Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) (29 page)

“And if I can’t?” Lorik asked.

“Then you will die,” Hennick. “There is no other way.”

Lorik was led across an intricate set of walkways made of tree branches, and as he followed Hennick he forced himself not to look down into the murky depths below. They passed other trees and in each he saw hundreds of little faces all watching him with the same expression of delighted innocence. It was strange to think he was walking to what amounted to an execution. He had no idea what the Kingtree was or how difficult climbing the tree would be, but since the alternative was death, he really had no choice.

He tried to focus his thoughts on Vera, but his friend Stone kept rising up in his mind like a ghost. Lorik assumed his friend was dead simply because he knew Stone would never rest while Vera was taken captive. It was possible that Stone had run into trouble or been delayed and didn’t know that Vera had been captured, but that seemed like wishful thinking to Lorik. His friend would have died for Vera, and chances were, he did die defending her. Now it was up to Lorik to save her, but most likely he would die climbing the Kingtree and Vera would be forgotten.

Tears sprang unbidden to Lorik’s eyes. They ran down his cheeks and he refused to wipe them away. They were the only tears that would fall for Vera, and so he let them fall.

It took over an hour to reach the Kingtree. Lorik had no idea where he was and yet when he saw the massive Kingtree he couldn’t believe he had never seen it before. The redwood trees of Wilderlands were huge, easily towering over three hundred feet tall, but the Kingtree was not only much taller, its trunk was five or six times the size of its neighbors.

“This is the Kingtree,” Hennick said. “It is the heart of the forest.”

They went inside the tree through an arched opening like the one Lorik had seen in the other trees, but instead of a village, the interior was a mass of rootlike vines. Lorik had the distinct impression that what he was seeing wasn’t overgrowth or lack of maintenance, it was decay. The Kingtree was slowly dying.

“What is wrong with it?” Lorik said compassionately.

“The Kingtree has no Drery Dru,” Hennick said. “The life of the Kingtree is in the Drery Dru, so it has decayed for centuries. When the Kingtree dies, the last of the Drery Dru will fall with it.”

“But you have other trees,” Lorik said.

“Our kind is tied to the Kingtree,” Hennick said. “Every great forest had one. Some died naturally, others were burned or cut down. In every instance, when the Kingtree died, the Drery Dru and the grand forest died with it. We are the last, and in time, we will pass out of memory as well.”

“I’m sorry,” Lorik said. “What can I do to help you?”

Hennick laughed. “You are tricky, tall one,” Hennick said. “You cannot escape the verdict for your actions that easily. Nor will your tears weaken my resolve. You must climb the Kingtree, or die trying.”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” Lorik said sadly. “I did not know about the Drery Dru, nor about your forests. And these tears are not for me,” he said, wiping his cheeks. “I weep for my friends. If I die, they will be lost.”

“Then don’t die,” Hennick said.

Lorik thought he detected a note of hope in the forest elf’s voice.

“You don’t want me to die?”

“No, I wish death on no creature,” Hennick said. “My people are guardians of life. We prune only to encourage growth. If you reach the swords of Acromin, you will have our support in your quest.”

“Thank you,” Lorik said, reaching out his hand.

Hennick didn’t shake hands with Lorik, instead he bowed.

“We will be watching, tall one. Good luck. May the Life Giver bless your quest.”

Then Hennick left the Kingtree. Lorik looked around but saw none of the angelic-looking forest elves. He wondered briefly how they would watch him, but it was a mystery for another time.

He looked up again, examining the huge knot of rooty vines that grew from the center of the tree. There were also climbing vines that ran up the tree’s inner wall. It didn’t look too difficult, he thought. He flexed his right hand, and the pain felt like a sharp stab wound each time he closed his fist. That would make things more difficult.

He walked slowly around the inside of the tree. No spot looked more favorable than another. He tested the strength of the vines that hung down and they all seemed easily able to support his weight.

“Okay then,” he said to no one in particular.

He took hold of the knot of roots and started climbing. It was easy to find handholds and footholds. The roots were sturdy and occasionally there were small holes, like windows in the thick outer bark, where light from the sun shined in. The air became colder the higher he climbed and eventually the roots and vines became smaller. Whenever Lorik felt tired he would stop and rest. His thirst had returned, but he ignored it. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his back despite the cold. His muscles were getting tired and his right hand ached.

The space between the inner knot of root-like vines and the outer walls of thick bark grew as Lorik climbed. Eventually he began to see bright blue sky ahead. The sight was so encouraging that Lorik increased his pace. Occasionally one foot would slip or his broken hand would lose its grip, but despite the fact that his heart felt like it would pound out of his chest with each frightening slip, he was never in any real danger of falling. He had been afraid that he would have to climb a branchless tree or that the tree would be smooth and round with no way to hold on, but the interlocking roots or vines, whichever they actually were, made the arduous task possible.

But after several hours of climbing, the outer walls of bark became rotten and brittle. There were gaping holes at first, then huge missing sections. Finally, the outer bark ceased and Lorik climbed higher on the knot-like trunk, rising into the first direct sunlight he’d been in since entering the Wilderlands. He stopped his ascent to rest and to take in the magnificent beauty of the world around him. He wished that Vera and Stone could see what he was seeing. He was hundreds of feet above the surrounding redwoods. As far as Lorik could see in every direction was an ocean of evergreen boughs. Above him, the knotty trunk narrowed but continued ever higher.

Lorik’s muscles were trembling from the long, difficult climb, and he took his time. He held on with his left hand and shook the muscles in his right arm. Then he hooked his arm through a vine and shook his left. His broken hand was sore and aching, but thus far his grip had held.

He was hungry now, and his mouth felt as dry as ever, but he continued climbing. There was no way to simply give up other than to let go and fall to his death. He focused on simply finding the next handhold, the next crevice his foot could slip into. More time passed and Lorik felt like his whole life he had been climbing the Kingtree. The sun seemed like it wasn’t moving, and now, exposed to the wind, he was colder than ever. His hands ached with cold and his feet were becoming numb.

The thin clothing Shayah had given him did little to hold in his body heat and his sweat seemed to run in icy trickles. Still, there was nothing he could do. He kept climbing, and eventually the tree narrowed until it was only about twice as thick as Lorik himself. It was still climbable, but it swayed and rocked in the freezing wind. It also felt spongy—not completely soft, but less sturdy—and he feared his weight would be too great for the vines and roots he was clinging to.

When the sun finally began to set, the temperature dropped rapidly. His worry turned to full-blown fear as twilight came on. Finding good handholds and footholds was becoming harder, and without being able to see, his progress would slow to a crawl. His hands and feet were growing more and more numb, and the realization that soon he wouldn’t be able to continue filled Lorik with a crushing sense of disappointment. He had come so far and the thought of it all being for nothing was almost too much to bear. He held onto the tree, watching the last orange rays of sunlight fade from the sky. Then the stars appeared, brighter and seemingly closer than he had ever seen them. There were more of them, too, a vast magnitude of bright pinpoints of light. It felt as if they were watching him.

He remembered, then, that Hennick had said the Drery Dru would be watching him. And he thought of how many people far below were waiting for him, hoping to see him, desperate for his strength and his compassion in their hour of need. His thoughts about death slowly receded as he thought about the hundreds, possibly thousands of people far below him who were dying or who would die if he failed.

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed with determination. Then he continued climbing. The pain in his hand was forgotten, his aching muscles ignored. His mind was completely focused on each step he took. The temptation to hurry was strong, but he fought it back, checking each handhold and foothold to make sure it was strong enough to bear his weight.

Ice crystals formed in his beard, but he kept climbing. His skin felt cold and windburned, but still he kept climbing. His fingernails and toenails were torn and bloody, but still he climbed higher. Sleep pulled at his eyes and the wind pushed his body, trying to blow him off the Kingtree, but Lorik held tight and forced himself to keep moving.

Hours passed. The moon rose and set. And still Lorik climbed. Then, without warning, he reached a cleft in the massive Kingtree. Tired and cold, he climbed into the small opening. The tree continued up, but in the darkness Lorik couldn’t tell how high it went. Inside the cleft, Lorik was protected from the worst of the wind and he was able to curl up, keeping a strong grip on the Kingtree, and sleep. It wasn’t a deep, refreshing rest, but he dozed, letting his trembling muscles relax for the first time in many hours.

When the sun rose Lorik opened his eyes and watched the sky turn from purple to pink to red as the sun appeared. It was, Lorik thought, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. He was tired, hungry, and incredibly thirsty, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. His lips were dry and cracked, his hands and feet were sore, and his muscles still ached, but he knew he had to continue the climb.

Now that he could see in the clear morning sunlight, he inspected his perch. It was small, and the tree continued up so high that the top was lost from his sight. Where he sat was an opening, and he could see that inside the knotty mass of roots and vines he had been climbing, the interior was hollow. Above him, the tree narrowed significantly; in fact, Lorik doubted that the tree above him would support his weight. He wasn’t sure what to do; he only knew he couldn’t stay where he was.

The wind was especially cold and had changed directions with the sunrise, so that now it blew against him, chilling his aching limbs. He was shifting around, hoping for a better view of the tree above him, when light reflected from somewhere within the tree. Lorik stopped and leaned inside the tree. It was much darker inside the gnarled mass, but light found its way through the tiny spaces between the roots and vines. He couldn’t see clearly, but there was something there, below him and inside the tree trunk. The wind blew harder, rocking the Kingtree, and once again Lorik saw a glint of light. He looked up again, seeing the towering crown of the tree swaying in the wind, and made a decision. He decided to go inside the tree. Whatever was glinting in the scarce sunlight was manmade, or at least not organic, he decided.

He slowly shifted his weight again, this time letting his legs dangle into the dark opening of the tree trunk. He found footholds and shifted his body weight again. This time he was hanging out into open space, rather than clinging to the face of the giant tree. There were still vines and roots that provided plenty of handholds and footholds, but he was forced to support his own weight, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the descent this way for long. Still, inside the tree the wind was much less severe and the temperature was warmer, too. He moved slowly, taking his time and checking each grip to make sure he had a solid hold. His broken hand ached terribly, but he was forced to use it and he simply had to ignore the pain.

He climbed down for what seemed like an hour and finally got close enough to see what had been reflecting the light. He saw two swords, mounted on a small pedestal inside the tree. Lorik’s heart began to race. He still had a long way to climb, but he moved more quickly, anxious to get to the swords. As he got closer he could see that there was a floor below him, and hope swelled in his chest. Tears stung his eyes as he descended, and after what seemed like eternity he set his feet on level ground and let go of the Kingtree.

The space he was in wasn’t much bigger than he was; there was barely room to stand beside the pedestal that the swords were mounted on. They were hanging blades down, their pommels pointing up toward the top of the Kingtree. Lorik could hardly believe his eyes. He had done it! He had found the swords of Acromin! The swords were similar, but not identical. They both had long, straight blades that curved upwards just before the tip, which was needle-sharp. The long edge was smooth and sharp, while the shorter, back edge was serrated. The blades were exactly the same length and but the pommels were completely different. The first was the normal length of a two-handed sword, with silver and gold threads woven into what appeared to be redwood bark hair that covered the pommel. The hand guard was silver, with tiny tree designs engraved in the precious metal. The other sword had a much longer handle, easily three times as long as the first with none of the ornate carvings that the other sword had.

Lorik was hesitant to touch the swords; they were so incredible and he was so relieved that just breathing was a challenge. His heart was racing as he reached out and took hold of the first sword. He lifted it from the wooden stand and carefully turned it so that the blade was up. He examined every inch of the sword, taking in its amazing beauty and craftsmanship. The space inside the Kingtree was too narrow for him to swing the sword and really test its balance but he could tell the sword was perfectly made. It had weight, but wasn’t heavy, and it gave him a sense of strength as he gripped it.