Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy)

by Toby Neighbors

  “Stay safe, my friends,” he told them, once their kiss had ended.

  “And you,” Stone said.

  “I love you both,” Vera said.

  Then she snapped the reins and the wagon lumbered off. Lorik and Stone stood back waiting while the women marched past. They looked worried but resolute. Then Lorik turned and addressed the men who were riding out to relay word of the Norsik invasion.

  “Don’t argue with people. Just tell them what’s coming and suggest that they see to their women and elderly,” he told them. “Those of you riding west, keep a close watch on the Wilderlands. If my guess is right, the Norsik are spreading out. They may hit the villages sooner than you think. Don’t engage them if you can help it. Keep moving and then turn south. Stay alive, you understand?”

  The men nodded.

  “And take care of your horses. They could be the difference between life or death.”

  Stone and Lorik shook hands, then the younger man climbed into the saddle and set out. Lorik saw to his weapons. He wasn’t carrying the battle axe; instead he found a bow and a quiver of arrows, which he slung over his shoulder. He made sure every man had a spear and a torch. The six men who were going with him into the Wilderlands looked both grim and frightened at the same time. Lorik wasn’t sure if they were afraid of the Norsik or the Wilderlands, but it didn’t matter.

  “Have any of you been in the Wilderlands before?” he asked them.

  They shook their heads nervously.

  “It can be a bit spooky, but don’t let your nerves get the best of you. We’re going in and hitting the Norsik, then pulling back. We need to stay together and we need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice, but don’t get jumpy. This is very important. We need to slow these bastards down and give our friends a chance to move south. Do you understand?”

  Most of the men nodded, but one spoke up.

  “Do you really think seven of us can do much of anything?” he asked.

  “Seven men wouldn’t have a prayer in most circumstances,” Lorik said. “But the Wilderlands will give us an advantage. We’re going to scare the Norsik, not fight them. We want to frighten them and make them slow down.”

  “But if they get scared, won’t they want to hurry out of the Wilderlands?”

  “Sure, but if what is scaring them is in front of them, they won’t rush forward,” Lorik explained. “It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the best chance we have of slowing them down.”

  Lorik led his men out of the fort. They rode straight to the Wilderlands, and Lorik immediately stopped and began stripping bark off of the trees.

  “Wrap yourself up in this bark,” Lorik said. “Work it into your clothes as best you can. It will make us harder to see.”

  The men followed his example. They even wrapped some of the bark around their horses’ necks and over their withers and rumps. Then they pushed on. The group was silent, and even seven horses moving through the forest were eerily quiet. They rode for hours without stopping. A few men ate as they rode, gnawing the tough dried strips of meat from their saddlebags, but most had lost their appetite.

  As evening approached the mist rose up again just as Lorik began to hear the sounds of a large force not far away. He dismounted and signaled for the others to do the same. He assigned one man to stay with the horses while Lorik and the others moved slowly forward.

  “All right,” Lorik said. “I want you to spread out in a long line. In a few minutes I’m going to begin making noises. Once you hear me, you stop and start making noises, too. Just be spooky.”

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” asked one of the volunteers.

  “No, but I don’t have a better idea, do you?”

  The men all shook their heads, and Lorik signaled for them to move out. The volunteers crept along, flitting from tree to tree. The same feelings of fear and desperation began to rise up in Lorik again. He felt so small among the towering redwoods and the sounds of the approaching army were growing louder. Finally, when Lorik felt he couldn’t wait any longer, he moaned. It was a sound that started quietly and then rose up in volume. He could tell halfway through his moan that the raiders not far away had grown silent. Just as he was finishing, another haunted sound rose up to his right. Chills broke out on Lorik’s forearms, despite the fact that he knew it was one of his own men making the noise.

  Then another eerie sound came, and another after that. Then a scream, which Lorik realized was a stroke of genius. He heard the raiders talking in loud but fearful voices. They were actually moving back, away from Lorik’s position. He smiled a grim smile. Even though he felt small and scared, it still felt good to know that his plan was working.

  The volunteers continued to moan and groan, their voices rising along with the mist. The sounds of the raiders fell away, and soon Lorik had his men moving west. They traveled until just before sunset. The gloom faded to black in what seemed like an instant. Lorik lit his torch and kept his volunteers moving. They used the same tactics whenever they came close to the raiders. It was obvious the Norsik were still traveling in tribal groups, not as one organized, coherent unit. The night stretched on and on, but Lorik pushed his men. They burned one torch after another, and at dawn they turned back to the east. They were still half a day from Fort Utlig but they had accomplished their mission: they had delayed the attack long enough to give the others time to escape.

  “Are we going back?” one of the volunteers asked as they made their way back to their horses.

  “Yes,” Lorik said. “There’s little more we can do here.”

  They had just mounted up and were starting to move south when a cry rose up behind them. This time it wasn’t a moan or scream of pain, but a battle cry. Lorik turned to see a group of raiders running toward them.

  “About face!” he shouted. “Spears at the ready!”

  The volunteers fought their horses for control and drew the spears they had been training with for days. They were outnumbered by the band of Norsik raiders, but they had certain advantages. Lorik planned to do as much damage as he could before they used their horses to outrun the Norsik raiders.

  While the others readied their spears Lorik drew an arrow from the quiver over his shoulder. He nocked the arrow, keeping his hands as steady as possible, then drew the arrow back, sighting down the long wooden shaft. He aimed for the lead raider, the fastest man in the group, and let the arrow fly. He knew right away that his aim was off a little, as the arrow seemed to dip down as soon as it left his hands. The horses were shuffling nervously and that made hitting his target that much harder, but his aim wasn’t completely off. The arrow hit the raider in the leg, and Lorik saw the man plunge face-first in the soft earth. His companions leapt over him and continued charging forward.

  Lorik drew another arrow and let it fly. This time he aimed for the group, not caring whom he hit, just wanting to get off another shot before he needed to ready his spear. The second arrow jumped off the string and hit one of the raiders straight in the chest. This time the falling man tripped several of his companions, and Lorik slung the bow over his shoulder.

  “Hit and run,” he told his men. “There could be hundreds more behind this group. Watch out for the tree roots, too. Don’t lose your horse.”

  The men all nodded as Lorik drew his spear. They all held their spears out like lances and kicked their horses forward. There was enough room between the giant trees for the seven men to ride side by side toward the attacking raiders. The horses didn’t have enough room to reach full speed, but the massive hooves and leveled spears were enough to divide the raiders. Half dodged one direction, ducking behind the trees. The other half went the other direction, but three hesitated a second too long. They were impaled on the spears of Lorik’s volunteers and then trampled under the horses’ hooves.

  Lorik didn’t halt the horses to turn around. Stopping would make them vulnerable, and their speed was their greatest asset. Lorik guided his horse in a wide loop, giving himself plenty of dist
ance from the raiders before turning south again.

  “We aren’t going to fight?” cried one of the volunteers.

  “There will be plenty of time for that,” Lorik shouted over the muted thumps of their horses’ hooves. “We don’t want to get caught in the trees or separated. We’ll wait to fight on open ground.”

  His answer must have satisfied the younger men. The volunteers followed Lorik without another word. They were young men, most not even twenty years old. They were used to obeying their fathers and they took Lorik’s order without argument or complaint.

  They rode hard all morning and came out of the Wilderlands at midday. Lorik guessed they would begin seeing the raiders later that same afternoon.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be out of that forest,” said one of the volunteers. “I knew it was just us making those noises, but I have to admit I was more than a little nervous just the same.”

  The other men laughed, but they all agreed. The Wilderlands was an otherworldly place, unlike anything Lorik had ever experienced. He had run into no danger when he scouted there, but he had felt things in the Wilderlands that he had never felt before in his life. The sense of being watched was overwhelming, and fear was palpable among the giant trees.

  They rode back to the fort and were admitted without fuss. Constable Yorn was waiting for Lorik when he arrived.

  “What did you find out?” he asked.

  “Not much more than I already knew,” Lorik said. “We didn’t engage, just scared them a little.”

  “You scared the Norsik raiding party?”

  “The Wilderlands are a spooky place,” Lorik said. “It doesn’t take much to set a man’s nerves on edge. I’m pretty sure they’re moving in tribes, though. They were definitely traveling in groups.”

  “And you’re sure there was more than one?” Yorn asked.

  “Of course I am. They may not have banded together in a traditional sense, but they are attacking at the same time.”

  Yorn’s face was twisted in despair. He cleared his throat and spat. “I’d better see to my men on the walls,” he said.

  “That’s a good idea,” Lorik said. “I expect you’ll see the first of them coming out of the Wilderlands late this afternoon. Let my men sleep a few hours, then we’ll join you. Wake us if we aren’t up when you spot the raiders.”

  Yorn nodded and then walked away. Lorik was too tired to care about the constable’s slights; he knew the man was insecure. Lorik found an empty bed and collapsed onto it. It felt like he had just closed his eyes when another volunteer was shaking him awake.

  “They’re here,” the man whispered.

  “All right,” Lorik said, rubbing his tired eyes and rising slowly from the bed.

  He splashed cold water onto his face and then dried it on the tail of his shirt. He picked up his weapons and hurried up the watchtower. He found Yorn and three other men on top watching as a group of Norsik milled along the edge of the Wilderlands. They didn’t continue into the open ground beyond, but lingered at the edge of the forest.

  “What do you think they’re doing?” Yorn asked.

  “Waiting for the others, I suspect,” Lorik said. “We’ll saddle up and make a patrol. My guess is that there will be similar groups all along the Wilderlands border.”

  “You leave the fort now, and I won’t let you back in,” Yorn warned. “I’m not taking chances with the Norsik this close.”

  “We won’t put the fort in danger,” Lorik said. “But we can do more good on horseback, at least for a while.”

  Lorik roused his volunteers, though he knew they and their horses were all tired. Lorik led them around to the southern side of the fort. He wanted them ready to ride, but he didn’t need them to patrol with him. Yulver had sailed his ship to the mouth of the harbor. He was close enough to help if he had to, but he didn’t want to be trapped in the small bay by Norsik ships.

  Lorik rode out toward the Wilderlands and the Norsik party waiting there. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, casting long shadows but still providing plenty of light. Lorik guessed there were around thirty raiders in the first party. The raiders looked up defiantly, but none rushed out to attack Lorik. He swept by and rode west. He found two more tribes waiting just inside the tree line. Then he turned and rode back toward the fort.

  He knew that by morning there would be hundreds of Norsik raiders, perhaps even thousands. He felt sick knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop them. His whole purpose for coming north was to defend the northern villages from the raiders, but it looked as if the tribes had united and the raiders were now an invading army. And there was nothing Lorik or anyone else could do to stop them.

  Chapter 26

  Stone had trouble dealing with the guilt of the errand he was on. A big part of him felt like he should be with Vera. If Lorik failed to slow down the Norsik raiders, they could catch Vera’s group of women and children, who had no escort or any kind of protection. He also felt guilty that he wasn’t with Lorik. His friend was riding straight into danger, and even though Stone felt certain he was doing the right thing, he also felt guilty simply because he was riding in the opposite direction.

  His mission was to warn the village of Farns Cove and any settlements in between. Stone doubted that the raiders would head east along the coast, but he couldn’t be certain and he couldn’t help but worry about the farmer’s family he had stayed with. He had made a personal connection with them and felt responsible for their safety. He rode hard all day and made it to the large farmhouse a few hours after dark. He could see light inside the farmhouse and was relieved until he noticed the group of horses grazing between the house and the barn.

  Stone knew the Norsik raiders had stolen the farmer’s horses. He drew his own mount to a stop while he was still several hundred yards from the ring of light around the house. He dismounted and waited to see if his approach had been heard by anyone. There was movement inside the house, but Stone couldn’t tell what was going on. He left his horse and made his way slowly toward the house.

  He could hear voices inside, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. The people talking inside were Norsik, and Stone felt a cold stab of fear for the farmer and his family. If the raiders didn’t believe their story, they may have already killed the entire family. Stone moved silently to one of the windows, peering in from the side so that no one inside would see his face in the light from the windows. There were several lamps burning in the room, and Stone could see the raiders pacing. There were six men, all with weapons. Two sat at the large wooden table with cups beside them. One stood by the door, another by a window that looked out into the yard where their horses grazed. Two more paced back and forth across the room. There was no sign of the farmer or his family.

  Stone decided to take his chances searching for the family or any evidence of what might have happened to them. He slowly made his way back out into the darkness and then moved toward the barn. There was no light inside it, but Stone slipped in and listened. It was only a moment before he heard whispering over the deep sounds of the animals breathing. He guessed the voices were coming from the loft, but in the darkness he couldn’t be sure.

  “Pssst.”

  The voices stopped immediately. Stone hissed again.

  “Pssst.”

  “Who is that?” came a voice, slightly louder than the whispers before.

  “It’s Stone. I’m here to help.”

  “How do we know it’s you?” came the voice.

  “I stayed here not long ago. I rescued your children from the raiders. I came back with another scout a few days later.”

  “We’re in the loft. Just walk in straight from the door until you reach the ladder.”

  Stone moved forward in the darkness with his hands stretched out in front of him. He didn’t like feeling so exposed and helpless, but lighting even a small candle would almost certainly give away the fact that there were people in the barn. He moved slowly, shuffling his fe
et to keep from tripping over something in his path. When he finally reached the ladder he felt a small sense of relief. He climbed up the ladder and felt hands on his shoulders at the top.

  “What are you doing here?” came the farmer’s familiar voice.

  “The Norsik are sending an army through the Wilderlands. I’m warning the villages and settlements along the coast.”

  “They came back,” the farmer said, referring to the raiders who were now holed up inside the farmhouse. “I knew they would, and now they’ve got my wife and children locked up in the house.”

  “We have to do something,” said one of the farmer’s sons.

  “We will,” Stone said. “Be we can’t just go charging toward the front door. They’re expecting that.”

  “If we fight them they’ll kill my wife and children,” the farmer said.

  “Only as a last resort,” Stone said. “The Norsik take women and children as slaves. They won’t want to hurt them if they can help it.”

  “So what should we do?” asked one of the farmer’s sons.

  “Your family is inside, so our best bet is to draw them out.”

  “How will we do that?” the farmer asked.

  “Oh, I think I have an idea,” Stone said, grinning in the darkness.

  It took an hour to go over the details of the plan and get everyone in position. Stone was wrapped in his cloak so that his knives were hidden. The farmer had a knife in the back of his belt, but it was only for self-defense. The older man was terrified and Stone didn’t think he could count on the farmer during the fighting. They had walked a half mile from the farmhouse and then turned back, making their way back to the house and singing a bawdy drinking song with thick tongues. They leaned on one another and laughed. Stone had to carry the performance, but fortunately the farmer’s nerves helped him carry off the drunken ruse.

  When they were finally in the yard of the farmhouse, the door swung open and light from inside shone out. Two men stepped out onto the porch.