Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) (34 page)

The Protector is coming,

a light in the dark hour,

to face many dangers,

that we may live or die.

The Protector is coming,

with a sacrifice to make,

his choice is our future,

that we may live or die.

The Protector is coming,

with a heart that is true,

his quality will be revealed,

that we may live or die.

Lorik smiled. He wanted to express how much their faith in him meant, but he couldn’t find the words. He smiled and nodded. Then the mists began to move, ushering him back toward his friends. Lorik ran again, this time with purpose in each step. He was the Protector. He had to stop the Norsik to protect his people, to protect the forest, to protect the future of Ortis.

He ran past Stone and Vera. They were asleep in each other’s arms. He knew they would be safe as long as they were together. He ran out of the forest and onto the edge of the plain. It was a dark night, and he could not see in the darkness outside the forest, but there were stars in the sky and the Norsik had lit large fires made from the wood found in the fort. It struck Lorik at that moment what would happen if he didn’t act. The raiders would begin cutting down the massive redwood trees to build their own fortress and to use as fuel for fires. They would spread through the countryside pillaging and destroying every settlement they found. They would steal, kill, rape, plunder, and enslave thousands.

He began quietly, drawing only one sword and carrying it casually at his side. The bright fires made the dark areas seem even more dark. Lorik entered the nearest ring of light. Eight raiders lounged around it, drinking wine they had plundered and telling stories of their conquests. They looked up in surprise at Lorik but he didn’t hesitate. He raised his sword and drove it down into the chest of the nearest man. The others shouted in surprise and scrambled to their feet. Lorik swung his sword in a great upward swipe that opened the second man’s belly. Then, in one continuous motion he chopped back down. The third raider tried to ward off the blow with upraised hands. The sword severed both arms and wedged into the man’s head. Lorik wrenched the blade free and kicked the corpse into the fire.

The other five men ran shouting into the camp. Lorik slipped back into the shadows. Raiders ran to see who had attacked, but Lorik wasn’t there. He was already at another campsite. This time the fire was small, and three men stood looking out into the darkness, their night vision ruined after spending hours staring into the fire. Lorik approached them from behind, drawing his other sword, and thrust the blades into the backs of two of the men at the same time. They screamed, and the sound chilled the blood of all who heard it accept for Lorik, who yanked his swords free and with another mighty slash decapitated the third man. Lorik snatched up the head and slipped back into the shadows. The edges of the massive camp became a riot of activity. No one saw Lorik stalking away in the darkness.

Beyond the fringes of the forest, the camps grew closer together and so did the circles of light. Lorik waited patiently as a large group of half-drunk raiders moved into the camp he had just come from. They were inspecting the bodies when Lorik hurled the head into their midst. The raiders shouted and dashed backward. Lorik ran around and attacked the group from the far side. He hooked his swords together and spun through the crowd like a killer whirlwind. His blade shown brightly in the firelight and blood spattered in all directions. Men were screaming their death cries and more raiders were hurrying to see what the commotion was about. Lorik fought hard, wounding and killing nearly two dozen men before slipping away again.

There were shouts and the sounds of panic where the bodies were found. Torches were lit and weapons drawn. Sentries were sent out into the darkness to search for whoever was killing the raiders. Lorik took them down, one at a time. Striking hard and fast, killing the scouts and then hurling their torches back toward the camp and away from the Wilderland’s massive trees.

Stone and Vera heard the shouting, but they could see nothing in the dense dark of the forest. They held each other closer, listening to the sounds of a battle they could not stop. They both knew that Lorik had attacked the raiders and they both believed that he would die. Neither spoke. They lay on the soft earth, trembling, when suddenly lights from high in the canopy began to drift down toward them. They sat up, staring at the lights.

“What’s going on?” one of the freed captives asked.

“We don’t know,” Vera said. “Just stay calm. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

Soon all the women and children were awake. The lights looked like glowing snowflakes, drifting slowly down from high above. Then finally, as the lights got closer, the group of escaped captives could make out the lights.

“It’s children,” someone said.

“No,” Stone said. “They’re forest elves.”

“It can’t be,” said another woman.

“Forest elves aren’t real,” said a third.

“Yes they are, Mommy,” said a little voice. “Lorik told us all about them. They guard the trees.”

“Hello,” said Stone, standing up.

“Greetings,” said the nearest elf. She was a dark-haired girl, thin and beautiful. She clung to the side of the massive tree Stone and Vera had been sleeping under.

“Do not be frightened,” said another.

“The Protector sent us,” said the first. “My name is Elissia. I will watch over you this night.”

“Who is the Protector?” Vera asked, sure she knew the answer already.

“He is your friend. The Great One called Lorik.”

“And you are the Drery Dru?” Vera said.

“We are.”

The camp was excited and it was difficult to go back to sleep. There were the distant sounds of shouting and struggle. But as the group lay back down, staring up at their glowing guardians, their eyes grew heavy, and eventually they were all sound asleep.

Lorik knew that it would take weeks to kill the thousands of men in the Norsik camp if he only killed a few every hour, but he didn’t want to risk too much in the darkness. After taking out the scouts with their torches, the raiders on the fringe of the camp pulled back. Lorik moved like a shadow in the darkness. The raiders strained to see him, but he was invisible in the darkness.

The night wore on and Lorik looked for places where there were no guards or raiders watching for him. He made his way into one small camp where the occupants were passed out from too much ale. He slit their throats and then threw their bodies on the fire. Smoke billowed up and the smell was terrible. It attracted more raiders. Lorik knew if he could keep the raiders on edge through the night they would be exhausted, and that would give him a slight edge in the battle he knew was coming at sunup. He needed only a few hours of sleep a night since the Drery Dru used their magic to heal him, and skipping a night’s rest hardly affected him.

He wandered around between the forest and the camp. Sometimes he ran to give himself some distance from the latest mayhem he had caused. At other times he sat down and waited patiently for someone to notice his handiwork.

His mind was working out the details of a plan. He knew that if he engaged the Norsik on open ground, they would surround him and eventually overwhelm him. He needed a place where he could fight only a small number of Norsik at a time. He was confident he could fight all day without rest, but he would need something to drink.

A few hours before dawn he made his move. He ran through the darkness toward the harbor and, hiding his swords, walked boldly into the camp. He had been working steadily through the night much further away and there was hardly anyone around the harbor. The fires there had burned down to glowing coals. He walked through the shadows, unnoticed and ignored.

At the stone tower he found guards. The Norsik had no king, but whatever tribe had taken up residence in the tower was sure to be led by a powerful warlord. There were two guards outside the door. They were alert and ready, challenging Lorik as he approached.

“
Nirek! Hans aloff zucom.
”

“And a fine evening to you as well,” Lorik said, drawing his sword.

One of the guards lunged forward but Lorik stepped aside and let his own blade drag across the guard’s stomach. Lorik expected the man to fall to his knees and die, but as his sword struck he recognized the feel of chain mail. The raider had stolen someone’s armor and was wearing it under his thick tunic.

Lorik spun quickly and struck again, this time bringing his sword down hard on the guard’s shoulder. The sword crunched into the steel rings. The armor kept the sword’s razor edge from slicing into the man’s shoulder, but the physical blow broke the guard’s arm and sent him sprawling on the ground.

Lorik turned to face the other guard just as the raider’s sword came whistling at Lorik’s head. He ducked just in time, stabbing his own blade into the guard’s inner thigh. The man screamed and Lorik punched him hard in the jaw. The guard’s head whipped around and he fell over completely unconscious, his life’s blood pumping out of the wound in his leg with every heartbeat.

Lorik then approached the door, only to find it locked. He sheathed both his swords and after circling around to the rear of the tower, began scaling the wall. The tower was made of rounded rocks, and although the rocks were smooth and difficult to grip, scaling the tower wasn’t impossible. He was halfway to the top before the climb became truly difficult. Below him a several raiders were milling about, trying to discover what had happened. Lorik heard a commotion inside the tower, but he ignored it. He could have climbed into one of the windows, but he didn’t want to be trapped inside. He wanted to be on the rooftop, where he had open space to fight.

Lorik knew the guards on top of the tower were looking down on the far side. It would only take one of them coming over and looking straight down to end his fight, but there were no fires near the tower and he was shrouded in darkness. When he was just below the crenellated crown of the building he paused and listened. He could hear voices on the roof, but they seemed far enough away. His fingernails were broken and bleeding, but he wasn’t tired. His climb was nothing like scaling the Kingtree, and the prize at the top was completely different as well.

Lorik climbed over the wall and quietly moved across the surface. The trapdoor that led up from below was open, and the three men on guard duty were busy looking down the far side of the wall. Lorik hooked his swords together then moved slowly across the roof of the building. He was just behind the three men when one of them stood up and saw him approaching.

The man was just about to shout for help when Lorik slashed the guard’s throat with his sword. The other two guards pulled back from the edge of the wall, but Lorik was already spinning to the attack. He twirled his sword over his head, slashing one guard in the face, the blade cutting into his jaw, knocking out teeth, and severing the man’s tongue. The guard fell to his knees, blood filling his lungs, choking off the Norsik warrior’s cries for help. Lorik’s final strike was aimed at the third guard’s neck, but the guard threw up his arm instinctively to ward off the blow. The sword severed the man’s hand and gashed into his shoulder. The guard let out a piercing scream and Lorik kicked the man in the chest to wrench his sword free. The guard toppled backward over the wall and fell with a thud on top of another raider who had just looked up to see who had screamed.

Shouts for help and the call to arms spread across the encampment. Lorik threw the trapdoor shut that led to the top of the tower from below and dragged the bodies of the guards he killed over to the door. He stacked the bodies on top of the door and looked around. It was hard to make out what he was seeing in the darkness, but after a few moments of searching he found a sack of rations and what he hoped was a water skin. Lorik tipped the skin up and poured some of the liquid into his mouth. It was water—warm and stale and tasting like old leather, but it was wet. Lorik drank as much as he could stand, then waited for the Norsik raiders to make their way to the top of the tower.

The sun was just rising and Lorik could make out several hundred men below him, milling around the tower. None had tried to come up and see what might possibly be happening on top of the watchtower. They knew that at least one guard was dead, and the other two had not come down. The chieftain who had occupied the tower had fled in fright. He was a powerful man and a fierce warrior, but the night attack had set all their nerves on edge. The superstitious Norsik raiders were waiting until daylight to inspect the roof of the watchtower.

As the sun rose, light filtered in through the high canopy and illuminated the clearing where Stone and Vera slept with the other liberated captives. They shared a breakfast of fruit and water, then the word came in that the raiders were on the move.

“Will they find us?” Stone asked.

“It is likely,” Elissia said.

“What should we do?”

“Just stay still. We will guard you,” she said, pulling a small pointed javelin the size of a crossbow bolt from a quiver-like pouch on her back. She also pulled out a longer stick with a bowl-like impression on the end. She put the butt of the javelin into the depression of the longer stick and held both close together in one hand.

“What is that?” Vera asked Stone.

“I think it’s an atlatl,” he said. “They use it to throw their javelins. Watch.”

They had to wait a long time. The Norsik raiders had been spooked by the glowing mist and chanting voices near their camp the night before. They made their way slowly forward once the sun came up. An hour later, they neared the camp of their former captives, and the Drery Dru moved forward. They were still high up in the trees, but their keen eyesight allowed them to see the raiders moving forward around the roots of the massive trees. When the elves saw the Norsik warriors draw their short, curved swords and begin spreading out to attack, the Drery Dru let their javelins fly.

The projectiles were small in size to a human, but for the small-statured forest elves, they were the perfect size. They held their atlatls over their shoulders and and flung them forward, flicking their wrists and sending the little javelins hurtling down with great force. Half of the raiders died of wounds from the javelins. Another quarter of their number were wounded and unable to fight. Most of the others fell back, but a few pressed on. Vera watched again as Elissia and some of the others used their atlatls to hurl their javelins. The Drery Dru were deadly accurate with their projectiles, and the attacking raiders were killed before they closed the distance to the camp.

Lorik lounged in the warm morning sunlight. He heard the crowds on the ground below, and knew they would be coming for him soon. But they took their time, slowly exploring each of the five levels of the watch tower. Lorik then took down the heads that hung on the tower’s walls. The flesh on the faces was split from putrefaction and exposure. Birds had pecked at the flesh until the faces were almost unrecognizable, but Lorik laid them gently on the roof of the tower, away from the area he was choosing to fight in. He stood with his back to the sun, not too close to the edge of the tower and waited. Finally, an hour after sunrise and about the same time that the raiders were creeping near Stone and Vera’s camp, Lorik saw the trapdoor begin to shift.

Lorik took another drink from the water skin and then tossed it aside. The weight of the bodies on the door made it impossible for one man to open it. In the end it took three, all pushing at the same time and heaving the door up high enough that the bodies of the slain guards slid down. The door fell back with a thud and a head appeared, looking around the rooftop until it finally saw Lorik.

He smiled and waved the raider forward.

“It’s about bloody time,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

The raider didn’t understand what he was saying, but he stared, frozen in terror for a moment, before dropping back down. Lorik heard the raider jabbering, and then two more heads appeared, glared at him, then disappeared. Finally a raider came up the staircase, his back to Lorik. The man moved slowly, as if he wasn’t afraid of being attacked from behind as he came up the stairs and onto the roof. Lorik made no move to attack; he stood waiting, his swords hooked together and held across his thighs.

The brave Norsik warrior stood by the door staring at Lorik but speaking to the other raiders on the staircase. Slowly they came up onto the roof until there were nearly a dozen of them. Their side of the rooftop was crowded and Lorik smiled. Then he raised his sword and twirled it over his head.

“Come and get me,” he said, still grinning.

The big Norsik who was first up the stairs was also the first to die. He rushed forward and Lorik thrust the end of his sword into the man’s throat. The raider’s momentum slammed him into the sword so hard his head was almost severed from his body; only the man’s backbone remained intact. Lorik jerked his sword so that the raider fell sideways and the other raiders would have to go over or around the body to get to Lorik.

“Come on!” he shouted. “You’re a bunch of cowards!”

The group on the rooftop flinched backward, then they found their courage and moved forward together. Lorik slashed at one man, who fell back into the raider behind him, getting a nasty cut in his back, near his spine, for his trouble. Another raider edged around the wall and Lorik swung his word in a horizontal strike that the raider easily caught on his own sword, but the powerful blow sent him reeling backwards, where he tripped on the wall’s crenellated edge and fell headfirst to the ground.

There were shouts and cries for blood from below, but on the rooftop the raiders were slow to attack. Lorik gutted one man and stabbed another in the shoulder. One raider jumped forward with his sword in front of him. Lorik sidestepped the clumsy attack and severed the raider’s arm. The screams and cries for help whipped the crowd below into a frenzy. More and more raiders from the huge encampment were gathering around the tower and crowding their way in. Lorik moved forward and sent the next raider falling backwards, his chest sliced open from an overhead slash. The raider fell through the trapdoor and landed on the warriors below who were struggling to get up the stairs.

Lorik looked like a warrior from another time, his giant form gilded by the sunlight behind him, his muscles rolling beneath his skin as he hacked and slashed his opponents. One by one they died on the rooftop until there was no place to climb up onto the roof without stepping on bodies. Lorik used every lull in the action to clear his side of the roof. He tossed bodies over the edge, whether the raider was alive or dead. The crowd below learned to stand back several feet from the edge of the tower wall, where bodies were starting to pile up.

More raiders climbed up, but without a way to get their balance on top of the bodies of their fallen companions, they tripped and fell, often within striking distance of Lorik’s flashing swords. At one point he unhooked his swords and sheathed the long-handled sword. He chopped and slashed with his sword, filling the rooftop with blood until the flagstones were slippery and wet. Still he fought. Sweat poured from his brow, even in the cold autumn wind. An hour passed with a hundred men dead on the rooftop. Then another hour, and the raiders were having trouble getting on the roof at all. The trapdoor was surrounded by bodies and there were more bodies piling up on the stairwell.

Finally, someone found ropes and tried climbing up the wall, but Lorik cut the ropes and tossed bodies on top of the climbers. The flow of raiders coming up to face him slowed, and then it stopped altogether. Lorik had lost count of the death toll. There were bodies everywhere and he was covered in blood.

He took another long drink from the water skin and waited to see what would happen next. To his surprise there was a crash that shook the tower. Lorik hurried to the side and looked down to find that the Norsik raiders had recovered one of the long logs that had been part of the fort’s palisade and were using it like a battering ram. Lorik realized he hadn’t thought about what he would do if they knocked the tower down. It seemed like an unassailable spot from which he could fight the Norsik raiders all day, but it wasn’t quiet noon and they were already trying to knock the tower down.