Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) (25 page)

“I don’t know for sure,” Lorik said. “But whatever has been drawing me north is down there. I can feel that.”

“So it’s magic,” Stone said. “That’s going to be fun to deal with.”

“Whatever we find,” Lorik said. “You two have to stay together, and don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

“You sound downright paternal,” Stone said.

“Quit yapping and get some rest,” Lorik warned. “Whatever we find down there, it’s not going to be easy to kill.”

“Do we have to kill it?” Vera asked.

“Yes,” Lorik said. “I’m sure of that. If we don’t defeat it, the evil will spread like a plague.”

“And here I thought the witch’s army was the worst thing we’d be facing,” Stone said.

Vera kept feeding their small fire and prepared food. It was a simple stew, but savory and hot. Stone and Lorik sharpened their weapons. The weather grew worse, snow began to fall, but it soon turned to sleet, pelting them with icy shards. They covered their heads with damp blankets and tried to sleep. It was a long, cold, night, the stars and moon hidden behind thick clouds and the only light in the unnaturally quiet forest was from their small fire, which spit and sputtered in the icy snow and sleet.

Lorik closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it wasn’t easy. He felt like he was finally at the end of a long journey, only it wasn’t just their trek north. He felt that the next day would be the conclusion of something much bigger. It felt so big in fact, that Lorik was afraid. When he was a small boy, he’d often lain in bed, feeling small and insignificant. The world had seemed so vast to him then that he couldn’t imagine not getting swallowed up in it. Now, as he lay huddled under a blanket, the wet ground soaking through his clothes and their camp fire only teasing him with the illusion of warmth, he felt the same terror he’d known as a child. The source of magic in the valley below was so deep and dark that he knew the odds were good that by going down in search of Queen Issalyn, he would probably be lost forever. That thought filled him with dread, but he never considered not going. His love was in the valley, and nothing would keep him from coming to her aid, not fear, not evil magic, not even his own death.

Queen Issalyn wasn’t sure how many days had passed. The torches were a constant source of light, and the only variation to her days were the delivery of meals. She soon grew to hate the gruel she was served, but she waited anxiously for the wretched creature that brought her food. Issalyn tried in vain to communicate with the woman, if that’s what she really was. Occasionally an animal would disappear from the pens, but Issalyn never saw the beasts taken. She slept often, and never felt rested. When she wasn’t sleeping on the bed of hay, she was leaning against the wooden barrier to her cell.

Then, finally she heard voices. Men were coming. She felt both hope and fear. Perhaps they would set her free, or perhaps they were coming to kill her or worse. She couldn’t stop playing out the nightmarish possibilities in her head. She strained to see who was coming, but it was only as they drew near to her cell that she could see them in the wavering torchlight.

Josston was in a long robe, his riding clothes gone, and no weapons were visible. He was followed by two of his guards, both were big men. Unlike their master, they still wore the rugged clothes they had worn on the trail, and still carried dangerous looking daggers in their thick, leather belts. Issalyn felt her heart fluttering in her chest as the men drew near. Her breath caught in her throat and she had to fight the urge to scream as they came in front of her cell. She could feel the evil intent radiating from Josston as if it were a bad smell.

Then they passed her by, the guards glancing down at her, but Josston ignored her completely. She felt a sense of relief and then a sense of dismay. They weren’t there for her, they were leaving her in the filthy prison.

“What do you want?” cried the terrified voice of Amvyr.

“Come out or I’ll come in after you,” said one of the guards. “You won’t like it if I have to do that.”

“No!” she screamed. “Leave me alone. Get away from me.”

“Come here!” the guard bellowed.

Issalyn could hear him grunting as he crawled into the cell to get the princess. She pressed her face against the wooden slats, trying hard to see what was happening, but she couldn’t. They were close to Issalyn’s cell, but too far for the queen to make out what was happening.

“Don’t touch me!” bellowed Amvyr. Then she screamed.

“I’ve got you now, you little brat,” the guard said angrily.

There was another scream; this time it was born of pain and Issalyn could hear the guard grunting with effort as he pulled the princess from her cell. Issalyn could hear Amvyr kicking and thrashing in an effort to get away from her captors, but it was all to no avail.

“Bring her,” Josston said, walking back the way he had come.

Issalyn felt a wave of icy terror wash over her, making her skin contract into goose bumps as Josston hesitated by her cell. Then he bent down, so she could see his face. He looked different, there were dark circles under his eyes and his lips seemed thinner as they drooped in a frown.

“I had plans for you, my lady,” he said in a grim tone. “But those will have to wait. It seems you are better served as bait and soon I will have a bigger prize. Then, perhaps I shall sacrifice you in homage to the Lord of Darkness.”

He smiled wickedly and Issalyn shuffled back from the bars of her cell. Josston laughed cruelly and then rose to his feet.

“Let us go, the time grows near,” he ordered his men.

“No!” screamed Amvyr.

Issalyn watched as the two guards dragged the princess away. Once they passed her cell, Issalyn crawled forward, straining to see what was happening, but they were soon out of her field of vision. A sense of dread came over the queen. She was afraid of what Josston meant to do to her, but she was also afraid of what he meant by saying she was better used as bait. She had no idea what that meant or who might be tempted by her being held captive. No matter what the evil man had in store for her, Issalyn knew it wasn’t good. She wasn’t going to be ransomed and rescue seemed impossible.

She crawled back into the recesses of her small cell, letting the darkness hide her. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She was scared for Amvyr, scared of what Josston was planning to do, and most of all she was scared that Lorik was coming for her. She had secretly been hoping that he would somehow find her and rescue her from Josston’s clutches, but she had never really let herself imagine it. The hope Lorik had represented hovered just under the veil of despair that covered her, but now it broke through only to be snuffed out by Josston’s vile threat. She was bait and Issalyn feared that Lorik was rushing headlong into the trap Josston was setting.

She cried herself to sleep and several meals passed before she heard voices again. She thought briefly that it was Josston returning Amvyr to her cell. Issalyn had almost given up hope that the young princess was still alive. The voices were muffled, and Issalyn couldn’t make out what was being said. She pressed herself into the wooden slats again, straining to see and hear what was happening. The voices were similar to what she heard before, but something was clearly different as well.

One of the voices was softer, higher in pitch, more feminine. Fear crashed over Issalyn like a thunderstorm as she recognized the voice. Amvyr was laughing, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. It wasn’t the laugh of a young girl, full of hope and happiness, but rather the cruel cackle of a woman with evil intent.

Issalyn backed away from the slats of her cell, but a woman’s skirts came into view. They turned and stopped directly in front of Issalyn’s cell. Then, Amvyr bent low, her face peering through a gap in the wooden barrier.

“Time to go, Queen Issalyn,” she said, a teasing tone to her voice.

“Where?” Issalyn managed to ask.

“With me,” Amvyr said slyly.

“Amvyr, what is going on? What did they do to you?”

“Come here and let me show you,” the girl said.

The chain that held the cell closed rattled against the wooden gate. Queen Issalyn slid herself back in the cell instinctively. Terror was encircling her heart and panic threatened to overtake her.

“No,” she said in shaky voice. “Leave me alone.”

“Damn,” said one of the guards with Amvyr. “Why do they always do that?”

“Your turn to crawl in there,” the other guard said in a gruff voice.

“No,” Amvyr said. “I’ll do it.”

She was still bent low, peering into the cell. There was a wicked light in her eyes. She beckoned to Issalyn.

“Come out, it’s your time.”

“No!” Issalyn said, her back pressed against the cold, stone wall.

Amvyr reached out a hand and a smoky, black, vapor began to snake its way toward Queen Issalyn.

“No!” the queen shouted. “Get away from me.”

The vapor moved closer, slithering like a serpent. Issalyn drew her legs up toward her chest, but she couldn’t get away. The vapor moved closer and Issalyn kicked at the magical mist. First, her foot flew through the vapor as if it were a bank of fog, but then, as Issalyn tried to draw her foot back, the vapor wrapped around her ankle and seemed to solidify. The black mist transformed into a glossy, black, leathery appendage that wrapped around her ankle and slow pulled her out of the cell.

“No!” screamed Issalyn, clawing the hard, stony walls and floor of the cell as she desperately tried to hold herself in place.

She screamed, her voice cracking as pain erupted in her throat. She felt her fingernails snap as he tried to find a handhold on the stone floor. One fingernail tore free of the nail bed, sending burning lances of fire down her finger and into her hand.

Amvyr stayed hunched in front of the cell as the mist slowly drew Issalyn out of the small room. When the Queen was close enough, one of the guards bent low and took hold of Issalyn’s thrashing legs.

“I’ve got her,” the guard said, as he pulled her roughly from the cell.

The other guard grabbed one arm and jerked her upright. The queen hadn’t stood up in a long time; her legs were weak from lack of use and fear. Her knees buckled, but the other guard grabbed her other arm. Struggling was useless, they were much too strong for the queen to break free. They squeezed her arms so tightly that it hurt, wrenching her body upright and holding her up.

“Time to go,” Amvyr said in a playful voice.

Then she laughed, and cold terror began to worm its way into Issalyn’s mind. The guards dragged her behind Amvyr and up the stone stairwell. Issalyn quit struggling. It was useless and even if she did succeed, she would probably knock one of the guards off the narrow stairs only to be dragged down with him.

“Where are you taking me?” Issalyn asked.

“To the temple,” Amvyr said. “Your most glorious hour awaits.”

“What does that mean?”

“You shall see. Your pathetic life will finally have meaning. You will be remembered as the spark that ignited the world.”

“I don’t want to,” Issalyn said. “Can’t you just let me go?”

“What would you return to, Queen Issalyn?” Amvyr said in a mocking tone. “Do you long for the days when servants waited on you hand and foot? Do you miss the festivals and feast days when pathetic simpletons begged for your attention and you dressed like a jester to be paraded before the mewling crowds? That was no life, there was no power in your position, it was only a mockery of the inevitable reality to come.”

“What are you talking about?” Issalyn said. “Have you gone mad?”

“No,” Amvyr suddenly turned to face Issalyn on the crumbling stairway. “My whole life before was madness. Now I know the master of worlds and the fate of the Five Kingdoms. Now my life has meaning, just as your death shall have.”

“Please don’t,” Issalyn said.

Amvyr ignored the queen’s pleas. The guards dragged her upward, but they stopped before they reached the upper level of the castle ruins. Amvyr placed her hands on the stone wall, and an opening appeared. She led the guards into a dark corridor. Issalyn couldn’t see anything, but her feet touched smooth stone and the footsteps of the guards echoed around her. Then a glimmer of light was visible. The guards forced her into a round chamber with a stone altar in the center. Glowing lines were etched on the altar and on the stone floor. Candles burned in a circle around the altar, their wax flowing down the long tapers and piling up in mounds at the base of each candle.

Issalyn began to struggle again, but the guards held her fast. They carried her to the altar and tied her hands and feet with hairy ropes that rubbed her skin raw. They fastened the ropes to the foot of the altar so that Issalyn was lying on her back, her arms and legs spread wide and held fast.

Amvyr stepped forward with a large knife and Issalyn began to thrash on the cold stone. Amvyr laughed as tears of panic flowed from Queen Issalyn’s eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Amvyr said. “Your time has not yet come.”

Then she slid the knife under the queen’s filthy dress and cut the tattered garment away. The guards were gone, so Amvyr was forced to jerk the ruined clothes out from underneath Issalyn herself. The Queen felt helpless and exposed, her mind seemed to turn inward and even though she felt terror like a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe, she thought of happier times. She remembered her childhood, being a little girl in her father’s large home. She remembered playing with friends and hearing her mother’s soothing voice as she sang Issalyn to sleep.

The old crone with the beastly legs came into the chamber with a bucket of water. She scrubbed the queen, but Issalyn hardly noticed. The water was hot, but there was no relief in it, nor did she feel clean when the crone finished and covered the queen’s body with a sheet, tucking and folding it around her shivering form.

“Ready,” croaked the crone to Amvyr who watched patiently a few feet from the altar.

“Good, I will inform the master.”

Both Amvyr and the old crone left the round room and Issalyn was all alone. She lay still for a long time, her mind closed to the things around her. Finally, as the terror eased she came back to herself. She couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, nor did she want to. She did notice the hole in the ceiling. It was about the size of a large wagon wheel and opened onto a long shaft that rose straight up. She could see clouds moving through the night sky, and stars tinkling high overhead. She stared at the sky and waited, knowing she was seeing the beauty of the night for the last time. Death was coming; she could hear its tattered robe brushing against the stone floor, but she was no longer afraid of dying. The truth was, she longed to die. She was tired of the fear, tired of the pain and misery her life had become. But most of all she was tired of the broken promises, of the lost hope, and the bitter disappointment. All she wanted was for everything to end and she knew that soon enough, it would.