Lorik (The Lorik Trilogy) (23 page)

“What about Stone?”

“I can’t talk to him about everything,” she said. “We’re just getting to know each other. You’re the only family I have, Lorik. You’re my best friend.”

“It’s just awkward,” he said. “I don’t want to get in the way. I’m trying to adjust to—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. They heard horses galloping along the path. It was an unusual sound in Hassell Point, where horses were so rare. Only the Riders rode their horses so hard.

“Run to the house,” he said.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Just do it!” he shouted. “Go now!”

Vera turned and ran. Lorik whistled, and the big Shire stallion came trotting over. Lorik opened the gate and climbed up onto the railing of the corral. He didn’t have time to put a saddle on the horse; he only hoped he could get to the barn before the Riders caught up with him. He threw a leg over the big horse and dug his heels in. His left hand gripped the horse’s mane, and with the other he swung the gate closed again. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Riders coming around the bend in the path.

“Yahhh!” he shouted, kicking the horse into motion. Shire horses weren’t built for speed. The stallion hadn’t moved faster than a walk in months, but it thundered forward, its big hooves churning up the ground. The barn door was still open, as Lorik rarely closed it. The horse galloped in, and Lorik used his knees to guide the horse toward the marsh schooner he had left his weapons in. He leaned over and picked up the big battle axe. When he turned there were two Riders coming into the barn.

Lorik’s vision went red with anger. Somehow, seeing the outlaws in his father’s barn ignited a deep-seated fury. He screamed as he sent the huge horse charging forward. The outlaws looked surprised and then frightened. Lorik was a big man on a big horse, swinging a very menacing battle axe over his head. They tried to spread out, hoping that Lorik would race past them, but instead he cornered the nearest Rider. The outlaw had a long, thin sword, what most soldiers called a bastard sword. The outlaw’s horse was shuffling nervously, and the man thrust his sword out in a clumsy manner. Lorik leaned forward against his horse’s neck and the thrust went wide. Lorik didn’t wait but swung his axe at the outlaw’s leg. The blade bit deep, shattering bone and sending blood fanning out over the huge Shire horse.

The outlaw didn’t scream; he just crumpled and fell to the barn floor unconscious. Lorik was just turning his horse when the second outlaw drew near from behind. The Shire horse kicked out, almost throwing Lorik off, but also hitting the Rider’s mount in the chest. The horse screamed and toppled back, rolling over the outlaw and leaving him knocked senseless on the dirt floor of the barn.

“Yahhhh!” Lorik screamed again, directing his horse outside. Two more Riders had dismounted and were trying to get into the house.

“I’ll kill you bastards!” Lorik screamed. “I’ll kill you both!”

The outlaws turned in surprise as the big horse charged forward. The men were on the porch but Lorik attacked their horses, hacking at them with his axe. One horse wailed as it fell to the ground, thrashing in its own blood. The other broke and ran back along the path, away from the teamster’s property.

Both outlaws looked shocked. Lorik slid off his horse and ran up the steps. The nearest outlaw raised his sword, but the other leapt over the porch railing, stumbled, and then ran away.

“Looks like you’re all that’s left,” Lorik said.

“I didn’t mean no harm,” the outlaw stammered.

“Yes, you did,” Lorik replied angrily.

He batted the man’s sword aside with his axe and then kicked the man as hard as he could between the legs. The blow lifted the outlaw off the ground, and then he fell with a crash on the sturdy wooden porch. The man’s sword clattered to the ground as he struggled for breath. He was heaving, with tears streaking down his face and his hands holding his groin, as Lorik pulled him up to a sitting position.

“Open the door, Vera!” he shouted.

She complied immediately. Lorik shoved the outlaw onto his stomach and then stepped on the man’s neck.

“I’ve got rope in my chest, the cedar one at the foot of the bed,” he told her. “Bring it here as quick as you can.”

She turned and ran to Lorik’s small bedroom. The other bedroom in the house was larger, but it had been his parents’ room, and Lorik had never occupied it after his parents died. Vera found the chest quickly and threw it open. It was full of keepsakes, but she spotted the rope. It was thin, but plenty long enough to tie up the outlaw. She ran back and handed it to Lorik.

He bent down and pressed his knee into the outlaw’s back. The man groaned but didn’t resist. Lorik tied his hands and then his feet together.

“All right, take his sword and wait inside,” Lorik told her. “I have to check on the first two Riders in the barn, then I’ll be back.”

Vera nodded. She was frightened and shocked, but she did what she was told. Lorik hurried to the barn, leading his stallion and looking back over his shoulder at the wide path that led to Hassell Point. He was afraid more Riders would show up, or that a well-aimed arrow would hit him in the back. It was an unsettling thought, and when he reached the barn the scene there did nothing to calm him down. He had fought with an intense fury, but now he was confronted with the carnage of his wrath, and it made him ill.

The outlaw he had fought was as white as a sheet, his face lay in a puddle of vomit, and there was the foul stench of human excrement. The man’s leg was nearly severed, and Lorik knew at once the man would die. There was nothing any healer could do for him now. Losing a limb was nearly always fatal, because it was simply too difficult to stop the bleeding. The other outlaw lay moaning. His horse had run away, but the animal’s weight rolling over him had broken several bones, including the man’s spine. Lorik looked at him with a mixture of pity and loathing.

“You’re a dead man,” the outlaw said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why?” Lorik said. “Why did you come here?”

“You turned against Marsdyn. He’ll kill you for it.”

“He’s welcome to come and try. Sending you milksops didn’t accomplish anything.”

“You’re dead,” the man repeated, his voice growing even weaker. “And that goes for your new partner, too.”

“You first,” Lorik said, then he brought the axe down in an overhanded blow that split the outlaw’s skull.

He’d been shaken and weak until the man mentioned Marsdyn’s name. It made him angry to think of the gang leader sitting in safety and sending men to Lorik’s home. They had come to kill him, but they had failed. Only one of the four had survived, and he would bring news of what had happened back to Marsdyn. The outlaw wouldn’t let things go, Lorik knew that. It was a fight to death now; there was no other way for Marsdyn to salvage his pride and reputation.

Lorik was worried about Stone, but there was nothing he could for the young fighter. Stone would have to look after himself, and Lorik only hoped that Chancy or one of the other locals didn’t get hurt in the process.

Lorik ran back to the corral and led the horses to the barn. The Shire mares neighed and stamped their giant feet nervously when they smelled the blood and offal of the dead outlaws. He put each horse in a stall and hastily threw some hay into each one. Then he closed the barn doors. The barn might have been a more secure location to fight from, but for now, Lorik needed to get back to the house. Vera would be worried sick, and he wanted to question the outlaw he had trussed up on the porch.

* * *

Stone was sipping cider when the Riders came in. There were five of them, all armed, and each one looked at him before sitting down. He watched them carefully, his sense of danger suddenly prodding him. He was surprised to see the outlaws. They were trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. They couldn’t stop staring at him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they attacked. Apparently, Marsdyn wasn’t going to forgive the insult of being turned down by Stone. But the outlaws didn’t seem eager to start trouble, and Stone didn’t want to fight anyone inside the inn.

He stood up and smiled at Chancy, who was nervously looking back and forth from Stone to the group of Riders. Stone walked slowly toward the door, giving the Riders a wide berth, but one of them stood up.

“Where are you going?” the outlaw asked. “Marsdyn’s coming to have a little chat with you. He won’t like it if you aren’t here.”

“I won’t be gone long. I just need to take a piss.”

“Isn’t there pot you can piss in here?” the man challenged.

“I prefer a little more privacy.”

“He doesn’t want anyone to see he hasn’t got any balls,” sneered one of the outlaws.

Stone ignored the insult and moved toward the door again. But this time all the outlaws stood up and drew their weapons.

“Sit back down,” the first outlaw said menacingly. “Or I’ll put you down.”

“I don’t want any trouble in here,” Stone said. “Why don’t we take this outside?”

“Sit down!” the man shouted.

“Chancy, why don’t you and your people leave?” Stone said. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”

The innkeeper and his wife slipped out of the common room. There were a few other patrons, and they beat a hasty retreat as well.

“Now, you better sit down and keep your trap shut,” said the outlaw.

“Sure, no problem,” Stone said.

Just then Chancy appeared with jugs and small cups.

“How about a drink, gentlemen?” he said with a smile. “On the house, of course. Here, take the jug. It’s the best saka in the Point.”

He set the terra-cotta jug down on the table, along with five small cups. He proceeded to fill them as Stone sat back down. The Riders drank the strong liquor and didn’t notice when Chancy winked at Stone. Then the innkeeper disappeared into the kitchen. It took only a few minutes, and Stone could tell the Riders were getting very drunk. He was sure they thought it buoyed their courage, but they were slurring their words and moving about clumsily. It was only a matter of time before one or all of them challenged Stone, who was sipping his cider quietly.

It happened even more quickly than the young fighter imagined. One of the outlaws, the smallest of the bunch, stood up. He said something under his breath, and the other men laughed. Then he walked toward Stone with an ambling gait, swaying slightly.

“I think you’re a coward,” the outlaw said. “You may have them fancy knives, but you’re scared to use them.”

“Sometimes I am,” Stone said conversationally.

“I know it. Didn’t I just say it?”

“You did.”

“Well, you better give them to me,” the outlaw demanded. “Or I’ll cut your black... heart... out.”

“No,” Stone said.

“No? You telling me no?”

“That’s right.”

The man hit the table top with his fist. The blow made Stone’s cup hop, but the young fighter didn’t flinch. Instead, he stood up suddenly, causing the outlaw to reel backward. Once the man had his balance again, he leered hatefully at Stone and then rushed forward. The drunken sot didn’t even get his sword clear of its sheath before Stone’s punch shattered the outlaw’s nose. He had drawn both knives and then hit the man with the brass knuckle guard. It knocked the man off his feet and the outlaw crashed to the floor, unconscious, with blood staining his well-groomed mustache and beard.

Then, the other four outlaws all stood up. They had been drinking to gain the courage they needed to fight Stone. They remembered how he had attacked the pirates, and although none wanted to face him alone, now they felt compelled to act. One of their own had been humiliated, and the liquor made them feel invincible, despite what they had just seen.

“This is a mistake,” Stone said. “You don’t want to do this. I won’t hold back.”

“Big words for a man all alone,” said the outlaw who had first challenged him. “The way I see it, the odds are in our favor.”

“If that’s what you want,” Stone said.

Then he was moving, so fast he was a blur. He spun past one outlaw, his knife slashing the man’s throat. He spun low, punching the next outlaw in the stomach. A third lunged forward, thrusting a short sword at Stone, but the blade didn’t touch anything but air. The young fighter danced aside and stabbed the outlaw’s outstretched arm. The man screamed and fell back.

The outspoken outlaw held back from the fight. Despite his words and the liquor, he was still afraid. He grabbed the man with the wounded arm, and pushed him back toward Stone. He was right behind the wounded man, a dagger in his free hand. Stone saw the ploy for what it was, and so he waited for the moment when the outlaw shoved the wounded man toward him. Then he spun around the stumbling outlaw and slashed one knife across the cowardly Rider’s arm. He completed the spin and slammed his other knife into the man’s back.

“I guess my black heart will just keep beating right where it is,” he whispered angrily in the outlaw’s ear.

He twisted the knife as the outlaw arched his back and screamed. Then he wrenched his blade free. The outlaw fell. The Rider with the wounded arm had stumbled out of the inn, so the only outlaw left was the man Stone had punched in the stomach.

“No need to die,” Stone said.