Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (12 page)

Lorik climbed the stairs slowly. His body didn’t get tired the way it once did after a long day, but his mind was weary. He couldn’t stop thinking about Queen Issalyn. Her face seemed to appear in his mind whenever he closed his eyes and it was becoming harder and harder not to forsake his mission and race north just to be with her.

He let his hand slide along the smooth, cold, stone walls of the tower. He appreciated anything that was built well, and the royal castle in Ort City was the finest building he’d ever seen. Yet it was nothing but a stone box compared to the wonderful tree cities he’d seen in the Wilderlands. The Drery Dru didn’t build as much as they nurtured the tree to grow how they needed it. The result was a harmony of the tree’s strength and the Drery Dru’s needs. It made Lorik realize just how much humanity still had to learn and how much he could learn from the forest elves. He wanted so badly to show Issalyn the wonders of the Drery Dru, but he couldn’t turn his back on the deadly threat that was marching toward him. The people he’d worked so hard to save from the Norsik now faced an even greater threat, and he couldn’t ignore it.

When he reached the top of the tower, he was surprised at how close the sky looked. The clouds had blown away late in the afternoon and the night was bitterly cold. The stars were fierce dots of cold light, the moon a mere sliver of ghostly gray. The light from the stars seemed to make the sky glow, but did little to illuminate the city below. As Lorik looked down into the city, he was reminded of the Wilderlands. It was pitch black along the streets and between the buildings in the same way that the great forest was so dark among the massive trunks of the great Redwood trees. The only difference was the lack of mist rising up through the city streets. When Lorik had first been in the Wilderlands, the mist had seemed ghostly and frightening, but since he climbed the King Tree, the mists had been like a secret friend, beckoning him through forgotten trails and leading him exactly where he needed to go.

I need the mist to help me find the king’s escape tunnel,
Lorik thought. The entire group of volunteers had been unsuccessful in finding the secret route to safety that Lorik was sure must be there. If they couldn’t find it, he would lead them out of the city, despite the obvious military advantages.

He looked out across the dark countryside. It was too dark to make out anything, but he knew the enemy was coming. He could feel a deep sense of foreboding and he was sure it was from the witch’s army. He wished he could see the enemy, get a sense of their numbers. The Drery Dru had confirmed that the witch was mutating the men and woman captured by the Leffers, but Lorik had no idea what they were being transformed into. They could be horrible monsters, or something he’d never imagined before. It was difficult not knowing, and on top of it all was his desire to turn north and go after Queen Issalyn. He wanted to rush north, even though he didn’t know why. He told himself it was just a crush, but it was the strongest feeling he’d ever had.

Hours passed as Lorik leaned against the parapet, staring out into the darkness. There was only a few hours before dawn when Lorik finally turned and was shocked to see ghostly mist snaking along the stairway and through the open door that led back down into the tower. The mist hadn’t come out onto the tower as far as Lorik stood, but as soon as he stepped forward the white, glowing vapor began to move as well. It flowed in front of Lorik like a slow moving river and he followed it instinctively.

He hated to leave his post, it went against the discipline of finishing what he started that his father had drilled into him as a boy, but it was too dark to see anything. Having men awake through the night would only make them less efficient come morning.

The mist moved almost rhythmically, so that Lorik got the impression the mist was dancing. He didn’t know where it had come from, but it seemed to be leading him in the same way that the mist in the Wilderlands did. Lorik thought about what the Drery Dru had told him about magic, how it would be attracted to him. He tried to feel the mist, hoping that it would not be cold and menacing. There was no physical sensation from the white vapor, it was even less tangible than fog. But it didn’t seem menacing either; instead it seemed playful. Whatever it was, and whatever had conjured it, Lorik believed it was good.

The fog led him back down through the maze of rooms and past the glowing embers of the fire he had lit in the royal dressing room. Eventually he was led down into the dungeon, and this time he could feel a sense of something dark from a hidden doorway that he hadn’t seen on his first trip through the castle. The mist surrounded the hidden door, and glowed around the tiny cracks in the stone that outlined the edges of the passage. Lorik stopped and studied the door, even putting a hand on it. The castle was cold, the stone walls were all cold to the touch, but the door sent a shiver of fear down Lorik’s back. The mist didn’t stop at the door, instead it seemed to beckon him away, like a child trying to keep their parents’ attention.

Lorik turned away from the hidden door, not sure what lay beyond it. His mind was divided, as he followed the mist through the long corridor of empty cells. He kept thinking of the hidden door and wondering if perhaps that was the passage to the king’s escape route. But if it was, why had it seemed so cold and menacing, he wondered. There was something deep inside the castle that was evil. It tempted Lorik, the darkness called to him, and although Lorik was afraid, he was also curious. Some part of him longed to discover whatever lay on the other side of that doorway.

He shook his head and tried to focus on the mist, which was fading. Lorik didn’t know if the sun was rising or if he was imagining everything he had seen. He pinched himself, thinking for a moment that perhaps it was all just a dream, but he was awake. The mist led him back to the store room, the same dead end he’d found with Vyrnon earlier in the day. He sighed in frustration as the mist swirled weakly around his feet.

He was just about to turn around and go back when he noticed the mist seemed to be slipping between a large wooden chest, with bands of iron, and a tall wardrobe that had seen better days. The wardrobe was nicked and scratched, the fine workmanship was blunted from years of use. There was nothing about anything in the room that would normally attract attention, but the mist was moving, disappearing between the two pieces of furniture.

He stepped over to the chest and looked down. He tried to slide the chest away from the wardrobe, but it wouldn’t budge. He squatted and looked closer. The mist revealed that something was there, but didn’t give enough light for Lorik to see more than just shadowy outlines. He squinted in the darkness, but couldn’t see anything that would reveal the secret of the room. He pushed on the wardrobe but it too was solid and unmoving. He frowned. If the items in the storage room had been put there just to have them out of the way, he should be able to move them, at least a little bit. He pulled on the wardrobe door, but it didn’t open. He looked closer but there was no lock, or even a latch holding the door closed. Nothing about the room made sense, but he needed more light and perhaps a little help.

As Lorik stood up, the final few wisps of mist disappeared into the crack between the chest and the wardrobe. Lorik was in total darkness. He needed to get back upstairs where he could light a fire and get a lamp or torch to illuminate the storage room. He was hopeful that perhaps the secret route out of the castle was hidden behind the assembled junk in the storage room, but the oppressive darkness was choking that hope.

He moved forward slowly, sliding his feet and reaching out with his hands. It took a moment to find the doorway to the storage room. The door jamb felt solid and Lorik felt better. He knew that the dungeon corridor lay ahead, and beyond that the stairs that would take him up to the main level of the castle.

It took longer than he thought it would to traverse the dungeon corridor, and the closer he came to the hidden door, the more difficult the journey became. He felt an overwhelming sense of fear, as if some dark, malevolent force was watching him in the darkness. Eventually his hand touched the side wall, and he felt a shiver run up his arm. A voice spoke in his mind.

Come to me.

Lorik wanted to run, but he was rooted to the spot. The darkness felt tangible around him, like a mob of people holding him in place.

Open the door and come to me.

“No,” Lorik said.

You cannot refuse me.

“I won’t,” Lorik said, fighting to control his fear.

Then a new sensation washed over Lorik. It was the feeling of power and it made him giddy for just a moment. In the darkness he could see an image of himself sitting on a tall throne, with hundreds of people bowing down to him.

Come to me.

He hesitated.

Do not resist my power.

Lorik’s hand slid over the stones and he knew he was standing in front of the secret doorway. Instinctively he knew that if he pushed on it, the door would open.

Open the door and come to me.

Lorik felt himself leaning toward the door.

“No,” he said again, remembering the admonition that Rolwyn had given him. He knew that if he gave in to the darkness beyond the doorway, it would dominate him.

Open it now!
the voice ordered.

Lorik felt his resolve slipping. He knew that if he lingered, he wouldn’t be able to resist the dark magic behind the door. He forced his foot backward and then took a step away.

Don’t leave me here.

Another step back.

Let me give you my power.

Lorik hesitated.

I can overcome the witch’s army.

Lorik felt the temptation rise up again. If he allowed the magic behind the door to fill him, he would be more powerful than the witch. He would be more powerful than the wizard Zollin. He could bring order and peace to the Five Kingdoms.

Then his own thoughts turned darker. He could rule the Five Kingdoms. He would be all powerful and no one could stop him. The idea was so enticing, he almost took a step backward. He was just thinking of how he could make Issalyn love him, when he realized he didn’t want to make her love him. He didn’t want to force her to do something against her will. He shook his head and the voice beckoned once more.

I will give you everything you desire.

Lorik realized he could have everything, but he also realized it would mean nothing to him. His father’s voice popped into his head, reminding him that working for the things he wanted was good.
When you work for something, you can take pride in it,
his father had said.
A man uses his strength and energy to provide the things his family needs. There’s never any shame in a hard day’s work.

Lorik stepped back and the change was palpable. The temptation was suddenly gone, like stepping from a dark cave, and into sunlight. Lorik waited for a moment, trying to remember what he needed to do. The darkness around him was still as complete as before, but it didn’t seem frightening anymore, just bothersome.

He turned and made his way to the staircase that led back up into the castle. He moved carefully, taking each step cautiously and keeping one hand on the stone wall. The stairway spiraled upward. He passed several doorways, but kept moving up. Eventually, he saw light. It was dim, but enough that he could make out dark shadows among the gloom. Then he smelled bread baking, and the unmistakable scent of oats.

He followed his nose more than his eyes and eventually came to the kitchens. Vanz was hard at work. He had bread in the ovens and a large pot of bubbling oatmeal. Light was pouring in from an open window, as well as from the fire that crackled merely in the hearth.

“You’re up early, my lord,” Vanz said.

“So are you. Breakfast smells good.”

“Should I prepare you a bowl? It’s naught but oatmeal and fresh bread, but there’s butter, honey, and some fruit preserves.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Lorik said.

He ate quickly, finishing the bowl of warm oatmeal sweetened with honey and eating an entire loaf of warm bread with butter. There was wine and ale, but Lorik drank water. Then he took a burning stick from the fire.

“I’ll light a fire in the feasting hall,” Lorik said. “We have a lot of work to do today.”

“I’ll make sure everyone has plenty to eat,” Vanz assured him.

Lorik thanked the cook and went up to the feasting hall. It was empty and gloomy, but he soon had a fire going in the hearth. He searched in the servant’s quarters and found a long pole with a hook on the end. He used it to open the shutters over the high windows in the feasting hall. The cold winter air came in, but so did the sunlight. Lorik felt it was a fair trade.

None of the volunteers had roused themselves yet, and Lorik decided to run up to the top of the lookout tower. He jogged up the stairs, happy to be working the tensions from his muscles as he ran. When he finally reached the top, he stepped outside with more than a little trepidation. He feared that a massive army would be seen marching toward the city, but even though he looked in every direction, there was nothing to see. Nothing moved in the city below or in the countryside that surrounded the castle, except the long grass that swayed in the cold winter wind.

Lorik filled his lungs with the cold air, then jogged back down to the feasting hall. He collected two pots from the kitchens and banged them together as he walked up the wide, ornate staircase that led to the sleeping quarters. His volunteers came stumbling out.

“Breakfast is downstairs,” he called. “Everyone up and out to the feasting hall. There’s work to be done.”

The men grumbled, but none were truly angry.

“I think sleeping on feather beds is making you all soft,” Lorik called to the men.

“What’s got you in a tear this morning?” Stone asked, stepping out of a room and closing the door behind him.