Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) (20 page)

“Look, there are more than six grown men here,” Stone said, pointing to the farmer and his sons. “Keep your weapons close by. They won’t attack you outright.”

“They’re on horseback,” the farmer argued.

“But they aren’t horsemen. Did it look like any of them had ever ridden a horse before?” Stone asked.

The farmer looked uncertain, but his sons all shook their heads.

“So, odds are they won’t even return, but if they do they won’t fight from the horses. They won’t feel comfortable on them, and their short swords aren’t suitable for mounted charges. Make yourselves some spears and fend them off.”

The farmer looked terrified, but his sons seemed to stand taller already. Stone guessed that they wanted to attack the raiders in their barn but their father held them back. Stone thought that perhaps the farmer wasn’t a coward, just a man with too much to lose.

“Where’s my horse?” Stone asked. “I’ll move on.”

“Oh no, please, come back inside,” the farmer’s wife said. Her face was streaked with tears and the two youngest children, the boy and girl Stone had freed from the barn, were holding on to her legs. Her thick dressing gown billowed around them.

“You’ve got to be tired,” she insisted. “Please, come get a few more hours’ sleep. Then I’ll have a good breakfast ready for you when you leave,” she said.

“And we’ll make sure your horse is ready,” said one of the older boys.

“All right,” Stone said, stifling a yawn. “I could rest a little.”

Stone stretched out on the floor near the fireplace. He was asleep almost before his eyes closed. Dawn came much too soon, but Stone woke to the smell of sizzling bacon and strong coffee. He forced himself up, stretched, and then helped two of the farmer’s teenage daughters fold up the blankets he had slept on.

“Oh, we’ll take care of that,” the farmer’s wife said. “You come and eat.”

She set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Stone. Then she added a plate of biscuits covered with gravy and a tall cup of hot coffee. He ate everything in front of him and drank the coffee black. It was bitter, but he didn’t mind. He noticed that there were still bloodstains on his hands, but he ignored it. The farmer didn’t appear that morning, and when Stone finished eating he stepped outside to find his horse saddled and ready. The farmer’s oldest sons were waiting for him, each with a sword hanging from his belt.

“The Norsik like to scare their victims,” he told them. “They aren’t strong fighters. Show them a little resistance and they’ll move on to easier targets.”

The young men nodded and smiled. Stone thought they seemed confident enough. He climbed up into the saddle as the farmer’s wife came out with a cloth sack in hand.

“Here,” she said, holding it up to him. “It’s bacon, some cheese, and a few biscuits. It isn’t much, but it will be enough to make a decent lunch on your way today.”

“Thank you,” Stone said.

“We owe you so much,” she continued. “You’re welcome here any time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.

Then he turned his horse and rode away. The farmer had been right in saying that there were no settlements between the farm and the next village down the coast. Stone rode all day, seeing little more than small farmhouses in the vast open plains. Occasionally he stopped and climbed the sand dunes that separated the coastline from the farmlands, but there was no sign of the Norsik. It was nightfall by the time he reached Farns Cove. It reminded him of Hassell Point. There were several inns and taverns, far too many for such an isolated place. Shipping was common along the Sandah Gulf, but it wasn’t a major trade route through the Five Kingdoms. Farns Cove attracted a rowdy crowd of less savory individuals, most looking for a place to blend in and spend their ill-gotten gains.

Stone asked a few of the locals if they had seen any Norsik raiders. A few of them shared rumors of Norsik ships passing in the night, but there were no sightings of the raiders themselves. Stone decided to stay in the inn that looked cleanest. Most of the establishments in Farns Cove were little more than clapboard structures that had obviously been built quickly. They leaned slightly, the wood was warped, and there were gaps between the boards that had been filled in with mud. Stone knew it was the strong liquor and cheap wenches that drew men to those inns. Further back from the harbor was a taller structure made of stone and heavy timber. The sign over the door said
Traveler’s Haven
. There was a pleasant aroma of roasted meat and fresh baked bread coming from the open door, and warm light spilled from the windows.

Stone could see people inside and hear singing and laughter. He tied his horse to a post and stepped into the well-built structure. A happy man in a long white apron hurried to greet him.

“Hello, sir, welcome to the Traveler’s Haven. Are you here for a room or just a meal?”

“I need a room.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Here, have a seat and let me get you something to wet your throat. We have ale and wine.”

“Ale, please,” Stone said.

The innkeeper hurried away as Stone took in the room. It was a long room with several rows of bench tables. There was a fire burning brightly in the fireplace, and several wax-covered candelabras hung from the thick beams of the ceiling, filling the room with a soft yellow glow. Men sat in groups around the room, and a comely woman in a low-cut gown circled around with two large pitchers of ale, refilling cups.

The innkeeper returned with a mug of ale and sat down across from Stone.

“You’re new to the Cove,” he said. “I never forget a face.”

“My first visit,” Stone said. “I’m from Fort Utlig, scouting for Norsik raiders. Have you heard of any around here?”

“Norsik raiders? Not around here,” the innkeeper said. “Although your partner is here,” he added with a frown. “He’s been here several days, in fact. I don’t see him scouting around much though, truth be told.”

“There’s a scout here?” Stone asked.

“Yes, upstairs with Mira, been there for a few days. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them. Their room’s locked and they haven’t come out.”

“Take me there,” Stone said.

He was angry and he wasn’t exactly sure why. It was no surprise to find a young man holed up with a wench if left to his own devices. Still, the man had been sent on an errand by Lorik, and if what the innkeeper said was true, the boy had completely turned his back on his duty. Stone himself certainly had no experience with strict discipline, but he cared about Lorik and wouldn’t stand idly by while the volunteers shirked their duties.

The innkeeper led Stone up a flight of stairs and then down a long hallway. They stopped outside a door and heard laughter inside. Stone pounded on the door.

“Go away,” came a drunken voice. “We’ve no wish for visitors.”

“Open the door before I smash it down,” Stone said. “Or have you forgotten your mission?”

There was a long pause before the voice returned.

“Who is that?”

“It’s Stone, and I’m here to collect you.”

“What for?”

“So you can complete your task, boy!” Stone shouted. “Now open this door.”

The innkeeper looked fearful, but it was only a moment before the lock clicked and a woman opened the door. She was wrapped in a sheet.

“Mira!” the innkeeper said angrily. “Get out of there and get cleaned up. There’s work to be done.”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a quiet voice before hurrying down the hall with the innkeeper right behind her.

“What’s your name?” Stone asked.

“I’m Trig,” the boy said, “from Timmons Gate.” He was perhaps twenty years old, with thick blond hair that fell in waves to his shoulders.

“You were sent to scout the east coast,” Stone said. “Why haven’t you returned?”

“I did scout east,” Trig said. “I rode four days and didn’t see anyone. No Norsik raiders, at least. I was on my way back just now. I only stopped for the night here.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Stone said. “The innkeeper said you’ve been up in this room for days.”

Trig looked shamefaced.

“I hope you’ve had your fun. We ride out at dawn.”

Stone slammed the door closed and then smiled to himself as he walked back down the hallway. He rather liked being able to boss people around. He didn’t feel he’d been too hard on the boy and at the same time he hoped he had put a little fear into him.

Stone ate his supper and spoke with several of the locals before turning in for the night. He was tired and the warm bed in his room was comfortable. The same young woman he had found with Trig woke him an hour before dawn. She had red, puffy eyes and wore a maid’s dressing gown.

“Master Sylvin said you wanted to be roused early,” she said.

“Yes, thank you,” Stone said thickly. He rubbed his face and sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments. Then he was up and moving. He went down the hall and woke up Trig, but with none of the pleasantness the maid Mira had shown. Stone poked the sleeping scout with his boot.

“Hey, what gives?” Trig said.

“Time to get moving,” Stone said. “Go saddle the horses and meet me out front.”

Trig glared at Stone, but with his hair sticking out at odd angles and his eyes puffy with sleep, the look was comical. Stone went down and found a hot breakfast waiting for him. He ate his fill and then went to the front of the inn.

Trig was waiting. He stood sullenly, holding both horses by the reins.

“Don’t look so glum,” Stone said as he wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders to ward off the cold. “I won’t report your insubordination to Lorik if you pull your weight.”

“I think I’m staying here,” Trig said. “I was just volunteering short term.”

“No such thing,” Stone said, his tone harsh. “You get on that horse and ride, or I’ll carry you back to Fort Utlig in a sack.”

“You can’t make me go,” the boy said.

“Watch me.”

“Well, aren’t we at least going to have breakfast?”

“I’ve already had it. Let’s ride.”

Stone climbed into the saddle of his horse and waited to see what Trig would do. The boy hesitated for a moment, then mounted up, looking angry but compliant. Stone dug his heels into his horse and trotted away, fighting the smile that was trying to form on his face. Trig followed. They searched the coast to the east all that day, and Stone decided he had gone far enough. Trig insisted that he had ridden several days farther and had seen no evidence of the Norsik raiders.

A bad feeling was starting to rise up in the back of Stone’s mind, and they pushed their horses halfway through the night in an effort to get back. They bypassed Farns Cove and rode hard for Fort Utlig. Stone’s only stop was at the farmer’s homestead. The older man saw them approaching and called his family together. His sons still wore swords and several carried long spears.

They welcomed Stone back and shared that they had not seen the band of raiders who had stolen their horses. The next morning Stone and his young companion were off again, this time staying closer to the coast in search of landing sites where a ship might have come ashore to pick up the missing raiders.

Trig remained silent though most of the day. They made camp on the beach that evening, building a large fire to ward off the cold. The younger man sat brooding for a long time before finally speaking. Stone ignored Trig’s pouty demeanor, content to wait until his companion spoke his mind.

“I don’t get it,” Trig said. “Why are we pushing to get back so fast? Are you planning to punish me or something?”

“No,” Stone said. “I don’t lead the volunteers or hand out punishments. We’re hurrying back because we need to make a report. I’ve been gone almost five days.”

“But we don’t have anything to report,” Trig complained. “It’s like the Norsik haven’t been here for years.”

“I know,” Stone said. “That’s what bothers me.”

“Why?”

“There’s always a reason for things,” Stone explained. “The Norsik have been raiding up the coast, we saw that when we sailed here. So why raid to the east and not here?”

“Maybe they don’t want to.”

“You willing to bet your life on that?”

“No,” Trig said defensively.

“Perhaps we better put a little more thought into the matter before we just count our lucky stars and forget about it.”

“But we can’t know what other people are thinking. Especially not the Norsik. They’re barbarians.”

“The Norsik are men, and they have their reasons for doing things the same as we do. You had a reason for joining the volunteers, didn’t you?”

“I thought I would see some excitement.”

“There you go,” Stone said.

“But the only action I’ve seen was in the Traveler’s Haven,” Trig said with a grin.

“That’s the best kind,” Stone said. “Fighting isn’t the romantic adventure the bards make it out to be.”

“So why are you here?” Trig asked. “Didn’t you sail up from the Marshlands to fight?”

“Well, not exactly. Lorik is the reason I’m here. We have some history together.”

“Is it true the two of you fought the Norsik all by yourself?”

“Again, not exactly. We did some fighting, but most of it was defensive. The other volunteers who sailed with us fought, too. Mostly holding off Norsik raiding ships, although we did free a group of captives in Ange Point.”

“Wow,” Trig said. “I hope I can say something like that one day.”

“You stick with Lorik,” Stone told the younger man. “Learn from him and do whatever he tells you. He has a way of doing things most people think are impossible.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” Stone said. “I’ve seen him do it.”

Trig sat thinking about what Stone said. It was obvious that the young volunteer was anxious to face danger and test his own mettle. Stone guessed that most young men were the same way. They took a chance and slept through the night rather than standing watch. The next morning they left at dawn and rode hard for Fort Utlig.

On the fifth day after Stone had left, Lorik made up his mind to go after his friend. He was making preparations to leave early the next day, but Stone returned shortly after noon. And he wasn’t alone.

“I found this guy laid up in an inn on my second day out,” Stone said irritably. “Apparently he discovered that the local wenches were more than happy to meet all his needs.”

“I was on my way back,” Trig said. He was tall and well built, and his face was red with shame. “I just got a little sidetracked. Besides, there was nothing to report. Not even a sign of the Norsik along the coast.”

“He’s right, I’m afraid,” Stone said. “There was evidence of the party we chased away from Timmons Gate. I caught up with their wounded, but about six more were mounted. I saw no other sign of them, and no other raids.”

“None?” Lorik asked in surprise.

“No, and no recent activity along the coast, either.”

“I wish I could believe it was because we did our job well,” Lorik said.

“Me too,” Stone said. “The Norsik are planning something, but I can’t say what it is.”

“All right, go see Vera. She’s worried sick about you.”

“That’s because I’m so lovable,” Stone said. “Don’t look surprised,” he told Lorik, “you couldn’t live without me, either.”

Then he kicked his horse forward and hurried into the fort.

“You go get cleaned up,” Lorik told Trig. “I want to talk with you some more.”

An hour later Lorik grilled the young volunteer scout and made it clear that fraternizing while on a mission was completely unacceptable. Then he sent the man to muck out the stables. That evening he sat brooding. Vera and Stone joined him. They drank ale and talked about the possible reasons for the Norsik pulling back.

“Perhaps they got their fill of loot,” Vera said. “Maybe they won’t come back.”

“I doubt that,” Lorik said. “They may have had the best raids ever, but that would only encourage them to do more. I can’t believe they won’t come back.”

“Is it possible they are massing for a major push into Ortis?” Stone asked. “If they could occupy northern Ortis, they could raid into Baskla, or even cross the Great Sea of Kings and raid Falxis.”

“That’s crazy,” Vera said. “King Oveer may have taken the Ortis army south, but the Baskla forces would certainly push them back.”

“Maybe,” Lorik said. “But it’s also possible that the Baskla forces have pulled back as well. The Norsik and the Shuklans raid Baskla across the Northern Sea. They would know if the army in Baskla is weak or absent.”

“But we don’t know,” Vera said glumly.

“No, we don’t,” Lorik agreed. “It’s insane that we have only two dozen men here. We need more and we need to know what is going on in Baskla. If the army there is weakened, they may resort to sealing their borders.”

“But the treaty between the Five Kingdoms requires that they help us in times of war,” Vera said.

“Treaties are just promises,” Stone said. “They can’t always be trusted.”

“And we’ve had rumors of war for months,” Lorik added. “Word is that the armies of Osla and Falxis invaded Yelsia and got their asses kicked. If the other kingdoms have broken the treaty I don’t think we can count on Baskla to keep it.”

“So we need to know what is going on in Baskla,” Vera said.

“It would be nice,” Lorik said, “but I don’t know that it would actually help us. Our immediate problem is the Norsik, not the other kingdoms.”

“Wouldn’t knowing what is going on in Baskla help us understand what the Norsik are planning?” Vera asked.

“It might, but there’s no guarantee.”

“What about sending scouts into the Wilderlands?” Stone said. “If the Norsik are planning something, we could snoop around and find out.”

“It’s just so frustrating,” Lorik said. “Suppose we do find out, there’s really only so much we can do.”

“It beats sitting around here and fretting,” Stone said.

“I know,” Lorik said. “Let me think about it.”

Lorik tossed and turned through the night, unable to sleep. He worried about everything and couldn’t shake the feeling that Stone was right. They needed to go into the Wilderlands, but that wasn’t a comforting thought. Lorik had never been afraid of the dangers in the Marshlands near his home in Hassell Point and he knew that many people north of the Marshlands would never get close to his swampy homeland. Still, entering the towering forest of the Wilderlands gave Lorik pause. He remembered how it felt to ride for days past the massive redwood trees and stare into the dark recesses of the Wilderlands. He didn’t believe in ghosts and didn’t think that the Wilderlands were a haunted forest, but seeing the massive trees in person made those superstitious stories seem more plausible.

When the sun came up Lorik rose and shook away the fatigue of his long night. He knew what he had to do. He was in the stable saddling his horse when Stone found him.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“I’m going to scout the forest,” Lorik replied. “I need you keep the volunteers training. I’ve had them riding every day and working with the spears you made.”

“How long are you planning on being gone?” Stone asked. “You know if you get lost in there we probably won’t be able to find you.”

“I won’t get lost,” Lorik said. “Besides, it’s not like I can leave a golden thread to trace my way back home.”

“Look,” Stone said, stepping closer to his friend, “I’m not joking around here. I think scouting the forest is a good idea, but don’t take the Wilderlands for granted. There’s a reason people say the forest is haunted.”

“You sound like an old lady,” Lorik teased, hoping he sounded convincing. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You don’t believe in dragons, either, but there’s word of one in Yelsia.”

“Rumors,” Lorik said. “That’s all any of this is. I’m scouting, nothing more. I’ll be careful and I won’t get lost.”

“All right, when should we expect you back?”

“I’ll scout for three days,” Lorik said. “Then I’ll come back.”

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“All right,” Stone said, standing back while Lorik mounted his horse. “I’ll see you in a week or sooner.”

“A week or sooner,” Lorik repeated.

They shook hands, and Lorik guided his horse out of the stable. The large open yard of the fort was busy. The women worked hard every day, some cooking, others mending clothes or helping set up the many buildings that lined the interior walls of the fort. Others were sanding down spear shafts or wrapping the handles with rawhide. The men were busy too, some standing watch on the walls, others seeing to the maintenance of the fort. Some helped craft the weapons while others honed blades and spearheads on big grinding wheels.

Lorik felt good about the productivity of the fort. None of it was really his responsibility—he’d left that in the hands of Constable Yorn—but he liked seeing things accomplished. He rode toward the gate only to be stopped by Vera.

“You be careful,” she said sternly.

“Stone already gave me that speech,” Lorik said.

“Well, maybe you need to hear it again. You know people get lost in the Wilderlands. Not to mention the fact that there are creatures in there that have never seen the sun.”

“People say the same thing about the Marshlands,” Lorik said.

“And there are plenty of dangers there as well. Just because you’re used to making your way through the swamp doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take the dangers of the Wilderlands seriously.”

“Vera, I have to go and see what’s happening. We can’t afford to be caught off guard.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m not trying to stop you, but I want you to be careful.”

“I will be,” he said. “I promise.”

She reached up and he took her hand. There were more words behind the look she gave him, more sentiment, more concern, but she didn’t say more. She just squeezed his hand.

“I’ll see you in a week or sooner,” he said.

“All right,” she said.

He nudged the horse and rode out of the fort. Beyond the gate he could see the
Dancer
. The ship was being rowed around the small harbor, and Lorik waved to his friend. Then he turned his horse and rode to the north side of the fort. There were five hundred yards of open ground between the tall wooden palisade and the towering redwood trees of the Wilderlands. Just the sight of the massive trees made Lorik feel small and helpless, but he rode forward, refusing to look back. As he came nearer to the edge of the forest he couldn’t help but look up. The trees towered so high he felt like he would topple out of the saddle trying to crane his neck to glimpse their tops.

Then, after checking to make sure his weapons were close to hand, he rode forward. His horse seemed unfazed by the ancient forest, and Lorik steadied his nerves, determined not to let his emotions get the best of him.

Circling the first massive tree was an almost unbelievable experience. The trunk was bigger around than most houses. He rode on, into the quiet, dark interior of the forest. The warmth of the sun was absent, and Lorik shivered. He could see well enough—it was like twilight in the forest—but when he looked up, the foliage of the trees was lost in the gloom far above him. The forest floor seemed soft, as his horse’s footsteps made slight thumping noises rather than the normal clopping steps he was used to. After an hour, he dismounted. Most of the forest floor was bare earth, but in some places moss grew thick, and occasionally he saw strange fan-like plants that seemed to thrive among the massive tree roots.

There was no path to follow since there was so little foliage along the forest floor. Lorik moved slowly, winding around the trees and doing his best keep moving north. Occasionally he heard the sounds of birds whistling and singing overhead. Time seemed to stand still in the gloom. He walked until his stomach growled with hunger and he guessed it was close to midday.

He sat down and allowed his horse to munch on the fan-shaped leaves nearby. He had seen no sign of the Norsik, nor of any creatures. The ground, as soft as it was, bore no footprints, and the trees showed no signs of marking by animals.

Lorik ate in silence, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. When his parents died, he had felt a thick blanket of loneliness come over him, but Vera had been there to comfort him. When she had left the Marshlands with Stone, he had felt a different kind of loneliness, but it was more of an empty feeling, as if he had no love left in his heart. He had spent time with friends in Hassell Point, but he was sure he hadn’t been much fun to be around. Still, the way he felt now was completely different. He felt utterly alone, and a deep despair started to creep over him.

He finished his meal and mounted his horse again, determined to shake off the strange emotions that made him long to turn back and gallop for the open fields south of the forest. He tried not to think about how good the sunshine would feel on his skin or how cold and empty the forest felt.

After a few more hours, a strange mist appeared among the massive trees. It drifted toward Lorik, who had to fight the urge to run from it. He understood now why so many people thought they saw ghosts in the Wilderlands. The mist moving among the trees despite any type of breeze was unearthly. The white fog sprang up from the damp ground and added moisture to the already cold atmosphere.

When the sun began to set, a deep darkness came over the forest incredibly fast. Lorik was left in the dark, scrounging for fallen branches to build a fire with. He pulled long strips of fibrous bark from one of the trees and used flint with his dagger to start a fire. The flint and steel sparked, giving off small flashes of light, and Lorik fought the sense of panic that had been rising in his heart. It took a little longer than normal to ignite the fuel for the fire, and the branches were damp rather than dried out the way most fallen branches become, but having grown up in the Marshlands, Lorik was accustomed to working with damp wood. He soon had a very small fire going, but it gave him enough light to see by. He made a mental note that if he came back into the Wilderlands he needed to bring torches.

There were plenty of fallen twigs to use in the fire, but larger branches were few and far between. The tree bark seemed to burn best, but it didn’t burn long. Lorik used his dagger and could peel off long sections of bark. In some places the bark seemed to hang off the tree trunks like a snake shedding its skin.

Once Lorik had a decent fire going he unrolled the blanket he kept behind his saddle, then saw to his horse. He had food in his saddlebags for himself but nothing for his horse. He realized that he wouldn’t be able to stay in the forest much longer unless he found something for his mount to eat. The horse nibbled at the moss, but Lorik could tell the horse was hungry. He dug through the saddlebags and found some vegetables he had brought to make a stew with. A few potatoes, carrots, and onions were all he had, but he gave the potatoes to his horse and saved the carrots for another time. Water seemed to be rare in the Wilderlands, too. Lorik couldn’t remember seeing a stream all day. He had a canteen of water, and he sipped from it while he ate the bread and cheese he was having for supper.

The fire seemed to hold back the mist, but Lorik could see it, ghostly white just within the circle of dancing yellow light from his fire. He stretched out on his blanket and rested his head against his saddle. He was used to being able to see stars overhead, but now the sky above was completely black. Even in the Marshlands, where the weather could sometimes blot out the sky, it didn’t seem as dark as in the Wilderlands.

Lorik kept a pile of the tree bark beside him and tried to sleep. But he could only doze, and the night seemed to last forever. It even crossed Lorik’s mind that perhaps he had entered a thicker part of the forest where the sun was unable to penetrate at all, but eventually dawn came and the gloom receded. The cold had settled in on Lorik through the night and even the fire didn’t help. He shivered as he climbed back into his saddle and began riding north once again. He had no appetite and it wasn’t long before a strange sensation came over Lorik. He felt like he was being watched. He told himself it was just nerves, but he couldn’t shake the strange sensation. He kept turning to look behind him, but he saw no one.