Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (23 page)

“That was Sulvan’s idea,” Porvar said.

“What did you do before the monsters came?” Lorik asked.

“I ran a lumber mill.”

“
You
ran a mill?” Stone asked.

“I did most of the work,” Porvar said defensively.

“Where was this?” Lorik asked.

“Osla, outside the Grand City.”

“Do you remember anything else after the monsters came?” Lorik prompted.

“No,” Porvar replied. “Just waking up suddenly here, surrounded by people who look like I do now.”

“You don’t seem too concerned about what happened,” Stone said.

“Should I be?”

“I would be,” Stone said.

“It isn’t too hard to guess,” Porvar argued. “We were poisoned, changed, brought here and then turned on one another. All I care about is surviving.”

“We’ll give you food,” Lorik said, ignoring Stone withering look. “We don’t have much, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Where’s Sulvan?”

“Dead,” Stone said. “He wouldn’t surrender.”

“I think he must have been an outlaw or mercenary,” Porvar explained. “He saved my life though. We thought we would have better chances of surviving together.”

“That’s not a bad plan,” Lorik said. “Unfortunately, he’s dead. It’s better to go hungry than to die full.”

“There’s food around if you know how to look for it,” Stone said.

“Ort City is a few days walk down the south road,” Lorik said pointing.

“Here are some corn cakes,” Vera said, handing the wounded man half a dozen of the little loaves. “It’s not much, but it is all we can spare.”

The mutated man nodded.

“We’re heading north, but I don’t think you’ll be welcome there,” Lorik said.

“Couldn’t keep up now, anyway.”

“I’m sorry about your side,” Lorik said.

“I’ll heal,” Porvar grumbled.

Lorik and Stone left the man and returned to Vera. She was near the remains of their fire, with small portions of their food set aside for each of them. They ate quickly and then mounted their horses and rode away. It was nearly an hour before Vera spoke.

“I don’t feel good about the way we left that man,” she said.

“I’m not sure that was a man,” Stone said. “Not anymore.”

“Liam,” Vera chided. “It isn’t his fault he’s...”

She wasn’t sure how to describe the mutated man’s change.

“He’s mutated,” Lorik said. “Deformed.”

“It still isn’t his fault. We can’t treat them differently.”

“We can’t?” Stone asked. “Why not. They’re killers. I’ve been attacked by them more than once.”

“But they aren’t all violent,” Vera argued. “You found some that were just frightened and rightly so.”

“It’s not natural, that’s all I’m saying,” Stone said. “They’re a product of evil. If we let them remain, they will taint the entire kingdom. It only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch, you know.”

“That’s an interesting point,” Lorik said. “They do have the taint of dark magic, even if they are innocent creatures.”

They rode for the next five days, starting at sunrise and moving until well past dark. It was a cold journey, but whenever they built a fire, Lorik made sure someone stood guard. He took the majority of watches since he needed less rest than his companions, but they saw no more of the wretched souls cursed by the witch’s dark magic. Halfway through the sixth day, they caught sight of a massive group of people.

“You think that’s King Ricard’s army?” Stone asked Lorik.

“Or what’s left of the witch’s army,” Lorik replied

“You really think that’s a possibility?” Vera asked.

“We can’t rule it out,” Lorik said. “We haven’t seen any Leffers and I know there were some leading the witch’s army.”

“They could have flown past in the night,” Stone suggested.

“True enough, I guess we’ll know for certain soon.”

It was afternoon when the lines of tents and groups of bored soldiers finally came into view. There were sentries posted along the perimeter and Lorik’s band of volunteers were stopped by an overzealous guard.

“Who goes there?” the man called.

“I’m Lorik, from Ortis. I have news for King Ricard.”

“Bloody lot of good that will do us,” said the guard.

“I’m sorry?” Lorik asked, confused.

“The king isn’t here,” the guard said. “He’s gone back to Forxam.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“That would be Lord Yettlebor,” the guard said, pointing over toward a large tent.

“Thank you,” Lorik said.

“But he won’t see you,” the guard continued. “He’s an ass.”

“Oh,” Lorik was surprised. “Who do you recommend we see to find out what is going on?”

“I’d start with Commander Lorys. He’ll be near the horses, he always is unless the king needs him for something.”

“Thank you,” Lorik said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

The guard nodded then resumed his bored look, leaning heavily on his spear. Lorik and the others rode past, making their way up the slight rise toward the camp. The soldiers were spread out in a long line. Sections alternated between campsites, leisure areas, and either picket lines for horses or resupply wagons. There was a cluster of large tents, which Lorik guessed had been used for the king and his closest advisors. Lorik wanted to go directly to those tents in search of Queen Issalyn, but the fact that King Ricard wasn’t with his troops made Lorik suspicious. He couldn’t imagine why the king would come all this way, only to return home before the battle had even begun.

Lorik wondered if perhaps word of the witch’s army falling apart had reached the troops already. If they knew that the witch’s army was lost, then why were they still in Ortis? Nothing made sense and on top of it all, Lorik still had a nagging feeling that he needed to go north. He decided he had waited a long time to see Issalyn, a few more minutes wouldn’t kill him, especially if it meant finding out what was going on.

They rode to the large group of horses nearest the large tents. There were several men checking the horses’ hooves and rubbing them down.

“Excuse me,” Lorik said loudly. “I’m looking for Commander Lorys.”

“You’ve found him,” said an older man with gray streaks in his beard.

“I’m Lorik.”

“Heard of you,” Lorys said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

He left the horse he’d just been checking and walked over to where Lorik and the others were dismounting. Lorik, Stone, and Vera handed their reins over to Vyrnon and met with the army commander a short way from their exhausted mounts.

“What’s the word on the witch’s army?”

“You haven’t heard anything?”

“Only that they’re marching north. A wizard warned us about them. Told us to look for you. I can see why.”

“The witch lost control over her army,” Lorik said. “About a week ago. They turned on each other. A lot were slaughtered, but there were tens of thousands. Most have fled south again.”

“You saw this?” Lorys asked.

“Yes, send scouts south, about a week’s ride, and they’ll find them.”

“The army?”

“Their dead,” Lorik said. “We rode more than half a day through the killing field. I’ve never imagined so many people in one place, much less so many dead. We ran into several who were still alive and questioned them. They were captured and their bodies mutated. They’re bigger, stronger, and in most cases severely disfigured. When the witch controlled them, they were mindless and they don’t have any memory of what they did.”

“You sure seem to know a lot about them,” Lorys said warily.

“We fought them,” Stone said. “We went down south to scout. Made it as far as Ort City and got surrounded.”

“We’d have all been killed if the witch’s spell hadn’t broken.”

“Just the four of you?” Lorys asked.

“No, we had a small group of volunteers,” Lorik said. “About two dozen. I was coming to report our findings to King Ricard.”

“He’s gone north, back to Forxam,” Lorys said. “His daughter was kidnapped.”

Lorik wasn’t sure what to say, but something about the king’s daughter triggered Lorik’s instincts. Somehow he knew that the king’s daughter had something to do with why he felt drawn to the north.

“You’ll need to make a report to Lord Yettlebor,” Lorys continued. “He’s in charge while King Ricard is away.”

“Where is he?” Lorik asked.

“He’ll be in the big tent, but I’ll have to arrange things. Yettlebor doesn’t get in a hurry about anything. You’ll want to clean up and get something to eat. You can picket your horses here. I’ll send for you when Yettlebor is ready to receive you.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Vera said.

“One more thing,” Lorik said. “We would like to find Queen Issalyn. Is she here, or back with the refugees near the Wilderlands?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lorys said. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Not even when she was with King Ricard?” Lorik asked.

“She never was, to my knowledge. I’ve been with the king since we left Forxam, but your queen wasn’t with our party.”

“Did she stay in Forxam?” Lorik asked, suddenly feeling a tension in his stomach.

“She was never in Forxam,” Lorys said. “We came south two weeks ago.”

“Perhaps they just missed each other on the road,” Vera suggested.

“I can’t imagine that she would have missed an entire army,” Lorik snapped.

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Stone added.

“Let’s get some food, make our report, then we can decide what to do,” Vera said.

Lorik felt a sense of panic threatening to overtake him, but he forced it back down. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he bolted north, but the feeling he’d experienced since even before taking the band of volunteers south was stronger than ever before. Somehow he knew that Issalyn was in danger and that she was in Baskla somewhere. He wanted to leave immediately, but he knew he couldn’t. His ankle was much better and the bruising on his chest was healed, as were the cuts on his shoulders, but going north alone wasn’t a good idea. He needed to report to the officer in command, then he could find out what was going on.

He nodded and went with Stone and Vera in search of food.

They went back and forth, first one way, then another. Sometimes they walked, other times they rode horses. Josston sent his men with groups of horses in different directions, only to have them meet up later and then send them away again. Queen Issalyn and Princess Amvyr were exhausted. They trekked through thick tangles of underbrush, climbed steep hills and stumbled down rocky ravines. Vines seemed to cover everything, and where the ground wasn’t muddy, it was filled with rocks that twisted their ankles and bruised the soles of their feet.

Queen Issalyn’s dress was ripped and torn in a dozen places. The cold mud clung to her skirts and weighed her down. The cold was never ending. She’d never been so cold and alone in all her life. Josston rarely spoke to her, and when he did it was just to order her about. His men never spoke, and Amvyr was in a state of shock, mumbling when she did speak about mundane things from her life in Forxam that made no sense to Issalyn.

It snowed through the night at some point. She’d lost count of the days and nights. The snow made everything slick, and the accompanying temperatures made her shake uncontrollably. She felt like she would never be warm again, and it had been so long since they’d been anywhere near civilization that she felt hopelessly lost in the wild hills of Baskla. She hadn’t seen anyone other than her captors for several days. Her hopes of another search party finding them had dwindled completely away. They had covered so much ground that it had all become a blur, so she didn’t recognized the overgrown ruins at first.

The thick, forest vines covered the stone structures, many of which were broken down or just piles of rubble. They were on horseback, Issalyn and Amvyr hunched over their saddles, heads drooping with fatigue. Josston led them to an ancient castle. The battlements had been destroyed in a war so long ago it was lost from memory. The polished flagstones had been cracked and rutted over time, the ice splitting the stone and making room for weeds to sprout up through the jagged fissures. It wasn’t until Josston called a halt to their journey that Issalyn realized something was different. The charming brigand had never stopped in the middle of the day, except to occasionally switch from horseback to a forced march. This time was different, he sat quietly looking up at the large structure.

The castle looked like a jagged hill from a distance. The weathered stone showed through in a few places where the rambling vines and militant weeds hadn’t yet conquered, but most of the surface was covered in foliage. Issalyn could only guess how the structure looked in the spring and summer, when the vines and weeds were green and thriving. Most of the foliage was now withered and brown, camouflaging the ancient stone beneath perfectly.

Issalyn was surprised to discover the structure and that it seemed to be Josston’s destination.

“Bring them inside,” he ordered two of his men. “The rest of you take the horses and keep moving north. I shall summon you when the need arises.”

His men obeyed without a word. Issalyn couldn’t imagine how they could possibly be summoned once they were out of sight in the thick tangle of woods, but she didn’t have time to ponder the mystery. She was pulled from her saddle and then pushed along the small, level path toward a thick curtain of brown vines. Josston led the way, slipping behind the vines and disappearing from view.

“I’m not going in there,” Amvyr said in a desperate voice. “I can’t.”

“Move it!” said the man behind her, shoving her forward roughly.

“No,” she began weeping.

“It’ll be okay,” Issalyn said.

She nodded at the young girl and pushed her way through the vines. They had fought their way through brambles and thickets of thorns that pulled and tore their dresses. They had forded streams and slogged through bogs of mud. Despite all that, there was an unnatural sense of fear as Issalyn climbed through the vines. The stiff, woody vines felt more like hands pulling her in different directions. The weak, winter sunlight was snuffed out as surely as if she had entered a cave. The vines seemed to go on and on, growing softer and filling her nose with the odor of rotten vegetation. Moisture clung to the vines, making them feel slick and unnatural. The darkness was more than a lack of light, almost as if the darkness was alive and fighting its way into her mind.

She struggled to move, struggled to breath. She felt like she was drowning, or being buried alive. Then, somehow, she broke through to the other side of the curtain of vines. She was in a large room, the darkness now just a shadow of what it had been before. She heard Amvyr struggling through the vines, sobbing and calling for help. Issalyn moved back to the vines and reached in to help the young girl. Her mind rebelled and she had to force herself to stay and help. Every part of her wanted to move away from the vines, to get far away from the living darkness. Then she felt Amvyr’s flailing hand. She grabbed it firmly and pulled as she backed away. The princess fell into the room, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

“Keep moving,” came a gruff voice.

Issalyn couldn’t see anything clearly. The room was all shadows and even her guards were dark shapes in the cavernous room. They shuffled along, their hands out in front of them, their feet instinctively taking small steps. They passed out of the big room and went down a long hallway. There were high windows in the hall, mostly covered in vines, but some light leaked through. Issalyn and Amvyr looked up at the light. The queen thought it was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

Then they were forced down a long, winding staircase that circled around the stone walls of a vast, subterranean chamber. There was no outer rail along the stairs; they simply ended out into space. The outer edge of the stairs were broken and crumbling, some shorter than others. Issalyn moved carefully down the stairs, keeping one hand on the stone wall, and making sure of each step before she took it. They went down further and further, the light fading but the air growing warming. Then the musky smell of animals rose up to meet them. It didn’t smell good, but it was a familiar smell and a little hope blossomed in Issalyn’s heart.

Torchlight made the dark void below them come alive. Shadows wavered and danced on the stone walls. The bottom of the huge cavern finally came into view. The center of the circular cavern was the home of a group of animals. Pigs and sheep were in separate pens, chickens moved freely around the straw covered stone floor. There were other chambers leading away from the central cavern. Some had doorways, others were open. Torches burned in sconces around the circular room.

“In there!” ordered Issalyn’s guard.

He shoved her into a small room, little more than a hole under the stairs. A wooden grate was locked into place with chains and she turned to look into the main room. Amvyr was locked into another room where Issalyn couldn’t see her. There were rushes on the floor, and a pile of straw in the back of the small room. Issalyn couldn’t stand up, but she felt safe enough to lie down. The room wasn’t warm exactly, but it was warmer than anywhere Issalyn had been since she’d been taken captive. More importantly, the room was dry.

The recesses of the small room were extremely dark, and Issalyn wasn’t sure how far back the little cell went. She sat by the wooden lattice, looking out at the soft warm light. She watched the animals for a long time, then slowly her eyelids drooped. She was afraid to go to sleep, but was so tired she knew it was inevitable. Part of her wanted to crawl back to the pile of hay, but she didn’t want to move away from the light.

Finally, her head propped against the wooden barrier to her cell, her back against the smooth stone wall, she fell asleep. Her dreams had been horrific nightmares for days, but her dream then was different. She was aware of being in a large, dark place, and she could feel the weight of the ancient castle bearing down on her until she couldn’t move. She wasn’t alone in the darkness either, there was something there, something old and foul. It knew she was there, and it watched her. She didn’t know what do, so she did nothing, shivering in terror until finally a rattling noise outside her cell woke her. It was the sound of the chain being dragged across the wooden slats of her cell door. She slid back, further into the small room. A bowl of food and a large, wooden mug of water were set on the floor, then the grate was chained again.

Issalyn wanted to rush to the food, but she moved back to the wooden slats in time to see who had brought the food. Her blood ran cold when she saw the small, hunched back, covered by a threadbare, filthy tunic. Long hair hid the woman’s face, and Issalyn could only guess that it was a woman. Her legs were bare, covered in thick fur, the knees bending the wrong direction and instead of feet she had thick hooves like a plow horse. Her arms hung down, in her stooped position until they almost touched the floor. She had long fingernails that curled forward and tapped against the stone. She moved slowly away from Issalyn’s cell, avoiding the chickens who pecked the floor around the center of the room.

Issalyn looked but couldn’t see anyone else moving in the central chamber, so she crawled over to her bowl of food. It was a stew of some kind, with chunks of meat, carrots, potatoes, and onions, in a thick broth. The food had a strange smell, and Issalyn guessed that eating it might not be good for her, but she was too hungry to care. She scarfed the food down and then drank all of the tepid water in the mug.

Then drowsiness overcame her again. Every muscle hurt, her legs twitched and jerked uncontrollably. Her back ached, and her neck was stiff. She crawled over to the mound of straw and discovered a filthy blanket. She lay down on the straw, which was both scratchy, and yet softer than anything she’d slept on since leaving the inn on the beginning of her journey north. She fell asleep almost instantly, and this time she didn’t dream. She was warm and comfortable, her muscles slowly relaxing, her distressed mind finally released from the fear and anxiety that haunted her dreams, and she slept deeply.