with the bone that had been out of place before. He made a fist and there was no pain, only strength. He sat up, expecting to find bandages, but he found only simple garments much like Shayah had given him before his climb up the Kingtree.

He stood up and stretched, and his body felt strong. He looked down and saw what looked like someone else’s body. He had always been a muscular man with a barrel chest and big shoulders and arms, but now his body looked like a statue chiseled out of marble. Every muscle stood out, and there was not an inch of fat on him. He couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to run and jump, to feel the power of his body in action, but the room he was in was much too small for that.

He stepped to the small doorway and had to stoop low to duck out. He was back in Erkadine, he realized, and Hennick was waiting for him.

“You’re awake. That is good,” Hennick said. “How do you feel?”

“I feel amazing, but how is that possible? I should be dead.”

“You should be, but you aren’t. Our magic is strong, and though we do not use it often, you were found worthy.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Lorik said. “I found the swords!” he exclaimed, remembering that he had completed the task Hennick had set for him.

“You did indeed. They wait for you with Shayah. The Drery Dru have waited a long time for the Protector to come. I admit, I did not think it could be you. Watching mankind destroy for centuries has left me cynical, I’m afraid, but your actions have proven me wrong and I could not be more glad of it.”

“I’m not sure what to say,” Lorik replied.

“Before you go I want to share with you a prophecy from my people.”

Lorik knelt down beside the small elf.

“The Protector, it is said, will come during the dark hour. It is said he will face many dangers. It is not certain whether you will live or die,” Hennick said sadly. “Some believe that in protecting our people and yours, you will have to make the ultimate sacrifice. We cannot know if that is true, because only you can choose your fate. Your choices now will make that sacrifice necessary in the future, or perhaps not. I can only say, follow your heart, great one. It is that part of you, that deep inner strength that has brought you this far, that quality of character, that will see you through.”

“I understand,” Lorik said, not really understanding, but feeling richly blessed to receive such praise from the chief of the Drery Dru.

“I think in time you will understand,” said Hennick. “For now we must say goodbye, but perhaps you will return. If you do, the Kingtree is yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought that the Kingtree was linked to your people.”

“And so it is,” Hennick said with a smile. “But now so are you. You carry the light of the Drery Dru. You are the Protector.”

Lorik felt something in his heart and mind click into place. He wasn’t sure what it was, and he certainly didn’t understand everything Hennick had said, but he knew something was right for the first time in his life.

Hennick led Lorik out onto a wide tree limb. Above him were the interlocking branches of the giant redwood trees. The branches were covered with Drery Dru. The tiny tree elves clapped and cheered when they saw him. It was a cacophony of sound that died only when Shayah approached from another tree, carrying the sword with the shorter handle. Behind her came another elf with the other sword. And behind them both came more elves, some with Lorik’s boots, others with an intricate belt and sheaths.

“Lorik the Protector,” Shayah said. “Here are the swords of Acromin, which are now the swords of Lorik. With them come the blessing of the Drery Dru. May they bring you good fortune and a swift return.”

“Thank you,” Lorik said, taking the weapons as the onlookers cheered again.

“Here is a belt, woven by our most skilled craftsman,” Shayah said.

She helped him strap it on. One belt went around his waist, and another over his shoulder. The three straps came together in one buckle that was worked into the shape of the broad leaves from the forest floor. He snapped the belt together and slid the short-handled sword into the sheath at his waist, while the longer-handled sword slid into the sheath on his back.

“We mended your boots and clothes as well.”

“I didn’t know they needed mending,” Lorik said.

“They have been altered to fit your new shape, great one,” Shayah said with a ghost of a smile.

Lorik found it difficult to read the body language of the Drery Dru, since their chubby little faces were always smiling and innocent. Their looks of childlike wonder rarely changed.

“And now, you must go,” Hennick said from behind Lorik. “But know that the Drery Dru will aways welcome you. The Kingtree is yours, and perhaps one day you may plant the seeds of a new forest.”

Cheers erupted again as Lorik accepted his belongings. He smiled and waved, and then a simple rope was lowered beside him. It had a loop at the end and a knot at shoulder level.

“We will lower you down,” Hennick said.

“Thank you,” Lorik told him. Then he turned to Shayah, “Thank you,” he said. Then much louder, looking up at the forest elves, “Thank you, thank you all.”

They continued cheering, even as Lorik put one foot in the loop of the rope and took hold with his free hand just above the knot. The rope descended slowly at first, then sped up. The trip down took less than a minute, and when Lorik’s feet were on the ground, the rope sped back up into the trees. He disrobed, taking off the soft garments the forest elves had dressed him with and replacing them with his old clothes. They had been cleaned and altered, and they fit him perfectly. He pulled on his boots and strapped his swords back in place with the Drery Dru belt and sheaths. Then he set off through the forest.

He had no idea how he knew where to go, but the forest was no longer dark and foreboding to him. In fact, it seemed as open and inviting as the plains. He had grown up in the swamps of the Marshlands, knowing how to traverse the dangerous landscape and learning how to recognize the hidden dangers. Now, suddenly, the Wilderlands seemed as familiar as the Marshlands ever had, but instead of dangers he saw the wonders he had somehow missed before.

There were hidden springs beneath the leafy boughs of the wide-leafed bushes. There were animals, too, birds with muted colors and magnificent stags with enormous antlers. The mists rose up soon after Lorik finished dressing. They swirled and moved, showing him where to go among the trees. It seemed to be drawing him forward, beckoning him toward something in need.

Lorik began to run and had to throw back his head and laugh. His muscles felt free and strong. He ran so fast that the massive trees became a blur. He jumped from the tops of the massive roots that stuck up out of the ground, bounding from tree to tree, running when his feet touched the ground, and leaping high into the air. He felt as though he could run for hours and hours, but he soon heard a familiar sound. It was the snort of a horse. Lorik slowed, following the mist and saw a desperate-looking figure ahead. He was slumped down against the roots of one of the massive redwoods.

Lorik moved more slowly, straining to see who was there. His first thought was of the Norsik, but then the horse dispelled that notion. He wondered who else would be here in the Wilderlands, and a glimmer of hope sprang up inside him.

He walked forward and saw the man’s face peer up at him.

“Lorik?” the man said.

“Hello, Stone.”

“Oh gods,” Stone said, scrambling to his feet. “What has happened to you?”

“You won’t believe me when I tell you.”

“You’re so big,” he said in awe. “How did you get taller?”

“It’s a long story,” Lorik said. “Come on, I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Do you know where we are?” Stone said. “I’ve lost my sense of direction.”

“Yes, I know my way. But we have a long journey still, so let’s make the most of it.”

They traveled fast. Lorik ran as Stone tried to keep pace on horseback. When darkness fell, Lorik discovered that he could still see the mist. It was even more ghostly than before, a soft, white wisp in the darkness urging him forward. Lorik took Stone’s reins and led the horse while his friend rested.

The next day, they ran again. Lorik felt like he could run, not jog or trot, but run at full speed all day. The poor farm horse simply couldn’t keep up. Lorik had to slow his pace and take frequent breaks to let the horse rest. At one point along the way Lorik told Stone the entire story. His friend was in awe and after that Stone couldn’t keep from looking up into the canopy high overhead, although he never saw anything.

Lorik found small springs of fresh water that allowed them to refill their canteens and water the horse. Over the course of three days, they moved through the Wilderlands unmolested. Lorik’s strength seemed only to increase. He slept at night, but he didn’t feel he needed to, even after running all day and leading Stone’s horse half the night.

Eventually they came to the northern edge of the forest. They could see lights in the distance. It was early evening and the Norsik were celebrating their great victory. Lorik found that his eyesight had improved as well as his strength and stamina.

“I can see the captives,” Lorik said. “They haven’t been here long, perhaps a day at most.”

“Can you see Vera?”

“No, I can’t make out their faces, not from this far away.”

The land north of the Wilderlands was arid and rocky. There were tall plateaus and dry riverbeds. Very little vegetation grew, and water was difficult to find. Lorik and Stone hid their horse just inside the tree line of the Wilderlands and waited until dark to move closer.

Once night fell, they moved across the dry, dusty plain. The moon and stars were out, so seeing the obstacles across the landscape wasn’t difficult. Lorik and Stone climbed a small, craggy hill and watched the Norsik camp. The majority of the occupants of the camp were women. They were fierce-looking people, with long hair and big hoops through their ear lobes. They also wore many colored rings around their necks and carried thick knives in their belts. The men in the camp were mostly those who had returned from raiding in Ortis, although some were elderly and obviously too infirm to make the journey, much less fight.

“We could have traveled for days and not found that camp,” Stone said. “How the hell did you know right where to go?”

“The mists led me,” Lorik said.

“The mists? What are you saying? The fog in the forest told you where to go?”

“It showed me,” Lorik said.

“How?” Stone asked. “Man, if you didn’t look like some kind of giant out of a bedtime story I’d say you’d lost your mind.”

“It is strange, I admit,” Lorik agreed, “but it’s true. Now we have to figure out how to get the captives out of the camp.”

“It looks like they’re celebrating down there,” Stone said. “Maybe we can wait and just sneak them out.”

“That’s actually a really good plan,” Lorik said. “We’ll have to take out their sentries, though.”

They watched, noting where the sentries were located around the camp. It was obvious that the Norsik felt safe. They had posted only a few sentries on the forest side of their camp. There were more than twice that many to the north.

“Why so few on this side and so many on far side?” Stone asked.

“They’re obviously concerned about someone on that far side,” Lorik agreed. “Shuklan slavers or Borian warriors maybe. Or maybe just other Norsik tribes. I doubt that whatever led them to band together would keep them from fighting among themselves.”

“Well, I don’t really care,” Stone said. “I just want to get Vera and get back home. Can you see her now?”

“Yes, I can see her,” Lorik said. “She looks strong.”

Vera and a few other women were bound hand and foot. Her hope of rescue had slowly died in the Wilderlands. If the raiders had moved straight north she would have believed that Lorik could find her, but almost immediately the Norsik raiders had begun to alter their course. She was even more discouraged that the soft soil left no tracks. Only a very talented woodsman with an intimate knowledge of the Wilderlands would be able to track them. Days passed without any signs of help, and Vera had determined to escape on her own. Most of the captives had been numb with fear and grief. They’d sat staring into space, lost inside their minds, hiding from the harsh reality that they faced. But Vera took advantage of the darkness in the forest. At night she’d chewed at the ropes that held her. It had been a long, difficult task, but when she’d finally broken free, she’d untied the bonds that held the few like-minded women around her. The next day they’d pretended their bonds were intact and followed the other captives until the mists rose up. Then, just before dark, they had made their escape.