Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) (19 page)

“So we can send scouts east,” Stone said.

“I did that, remember? Besides, we can’t spare any more men.”

“So I’ll go,” Stone said.

“No, I can’t risk losing you.”

“I am a valuable asset,” Stone teased.

“No, I can’t risk Vera’s wrath if something happened to you.”

“Lorik, I’ve been on my own for a very long time. I’m a good rider and a better fighter. Plus I know there’s danger, so I’ll be extra careful. Trust me. I’ll take a little ride and be back in a few days. Then you can stop worrying.”

“All right, but you’re telling Vera,” Lorik said.

“Coward,” Stone replied.

They both laughed.

The journey back to Fort Utlig was uneventful, and the next day Stone left on his scouting mission. Lorik spent his time drilling the volunteers. The men were getting more accustomed to riding and using their weapons on horseback. Riders came in from the west, and Lorik sent two more men to ride the border every day so that there was a constant flow of volunteers coming and going from Fort Utlig to Fort Hallish and back. There was no sign of Norsik warriors in the Wilderlands, which only made Lorik worry about Stone even more.

Stone rode away from the fort with a feeling of excitement. He didn’t like leaving Vera, or even being apart from her, but being on the open road had a certain appeal. He liked being on his own, if only for short periods of time. And most of all, he liked that Lorik trusted him. Stone’s father had died when Stone was a young boy, and he’d been forced to fight and scramble for everything he had. He’d learned to fight and had spent his adult years hunting down the men who had cheated his father and taken advantage of his mother. She had been forced to do the will of wicked men, who destroyed her body and her mind. She had died when Stone was a teenager, and when the man who had taught him to fight was killed, Stone had gone on the rampage. Since then, he had moved from place to place, almost always falling in with the wrong kind of people.

When he had fled to the Marshlands, his hope had been to change his life, but being a stranger was huge barrier to overcome. He had been close to falling in with Marsdyn’s gang of outlaws in Hassell Point; in fact, he was certain he would have if Lorik hadn’t been willing to give him a chance. Lorik had taken Stone under his wing, teaching him how to find his way through the Marshlands and haul freight in one of the big wagons that Lorik owned. Now Lorik had once again entrusted Stone with a mission that was important, and it gave the young fighter a sense of significance unlike anything he had ever known in life.

The land along the coast was lush. There were large, sandy dunes dividing the farmlands from the sea, but trees were few and far between. The wide, grassy plains were green, and the sea air that blew in from the gulf was cold and briny. Stone wrapped his cloak around him and stood the collar up. The horse he rode helped keep Stone warm, but by late afternoon on the first day he was anxious for a fire. He’d seen farms with small cottages and had ridden close enough to see that there was no damage to the homes. He often saw the occupants working nearby, and there was no sign of Norsik raiders.

Just before dark he came to a large farmhouse with several outbuildings, including a large barn. He rode up to the house and asked the owners if he could stay in their barn for the night. The farm was home to a large family; several of the sons were nearly as old as the volunteers Lorik had brought up from Hassell Point.

“Wouldn’t be right to make you sleep out there,” the farmer said. “Come inside, we’ll feed you and let you sleep by the fire.”

Stone didn’t hesitate. He shared a large meal with the family and told them about scouting for the Norsik. The farmer’s wife and daughters looked frightened but the farmer waved a hand of dismissal.

“I haven’t seen a raider in two decades,” the farmer said. “These boys have never seen one. Our farm is almost exactly halfway between Timmons Gate and Farns Cove up the coast. Our place isn’t big enough to attract the Norsik.”

“I have,” Stone said. “They sacked Ange Point and a lot of coastal towns in between. And we just turned back a group that was heading for Timmons Gate.”

“Sent the cowards running, I suspect,” the farmer said.

“Some of them,” Stone said. “A small group escaped. We thought they were headed back to the coast, but they circled back. There were at least a dozen of them. You haven’t had any livestock go missing, have you?”

“No, nothing at all,” the farmer said, but he refused to look Stone in the eye, and he answered the question just a little too quickly.

Stone’s natural distrust ticked up a notch and he wondered why the farmer would be lying to him. The farmer and his wife started acting nervous. The farmer had a sharpness to his voice as he spoke to his sons that wasn’t there before, and his wife left the table before she had finished eating.

“So, what do you raise out here? Wheat? Barley?”

“Beans, mostly,” the farmer said. “They’re hardy enough to endure the salty air. I think it makes them taste better, too, but we grow a few other things. Raise a few cows and chickens.”

“Well, I appreciate your hospitality,” Stone said. “I was thinking of taking a walk before I turn in for the night. I’ve been in the saddle all day and I need to stretch my legs.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” the farmer said. “We want to hear more about your adventures. You said you sailed up here, right? Through the Sailor’s Graveyard? That must have been harrowing. Why don’t you come sit by the fire? I’ll mull some wine and you can tell us a story or two.”

Stone couldn’t imagine why the farmer didn’t want him outside, but he agreed to tell a story. He wasn’t grandiose in his delivery, but he told of their adventures sailing up the coast and then through the Sandah Gulf. They drank warm mulled wine that made Stone feel hot. He wanted to take that walk more than ever, just to get some fresh, cold air, but he did his best to hide his discomfort.

The farmer put his children to bed and then gave Stone a blanket. His wife laid out a thick rug near the fire and covered it with several quilts. Then she apologized for not having a spare bed.

“This is more than enough,” Stone said smiling.

He bid the couple good night, and they thanked him again for the news from Timmons Gate. Then he stretched out on the floor and pretended to go to sleep. Waiting was hard, but eventually he heard the farmer’s growling snores. He waited even longer, fighting the sleep that threatened to drag him into unconsciousness. Then, finally, he stood up and stretched. He strapped on his knives and made sure they were positioned perfectly.

Sneaking out of the house was easy enough. The night was quiet and dark, but Stone could make out the big barn. He had a feeling he wasn’t the only guest these days. Perhaps he was wrong, or maybe just paranoid, but he would sleep better once he had a look around the barn.

He crossed the yard silently and then slowly opened the barn door. He could hear the deep breathing of large animals in their stalls, mixed with the unmistakable sounds of human snoring. He stayed at the door for a long time, peering into the darkness, hoping his eyes would adjust, but it was just too dark. He needed a lamp, but he didn’t want to risk an open flame in the barn, which he guessed was filled with hay and other combustible materials. Still, he had to go inside and find out who was staying in the farmer’s barn.

He went back to the house and snooped around a bit. He found a lamp with a tin shade. It wasn’t much more than a can of oil, a wick, and the shade, but it was better than nothing. He lit the lamp using a half-burned stick from the fireplace and trimmed the wick as low as it would go. He was afraid the light would wake the farmer, but the older man’s snores went on uninterrupted.

Stone made his way back to the barn and ventured just inside. He could see rows of stalls and a loft above them. There was also a large open area just inside the door that was filled with farming equipment. Stone moved to the stalls and inspected each one. They were either empty or home to a horse or cow. The only way up into the loft, where Stone had determined the snores were coming from, was a vertical ladder. It would be impossible to climb the ladder and hold anything other than the lamp. He couldn’t risk dropping the light and he would have to throw open the loft door. It was a dangerous situation, but finally he decided to trim the lamp’s wick again to produce as much light as possible.

He set the lamp on the ledge of an empty stall near the ladder. Then, with his fingers through the brass knuckle guard of his knives, one on each hand, he carefully climbed the ladder. The loft door was heavy, but not locked. It groaned slightly on its rusty metal hinges as Stone swung it open.

“Huh? Who’s there?” came a sleepy voice from the dark loft.

Stone didn’t answer. Instead he ducked back down and retrieved the lantern. His first impulse had been to simply slay everyone in the loft, but then he thought that perhaps some of the farmer’s children were being held there as hostages.

“Who’s down there?” came a whispered voice from above Stone.

He breathed a sigh of relief. If the voice belonged to a Norsik raider, it would have been loud and full of alarm. Instead, the voice had been muffled and quiet, as if it wasn’t intended to wake anyone.

Stone poked his head through the opening again and whispered back.

“I’m here to help.”

He trimmed the lantern once again, so that it only cast out a dim light and saw a very frightened-looking boy and girl. They were young children, their feet tied together, and even without asking Stone could see that they were related to the farmer.

“How many men are there?” Stone asked the little boy, who was holding the girl with one of his hands over her mouth.

“Eight,” the boy whispered. “Two died.”

“Okay, if I cut you loose, can you get your sister out of the barn quietly?”

The boy nodded and loosened his grip on the girl. She whimpered a little but didn’t cry. Stone held the lantern up and saw that the raiders were sleeping not far away. They were vicious-looking men, with blue and black streaks painted across the skin of their faces. Their hair was shaved along the sides and backs, leaving a thick patch of long, greasy hair on top. Stone saw bandages on several of the men and could smell the putrefaction of bad wounds.

He moved quickly to the boy and girl and cut their bonds. The rope was thick, and he had to saw with his knives to sever the strands of the rope. He kept his eyes on the sleeping raiders as he did so.

“Are there any more hostages up here?” Stone asked.

The boy shook his head.

“All right, be careful going down the ladder.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy whispered. “Come on, Issa.”

Stone waited until the boy and his sister were at the bottom of the ladder, then he attacked. He clamped a hand over the first raider’s mouth and shoved his knife into the man’s ribcage. The raider kicked for a few seconds, then his bowels emptied, and the stench rose up into the loft so strong that Stone almost gagged. The second raider went just as quietly as the first, but the third went into convulsions, his body shaking and thumping on the wooden floor.

Two of the other raiders woke up and started shouting in their thick native language. Stone flew into action before the two raiders could draw their weapons. He punched the nearest man hard with the brass knuckle guard on his knife, hitting the man in the temple and knocking him senseless. The second man’s throat was torn away by a swipe of Stone’s other knife. He had taken both men out in a matter of seconds, but they had made enough noise to wake the other four raiders.

Fortunately for Stone, only one of the raiders got to his feet. The other three were two sick from their wounds to do more than watch with fever-glazed eyes. The raider was big, thick through the chest and shoulders like Lorik. He growled like an animal, revealing several missing teeth. The raider drew a short curved sword and moved slowly toward Stone.

There wasn’t much room in the loft to maneuver. Stone didn’t expect the other three raiders to put up much of a fight, but he didn’t want to get close enough to them that they could trip him or stab at his legs with their knives.

Stone moved backward, nearer and nearer to the open trapdoor. The cows were beginning to make noise below, pawing at the floor with their hooves and bellowing their deep-throated cries. The big raider jumped forward, swinging his sword in a low arc aimed to stab up into Stone’s stomach from his groin, but Stone danced quickly to the side, slashing a blade at the bigger man’s throat. The raider raised his free arm to block the blade and it cut through his forearm, severing muscle and grating against the bone.

The raider bellowed in rage and pushed forward toward Stone, turning with Stone in hopes of getting close enough to gut his attacker. But Stone continued circling around the raider, who couldn’t match his speed. Stone swiped at the bigger man’s hip with his second knife, then spun low and slashed the raider across his lower back.

This time the raider screamed in pain and toppled to his knees. Stone stabbed the raider in the side of his neck, the blade hacking into the raider’s spine and killing him instantly. The big man fell forward and lay hanging halfway out of the loft’s trapdoor. Stone didn’t hesitate, even though the thought of killing helpless men was repugnant to him. He couldn’t let the raiders live. He moved quickly, stabbing each one in the heart. None of the three men tried to stop him; they were dying from their wounds, and they must have found death a relief.

Stone stood up and looked around the loft. Only one raider lived, and from the way the man was twitching on the floor, Stone guessed his punch to the raider’s temple had smashed the unfortunate raider’s skull. He slit the man’s throat and then climbed down the ladder. He could hear the farmer and his family in the yard. They were talking in high, tense tones, half full of relief at seeing the children and half fearful of what was going to happen to them.

Stone had to push the big raider through the loft door to get to the ladder. The body landed with a sickening crunch on the barn’s hard-packed dirt floor. Stone climbed down and stepped over the body. He had wiped his blades clean and was now carrying the lamp. He walked out into the yard, his face a mask of tension and anger.

“What happened?” the farmer asked.

“I killed them,” Stone said simply.

“All of them?” the farmer asked incredulously.

“Yes, all that were in the barn loft. Eight was my count. How many more are there?”

“You killed eight men? All by yourself?”

“Yes,” Stone said, as he came within arm’s length of the farmer, who was in a long dressing gown and looked old in the lamp light. “How many more raiders were there?”

“Six more,” the farmer said. “They took the horses and rode out three days ago, but they were coming back. They’ll slaughter us all when they find their friends dead.”

“Then I suggest you dig three very deep holes,” Stone said. “Bury all the bodies in those graves and when they come back tell them that three died and the others moved on.”

“They’ll attack first and ask questions later,” the farmer said, as panic crept into his voice.