Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) (23 page)

“I don’t know,” Stone said, wishing Lorik were there to give them some direction. “I guess I need to think about it a while.”

Vera called a halt to the day’s travel. It was only a little more than an hour before sunset. They set up camp and Stone took inventory of who had joined the group. It was mostly women and children, but a few men were there as well. He wished he had told the farmer and his sons to join Vera’s group, but he had sent them south on their own. Whatever needed to be done for Vera’s group of travelers he would have to handle himself.

There were no other riders, and Stone’s horse was worn down considerably from the frantic pace he’d kept. He settled in near a small fire with Vera as night fell. They shared a simple meal and sipped a little ale.

“You look tired,” Vera said.

“You do, too.”

“Maybe we should rest here for a few days?”

“No, that wouldn’t be wise,” Liam told her. “Tomorrow you need to continue south. I’ll ride back and see what I can learn.”

“Can’t someone else do that?” Vera asked.

“I’m open to suggestions,” he said. “Who else has a horse?”

Vera frowned. She knew that Liam had to be the one to go, but she resented his leaving her so soon. She sighed and put her head on his shoulder.

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” she said. “I never thought life outside Hassell Point would be so difficult.”

“Things never turn out to be as easy as we think they’ll be,” Liam said. “But at least we’re together.”

“For tonight,” Vera said, pouting. “Then you are leaving me tomorrow.”

“Well then, I guess we’d better make the most of what we’ve got,” he said.

Then he kissed her.

The next morning there were raiders camped all along the edge of the Wilderlands. Lorik had never seen so many people at one time in his whole life. Constable Yorn was simply terrified. He stood frozen on the top of the watchtower, incapable of doing anything else. Lorik had wanted to keep his small band of mounted volunteers out of the fortress, but there were simply too many raiders. There was no way for his men to harry the raiders without being slaughtered. The only question left was whether the Norsik would attack the fort. Their numbers seemed so overwhelming that it was practically inconceivable that they wouldn’t.

Lorik made sure that the walls were defended, but even with every man on the walls, they had less than twenty men all told. Yulver was still with his ship out in the harbor, and the rest of the volunteers had been sent out to warn the surrounding settlements. Not long after sunup the Norsik sallied forth. There was none of the organization one might expect from a large group of fighting men. The Norsik traveled in groups, moving together but not in formations of any type. To Lorik’s relief he could see that most of the raiders had no interest in the fort. If they had concentrated their attacks on the fort, it would have been overrun in short order. As it was, only a few of the smaller bands showed any interest in coming near the wooden palisades, and after Lorik and his volunteers killed several of the raiders with well-aimed spears, most of the tribes lost all interest.

Unfortunately, one of the raiders who was killed was an important member of one tribe of nearly thirty men. They obviously felt honor-bound to avenge their leader’s death. They ran straight toward the gate and Lorik held his men in check. Yorn kept watch on top of the stone tower, while Lorik prepared to fight with the men on the walls. He had spread the twelve men under Yorn’s command around the walls and kept his six volunteers together at the gate. They had enough spears for one more volley, but Lorik bade his men to wait until the raiders were running straight toward the large wooden gate. Lorik was sure the gate would hold against their charge, but he didn’t see any reason not to slow them down on the way.

“Wait for it,” he called out as the screaming tribe came closer. “Wait for my command!”

The six men with Lorik had come to trust their leader. They were all from the Marshlands and most had known Lorik all their lives. He had served as a teamster for nearly twenty years, first with his father and then by himself after his father died. In his early thirties now, he was old enough to command respect from the other volunteers, but it had been his skillful tactics along the Sandah Gulf and in the Wilderlands that had won their allegiance.

“Now!” he shouted again.

They threw their spears at the same time, each targeting the lead runners. Four men fell from the volley, and several others tripped over the rolling bodies and spear shafts that stood out at odd angles from their comrades’ bodies.

“Steady now!” Lorik shouted as the rest of the tribe circled the fallen and came toward the gate. “We hold our ground. We don’t have to kill them all, just keep them off the walls.”

The volunteers had several baskets of sizable rocks to throw down on the enemy. They also had swords, but even when leaning out over the palisade the swords weren’t useful weapons. Lorik had one of the few available bows, and he used it to good effect. His men dropped stones on the raiders who were throwing their shoulders into the gate, which soon caused the raiders to pull back. The Lorik took careful aim and let his first arrow fly. It was a perfect shot and the arrow buried itself in the chest of one of the larger raiders.

His men cheered, but Lorik simply drew another arrow and took careful aim again. Three more raiders were wounded before the tribe withdrew out of bow range. Normally, Lorik would have ridden out and confronted the raiders, but there were still hundreds of small groups leaving the Wilderlands and pouring over the open countryside. The attacking tribe considered their options and decided to split their forces. They were just over twenty men now, and they divided into four groups. One stayed near the gates, but the others went to the other sides of the fortress.

“They’re splitting up,” said one of the volunteers.

“They’ll get inside,” said another nervously. “We can’t defend every part of the fort.”

“We’ll have to do the best we can,” Lorik said.

He stayed by the gate and sent two others to confront each of the other attacking parties.

“Use whatever you can find to beat them back,” he told them. “Just keep them off the walls.”

“But Yorn’s men aren’t trained fighters and we don’t have time to gather more spears from the armory,” said the nervous man.

“True, but we hold the high ground. We’ll have a chance to strike first, before they’re even close to us. Make the most of that. Remember, you don’t have to kill them, just keep them off the walls.”

Lorik watched his men go, then turned his attention back to the group that had moved out of bow range, but were still obviously hoping to get in through the gate he was guarding. He looked around, hoping none of the other tribes would decide to join the attack. It was a tense few moments, then one of the Norsik bellowed a bloodcurdling war cry and the tribe attacked.

Lorik’s aim wasn’t as true as before. His first shot missed as the group of six men came running toward the gate. He nocked another arrow and took his time. The second arrow hit one of the runners in the upper arm. The raider stumbled but managed to keep his feet under him and continue running. The raiders were more confident than ever, and Lorik could hear his men shouting and cursing as the other groups pushed toward the walls.

Lorik suddenly became aware of the intense pressure on him to win this fight. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes as he tried to aim another arrow. His hands shook slightly and once again his arrow missed the mark, slamming into the ground ahead of the raiders. He fumbled with another arrow, finally managing to nock it just as the raiders neared the gate. He fired down and wounded another of the raiders, but the remaining five slammed into the gate, rocking it inward despite the massive beams that locked it in place. The wood groaned, making a popping sound, and the hinges strained against the gate doors. The gate held, but raiders were pulling back and preparing to make another run against the gate, and Lorik wasn’t sure how long the gate would last.

He nocked another arrow and took careful aim, letting out a deep breath and then holding his breath for the release. His hands trembled and his arms felt weak. He thought he would rather be on the ground with his battle axe than on the wall with a bow. He was a fairly decent shot when he wasn’t under pressure, but seeing an enemy rushing toward him in battle and feeling overwhelmed left him out of sorts.

He fired, releasing the arrow just before the raiders rushed back toward the gate. They didn’t have the same momentum this time, and Lorik’s arrow caught one of the raiders in the chest. The other four men slammed into the gate again, but without making much of an impact. Lorik grabbed one of the fist-sized stones in a basket beside him and threw it straight down, knocking another of the raiders senseless. The remaining men turned and ran. Lorik nocked an arrow and fired after the fleeing Norsik. The arrow arced through the air, then fell hard into the leg of one of the raiders. He screamed and fell but was quickly back up, hobbling away as fast as he could.

Lorik turned and ran around the parapet that lined the inner wooden palisade. The other volunteers had pushed back the other groups of raiders as well. The angry tribe of Norsik warriors had pulled back and were licking their wounds. Dead men ringed the fort, and the sight of their fallen comrades was enough to ward off further attacks. The Norsik were fierce warriors in battle, but they preferred sacking villages, plundering, and taking slaves. There were too many easier opportunities among the undefended settlements to waste much time attacking the fort. An hour later, all the Norsik had passed out of sight.

“Well, the fortress held,” Constable Yorn said proudly.

“That’s because most of the raiders are out ravaging the countryside,” Lorik said bitterly. “We survived to fight another day, but there’s damn little we can do to stop the Norsik from taking whatever they want.”

“You can’t save the whole kingdom by yourself, Lorik,” Yorn said. “Take a victory when you have one.”

“I don’t call this a victory, it’s merely survival.”

A few moments later, Lorik climbed the high watchtower, straining to see what was happening beyond the walls of Fort Utlig. He needed to do something, but he wasn’t sure what he could do. Finally he decided that doing something was better than doing nothing, and he called his volunteers together.

“There isn’t much we can do now,” Lorik said. “The Norsik are here and in numbers we can’t hope to match. But I’m going to see what I can find out. I’m going to hit the Norsik wherever and however I can.”

“You’ll be overwhelmed and killed,” said one of the volunteers.

“Perhaps,” Lorik said. “But I won’t be foolishly attacking every group I come across. I’ll be on horseback and I’ll keep my distance until I’m sure there’s something I can do.”

“You want us with you?” asked another volunteer.

“I wouldn’t turn you away,” Lorik said. “But I wouldn’t blame you for staying here, either. Yorn is right about the fort. We can’t lose it to the Norsik.”

“So those are our only options?” the man asked.

“Unless you can think of another.”

“We could sail back home,” said another volunteer. “Like you said, there really isn’t much more we can do here.”

“We have friends here that we can’t leave behind,” Lorik said. “And I simply can’t turn my back on the desperate need here. The Norsik are going to carry slaves back into Norsik. Our countrymen will become their whipping dogs. Our children their slaves. I won’t leave.”

“Nor will I,” said the first volunteer. “I’m with you.”

“As am I,” said another.

Soon they all agreed to ride out with Lorik. He had hoped they would, but he didn’t want to force them. Seeing so many Norsik raiders spilling out of the Wilderlands had been overwhelming. He saddled his horse and checked his weapons. The soldiers had left the fort with plenty of arrows but very few bows, most of which were in poor condition. His volunteers all carried swords and spears. Their swords hung from their saddle horns, and each man had two spears slung on either side of his saddle that ran from the horse’s shoulder out past its rump. Each also carried a third spear like a lance, and they filled their bags with dried meat and hard biscuits.

Lorik turned south out of the gate of the fortress. He saw Yulver and the
Dancer
moving slowly along the mouth of the harbor. He wondered what his old friend thought of seeing so many Norsik. It was more like a nightmare than a reality. Without the king’s soldiers there was very little hope of driving the raiders out of Ortis. Still, he had to do something. The knowledge of what must be happening around the countryside filled Lorik with a sick feeling.

Just being on the move made him feel better. He had two spears slung under each side of his saddle like the volunteers who rode with him. He also had his bow and a quiver full of arrows. But rather than a third spear, Lorik carried his massive battle axe. He had an intense anger in his gut toward the Norsik. He despised everything about them, and with a grim determination he had decided to kill as many as possible.

They rode for two hours before they saw the smoke smudged against the bright autumn sky. They moved south slowly, walking their horses for most of that time. Lorik knew the raiders would cluster around any settlement they came to, like carrion birds fighting over the carcass of a dead animal. Lorik only hoped the people of Timmons Gate had heeded Vera’s warning and left their town.

Lorik and his volunteers kept a vigilant watch in all directions. The open countryside made it almost impossible to approach without being seen, and they understood they were surrounded by vicious killers, so being cautious was natural. There was no way they could ride into Timmons Gate and save the day. There would be several hundred raiders plundering the town and Lorik’s band numbered only seven, including himself. He would wait and see how the small village fared the next day.

They made camp early and looked after their horses, but they stayed ready to ride at a moment’s notice. The volunteers weren’t experienced riders, so unsaddling their horses was a big risk. Lorik wasn’t sure if his men could stay on the back of a horse without a saddle. They unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down, then let them graze for an hour. As the day ended, they saddled the horses again and Lorik set watch. They alternated keeping watch two at a time. It was a cold night and sleep was hard to come by, but at dawn they had all snatched a few hours of rest and were ready to move.

There was still smoke rising from the ruins of Timmons Gate. They approached the smoldering remains slowly. Some of the buildings looked to be intact, but others were completely burned down. There was still movement in the village as well. A few of the Norsik still searched for hidden treasures among the ruined village. Luckily, most of the women and children had been evacuated, but there were several bodies smoldering in the ashes of their lost homes.

Lorik felt his stomach twist inside him, threatening to make him vomit. He ground his teeth together and led his volunteers on a wide circuit around the village. They found no hidden raiding parties waiting to ambush his men, so they rode through the ruined town. Most of the Norsik hid, but a few challenged the band of riders. Lorik led the charge against the first raider. The frail-looking Norsik was covered in soot and held a bag of treasures in one hand, his short, curved sword in the other. The raider bellowed, but Lorik’s big axe came down in a long arcing blow that severed the raider’s head. It sailed into the air, then bounced and rolled down the cobblestone street.

One of the volunteers picked up the raider’s bag of loot. He dug around in it for a moment, then dropped it back on the street.

“Nothing but cooking utensils and some old knives,” the man said.

“He wasn’t here for the fighting,” Lorik said. “He was a scavenger, content to dig in the rubble for anything of value.”

They saw several other raiders. Each time they did, they spurred their horses after the scavengers. Most fled but were overrun by the horses and cut down by the volunteers. A few tried to fight, but the horses and spears gave Lorik’s men a distinct advantage. Most were run through or severely wounded by the spears.

Finally, Lorik realized there was little more he could do in Timmons Gate. None of the residents who had stayed in the village had survived. He recognized some of the bodies, including Brotas, the innkeeper. His stomach was sliced open and there was a gash in his shoulder. Looking at the body made Lorik feel ill. He had promised to try and protect the town, but he had failed. Brotas and some of the other men from Timmons Gate had tried to protect the settlement. It was a useless gesture and they had all been killed. If there were slaves taken, they must have been taken somewhere farther south.

Lorik led his men on. They moved at a slow pace, trying to keep their horses fresh in case they needed to move quickly later. They came upon a group of twelve raiders shortly after midday. The raiders were obviously drunk. They had ravaged Timmons Gate and made off with several bottles of strong wine, which they had drunk late into the night. Most were still sleeping off the effects of the wine, but a few were awake and appeared to be very sick.

When Lorik saw them he spurred his horse forward, charging straight at the band of raiders. Those who were awake fled, and Lorik’s men chased them down while Lorik slaughtered the others where they slept. His axe was dripping with blood when his men returned.

“Let’s rest the horses,” Lorik said.

They walked their horses without talking. Killing the raiders reminded Lorik of killing bugs. There was no honor in it, at least not so far. The raiders they had encountered had been in no condition to put up a fight, but they had wreaked havoc on the kingdom and now they needed to be exterminated. They came to another village shortly before nightfall, but it too had been destroyed. There were signs of an inn, but it had burned down. The shops and homes were in shambles. Lorik and his men explored the ruins and then took shelter in what looked like a livery barn. There were no other animals left in the barn and the big doors had been pulled down, but the roof and walls were intact and there was hay for the horses.

Lorik sat up in the loft where he could see for miles out the open windows as the sun set. There was no sign of life anywhere across the vast plains. He made up his mind that his volunteers would need to move faster the next day. It wouldn’t be good enough to wipe out the frail and weak; he needed to strike at the larger bands of raiders. He needed to do something to fight the Norsik, to stop them from killing and destroying the land he loved.

The next morning they rode out at a much faster pace, pushing their horses through the morning. By midafternoon they finally caught up with a band of raiders. There were almost three dozen men, jogging along the path that served as a road. They saw Lorik coming and took up a defensive position in the middle of the road.

Lorik knew that attacking the band of raiders outright was suicide. They simply had too many men. So he dismounted just inside his maximum bow range. One volunteer held the horses while the other five readied their spears.

“Remember,” Lorik said to his men. “If they come charging at us, we mount up and ride away. If you throw your spear, make a good throw, then get to your horse.”

The men nodded, their faces locked in grim determination. Lorik nocked an arrow, raised his bow, and let the arrow fly. The arrow streaked across the bright sky, first shooting up, then leveling off, and finally plunging down. It hit in the middle of the group of raiders, plunging into the shoulder of one. The raiders shouted defiantly, but made no move to attack. Lorik and his men were still too far away. Lorik fired three more arrows, but this time the group was ready and they moved to avoid the falling arrows.

“All right, new plan,” Lorik said, slinging his bow back over his shoulder. “Let’s hit and run, just like we practiced. But remember, once we get close they’re going to move to engage us, and they won’t be standing still.”

The others nodded then mounted their horses. Lorik looked up to see the Norsik separating into two groups, one on either side of the road. He wasn’t sure what they had planned, but he knew that getting between the two groups would be disastrous.

“We ride together,” Lorik said. “Wait until I signal you to throw your spears. Then turn immediately. You three turn left,” Lorik said to men on his left. “You three turn right,” he said to the others. “Remember, keep your horse moving. If you slow down or stop, you are more vulnerable.”

“Aye, sir,” one volunteer said.

“We’re ready,” another added.

“All right, let’s go!” Lorik shouted.

They kicked their horses into a gallop. They were rushing toward the two groups at what seemed like an insane speed, but they had practiced that very maneuver outside Fort Utlig. Lorik stood up in his stirrups and his men did the same. They held their reins in one hand and lifted their spears with the other. Only Lorik had a different weapon—he raised his battle axe, and when they were only twenty yards from the raiders he shouted.

“Now!”

Six spears shot toward the two groups—three toward one, three toward the other. The raiders tried to dodge the missiles, but five found their marks. Lorik’s riders immediately turned their mounts, angling away from the two groups of Norsik warriors. Lorik nudged his horse to the left as well, but he turned at a much less severe angle. He was going to be riding close to the Norsik, which was what he had in mind. The raiders screamed and moved forward to meet Lorik’s charge, but his massive axe swung down, glancing across one man’s shoulder, then smashing into another man’s chest. Blood flew, and the raiders hesitated for a moment in their rush to engage Lorik; by the time their courage returned he was riding past them.

Lorik looked over his shoulder at the outrage on the Norsik warriors’ faces as they screamed and shouted. But his small band of fighters was safe, and that was all that mattered. Lorik let his horse slow to a trot as he looped around and rode back to his waiting men. The Norsik were shouting in their strange language, but the message was clear: they were challenging the volunteers to engage again.

“What now?” said one of Lorik’s men.

“We wait for a while,” Lorik said. “We let our horses rest while they sweat. They’re ready for us this time, so we’ll have to change up our tactics.”

“What if they attack us?” one of the men asked.

“If they do, we’ll play a little cat and mouse with them,” Lorik explained. “We’ll let them get close, then ride away again. We have the upper hand because we’re mobile. We decide when and where and how to fight. They’re on the defensive in open country with nowhere to go.”

His men saw the wisdom in Lorik’s tactics, but none of them liked the idea of waiting, much less running away if the Norsik attacked them. But even though their first foray had been almost completely successful, they were still outnumbered more than four to one. That fact kept Lorik’s men in check as they waited.

“All right,” Lorik said after almost ten minutes. “I think they’re ready for a little more. Let’s do the lightning maneuver. I want you to alternate directions, you understand? And be prepared for the group on the right to move. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hurry to help their friends on the left side of the road.”

His men nodded and moved their horses into a single-file line behind Lorik. Then, when they were all behind him, Lorik nudged his horse forward, first to a canter, then into a gallop. The first sprint had sapped some of his horse’s strength and he didn’t want to push his mount too hard. Their horses were the only things keeping Lorik and his men alive. It was imperative that they didn’t push them too hard.

Lorik waited until the last minute, then once again angled to the left. Two raiders rushed out in hopes of getting on Lorik’s left side, but the big teamster nudged his horse with his knees and trampled the fastest man, then slammed his axe into the second man’s head. Lorik felt the jolt vibrate up his arm as blood and bone and brain spattered his horse.

Behind him the other riders had veered first in one direction then the other. The raiders were caught off guard by this new tactic. Spears flew again, and this time everyone found their marks. When Lorik formed back up with the other volunteers, they were grinning, but their horses were panting and a few were lathered with sweat.

“Check your mounts,” Lorik said.

He stayed in the saddle and watched the raiders. They had lost a third of their tribe without even wounding one of Lorik’s men. He could see the discouragement and anger on the faces of the raiders. He could also see the tribe leaders trying to get the others to calm down. Then, surprisingly enough, they did something Lorik had not expected. The dragged the bodies of their fallen comrades back to the road and used their bodies to create a barricade of sorts. They stacked the bodies and used the spears Lorik and his men had thrown into their midst to hold the bodies in place.

“By the gods,” said one of Lorik’s men. “Will you look at that?”

“What are they doing?” asked another.

“They’re making a barricade,” Lorik said. “They’ll hide behind it if we come after them again.”

“They’re using the bodies of their friends to hide behind?” another of the volunteers said in disgust.

“It’s a good plan,” Lorik said. “Try not to think of how grisly it is and just think about their options. They can’t outrun us. For all they know, we have a hundred more spears back here just waiting to kill them all one by one. There is no cover they can run to, no place to hide. The only resource they have are the bodies of their friends and our spears.”

“So you would do that?” asked another.

“If I had to,” Lorik said. “War isn’t all fun and games. This is life or death—never forget that. If you fall off your horse, they’ll hack you to pieces without a second’s thought.”

The men checked their horses; they all seemed fine, but tired. Lorik waited until his men were finished, then he too dismounted and checked his horse. Then they all had something to eat and drink. Their horses looked at them when they smelled the water, but there was no way to share the tepid water from their canteens. Then they waited some more.

“What’s our next move?” one of the volunteers asked.

“That’s a good question,” Lorik said. “I was hoping that they would move off after nightfall and we could retrieve our spears, but it doesn’t look like that is going to happen.”

“So, should we attack again?” the man asked.

“If we do, you’ll be down to your swords and the risk of you or your horses getting hurt will be much greater. Our best bet is to make them feel somewhat secure and see if they leave their position.”

“How do we do that?” another man asked.

“There are two ways. Either we leave or we do something to draw them out. Or maybe we could do a little bit of both.”

“You have a plan?” one of the men asked.

“It’s coming together,” Lorik replied.