Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy)

by Toby Neighbors

  The first raider to venture out toward Lorik was a big man with dried paint and blood on his bare arms and chest. Lorik wasn’t sure how the Norsik endured the cold half naked, but the raiders seemed unaffected by the declining temperatures. The man moved slowly toward Lorik, leery of springing the trap he assumed was waiting for him. Lorik waited patiently, one eye on the man coming toward him and one on the band of raiders down the road.

  Lorik felt his palms begin to sweat. It wasn’t battle that worried him; it was the anticipation that made him so nervous. He hated the waiting, hated the feeling of pressure that seemed to squeeze him as he saw danger approaching. He did his best to keep from becoming tense as he waited, but his muscles seemed to contract and he began to shiver. He wanted to rush forward and fight, because then all his nervousness could be channeled into aggression and vented on his opponent, but waiting alone in the darkness was a necessary part of the plan.

  Lorik could fight the raiders one by one, but eventually he would tire and there was no way to keep the raiders from attacking en masse once they got their courage up. Still, if he could draw them out and make them feel safe, his men could hit them hard once again. And with night coming on, they might be able to wipe out this tribe and move on to the next.

  Lorik waited until the sun slipped below the horizon, then, before the sky turned black, in those few moments between daylight and dark, Lorik kindled a small fire and lit the torches. The man approaching stopped and watched as Lorik dragged his axe on the ground in a wide circle around both torches. The heavy blade turned the soil and left a mark in the ground. Then Lorik returned to the circle and took off all his clothes, tossing them outside the circle. He did all this solemnly, making sure the raiders could see each action. Lorik knew very little about the Norsik, but he did know they were superstitious. Now he was standing naked inside the circle, between the torches. He held up his battle axe and screamed a vicious battle cry.

  The big raider on the road fell back a few steps. Then he waited. Lorik stood as still as a statue, then he reached out with his empty hand and beckoned the man to come forward. Once again the man hesitated. Then he came forward. Lorik saw that the entire tribe had come out from behind the barrier of dead bodies. He grinned: the plan was working. Now all he had to do was stay alive until the volunteers returned.

  The raider stepped into the circle and drew two short swords. They were curved with vicious points that arched up from the blade. Lorik knew if the man got close enough he wouldn’t hesitate to disembowel Lorik. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, and Lorik pushed it away. He wasn’t going to let the raider get that close. The lone warrior had stepped reverently across the edge of the circle and then paused. Still Lorik waited, beckoning the man closer. He wanted to make this encounter last as long as possible. Night had fully fallen now and the stars were bright overhead. The yellow light of the torches danced and waved hypnotically around the two combatants. Lorik gestured at the raider’s clothes.

  “Time to strip down for the audience,” Lorik said.

  The raider didn’t understand what was said, but he was wearing only thick trousers and boots that came up to his knees. Lorik mimed taking off his clothes, and then pointed at the raider. The man complied, taking off his clothes and tossing them outside the circle.

  The raider took a few more steps, then Lorik smiled again and screamed. It was a long, loud bellow that Lorik hoped would curdle the raider’s blood. Then he thumped the butt of his axe onto the ground and waited.

  “Your turn, dung brain,” Lorik said, knowing the raider wouldn’t understand him.

  The man just stood there, mystified. Lorik mimed bellowing and pointed at the raider. The man took his meaning and shouted a fierce cry, then stomped his foot.

  Immediately Lorik raised his axe and began circling his opponent. The Norsik warrior followed suit. It was normal for two men in combat to feel each other out before the fighting began in earnest, but Lorik had an advantage. He knew the raider would attack as soon as Lorik’s back was turned to the man’s tribe, because that way, if worse came to worst, his comrades could come to his aid. Lorik had anticipated that move, so when it came he was ready.

  The painted warrior attacked as soon as Lorik had his back to the other raiders. The man dove forward, hoping to get inside Lorik’s guard, where his twin swords could be used effectively against the big teamster. But Lorik slipped to his right, pivoted, and then punched the man hard in the side of the head.

  Lorik felt the bones in his hands pop instantly. It might have been a good strategy but he knew immediately that his hand was broken. He silently cursed himself for not hitting the raider with his palm or just ending the fight with a well-timed stroke of his axe, but he hadn’t wanted the fight to end too soon. Lorik danced away as the raider wobbled and tried not to fall down. Lorik reversed positions with the man and feinted as if he was going to swing his axe in an overhand stroke, but at the last second he reversed his hands, stepping forward and raising the butt of the axe instead. It hit the raider in the stomach and drove the wind out of his lungs.

  This time the raider fell to one knee, dropping one of his swords to clutch his stomach. Then Lorik brought his axehead down in a killing stroke, but it was an obvious move and despite the raider’s pain he rolled to his side as his comrades shouted warnings to him. Lorik backed away and let the raider get back to his feet. The Norsik warrior looked from Lorik to his fallen sword and back again, but Lorik had no intention of letting the man retrieve his weapon. Once again Lorik feinted one way, then surged back to the other. The raider slipped away from Lorik, but that wasn’t what the teamster had in mind. He drove the big axe down as hard as he could, slamming the thick metal axehead onto the fallen sword and shattering the blade.

  The raider bellowed in fury and rushed forward. Lorik, his hand throbbing in pain, used his axe, which was still wedged into the ground, as support for a vicious side kick. Lorik’s heel slammed into his opponent’s hip and sent the raider spinning to the ground. It took the raider only a moment to regain his feet, but it was enough time for Lorik to pry his axe up and resume his defensive stance. The Norsik warrior had no fear in his eyes, only fury. He feinted once, then again, and both times Lorik waited patiently. He knew the man would attack, and he knew he would have to be faster or he would be killed. His hand hurt and the pain was a distraction. Gripping his axe was becoming difficult, but the heavy weapon was all he had after disrobing in the circle of light.

  The raiders were shouting and screaming, totally consumed with the fight. They didn’t notice the mounted volunteers returning quietly in the darkness. Their eyes were on the two men in the circle of light, and even if they had looked around them, their night vision was completely ruined by the torches. It would take several minutes before they would be able to make out the riders in the darkness.

  Lorik waited while the raider feinted a third time and then attacked. The raider swung a massive blow that would have torn through Lorik’s neck, but the teamster lifted his axe and caught the blade on the shaft of his weapon. Lorik spun around, twisting the raider’s sword out of his hands and then hitting the man between his knees with the axehead. The scream from the raider made Lorik’s blood run cold.

  The blade had severed the raider’s manhood and lodged in his pelvic bone. He flailed back and Lorik wrenched his blade free. Blood gushed into a dark puddle on the road as the man fell back, dying. Lorik circled around the man so that he was facing the crowd of raiders who were shouting and cursing. Lorik smiled at them, raised his axe, then smashed it down on his fallen opponent’s head.

  At that exact moment two things happened: several of the Norsik raiders rushed forward, their anger and blood lust overcoming their caution, and the six horsemen hidden in the darkness charged. This time they didn’t throw their spears, but rather they used them like lances. Unlike a traditional lance that breaks easily, the spears were solid and tore through any exposed flesh the metal heads touched.

  The Norsik broke
in full panic. Some ran for their lives and some tried to fight, but neither tactic was effective because they were blinded after staring into the light of Lorik’s torches for so long. The volunteers cut several down and their horses killed several more under their thundering hooves. When the spears lodged in bone, the volunteers dropped them and drew their longswords. They rode through the knot of confused and frightened raiders, then circled and charged again.

  Meanwhile, three Norsik had rushed forward to fight Lorik. He snatched up his axe and swung it in a wide circle that held the men back, and the three attackers were now uncertain what to do. To them it seemed that ghostly wraiths or black demons were springing up around them and slaying their kinsmen.

  Lorik shouted again and feinted toward the man to his right, only to raise the butt of his axe into the face of the man to his left. The unsuspecting raider crashed into the metal knob at the end of the shaft, his nose smashed and teeth knocked out of his mouth. Lorik then kicked the man in front of him in the groin before dancing back out of the reach of the first man, who was thrusting his sword forward.

  Lorik then swung his axe in a broad swipe, letting the shaft slide though his hands to meet the raider. The unfortunate Norsik man tried to dodge back, but the axe hit him squarely in the knee, severing the lower part of his leg. The pain from the blow to Lorik’s hand was extreme and he was forced to let go of the axe with his right hand. Fortunately, the other two raiders were scrambling to get away, and Lorik let them go. He watched as his men cut the other raiders down one by one, although some escaped into the darkness. Then he pulled his clothes back on, wondering what he could do about his broken hand.

  “Should we go after the others?” one of the volunteers asked.

  “No, they’ve scattered,” Lorik said. “Bring my horse. Did you find water?”

  “There’s a small stream not far from here,” said one of the others.

  The volunteers were slowly returning to the circle of light. Other than the stars overhead, it was the only light in the vast plains. Lorik made sure he had retrieved everything he had taken off. Pulling his boots on was the hardest part, since gripping anything with his right hand was extremely painful.

  “We’ll make camp at the stream you found,” Lorik said. “But first we have to fetch your spears.”

  They moved the torches down the road to where the barricade of bodies was stacked. Lorik’s men lifted the bodies up, to free them from the spear shafts, then tossed them on the side of the road. Large black flies buzzed all around them, and the bodies were covered with blood and offal. At some point each of the men succumbed to nausea and several vomited, but they recovered their weapons. Then they led Lorik to the source of fresh water.

  The stream was small but it flowed quickly, and they were able to wash their clothes and their bodies in the cold water. It was well past midnight when they finally settled down, some standing watch, others bedding down on the cold earth. There was no fire, and the men who slept huddled together for warmth. Lorik’s hand hurt so badly he didn’t try to sleep; instead he stood watch until the sun came up.

  The next day, he led his group north. They were running low on rations, and with the villages and farms along the way having been burned by the Norsik, there was no place to resupply except for Fort Utlig. The ride back was difficult for Lorik. His broken hand swelled to almost twice its normal size and he could hardly move it. They saw only the occasional raider, so there was no need for Lorik to fight. His men were in good spirits. They had faced the enemy and emerged unscathed except for Lorik, who insisted his injury was his own fault. Their horses had minor cuts and scrapes, but nothing that would threaten their mounts’ ability to carry a rider or perform in battle.

  When they returned to Fort Utlig two days later, Lorik saw that Yulver was still sailing slowly around the mouth of the harbor. His friend was taking no chances. The gates of the fort swung open wide to admit them, and the small group of volunteers holding the fort were eager for news. Constable Yorn told Lorik that only one or two raiders had returned to the Wilderlands and no slaves had been taken back across.

  Lorik decided that after some rest he was going to ride west to Fort Hallish to see if it stood intact. He hoped his men had gotten word to the other villages, but there was precious little comfort in knowing that the villagers fled and survived, since their homes were still being destroyed and their possessions looted. Lorik was full of fury: anger at the king’s stupidity for taking all his soldiers from the border, anger at the Norsik raiders, and anger at his own inability to stop it all.

  The swelling in his hand was slowly subsiding, but the pain was still intense, especially when he closed his fist. One of the volunteers wrapped Lorik’s hand in a long strip of cloth, but there was little more that could be done. The next day, Lorik and his volunteers rode out of Fort Utlig again, this time moving west along the Wilderlands. They, too, spotted individual raiders, most with bags of stolen loot on their backs. The raiders lingered along the tree line of the Wilderlands, apparently waiting for the tribes to return before crossing through the forest alone.

  It took two days to travel the distance to Fort Hallish, and they could see the smoldering wreckage of the fort an hour before they arrived. They picked through the rubble, finding the remains of four men and two horses, but little else. The heat from the fire had ruined the weapons that had been left in the fort and there was no food or supplies left behind. They made camp that night, keeping a careful watch to ensure they weren’t attacked in the darkness. The moon was growing full and cast a silvery light around the ruins.

  The next morning, Lorik gathered his men together and discussed what they should do next.

  “I’d like to ride south a short ways,” Lorik explained. “There were several settlements nearby. Maybe we can learn what the Norsik are up to.”

  “I’ve got no problem with that,” said one of the volunteers. “I wouldn’t mind riding down a few more of those bastards.”

  “You think it’s possible that some of the villages were missed?” asked another man.

  “It’s doubtful, but we won’t know until we look. It’s hard to say how many raiders came through the Wilderlands, but we need to know as much as possible.”

  “So why not check on those settlements?” asked another volunteer. “I mean, that’s what we’re here for, right?”

  “I think so,” Lorik said. “I know there’s little we can do for those settlements now, but I’d like to find out what’s happening. The reason I’m asking is that I can’t fight. If we run into raiders, I can direct your efforts, but until my hand is better, I won’t be much help.”

  “We can handle the raiders,” said the first volunteer.

  “It’s still worth the risk,” said another. “As long as you can ride, we should do it.”

  “All right,” Lorik said. “Let’s go south and see what we can find out.”

  Chapter 30

  Stone rode quickly north. He was anxious to find out what was happening but even more anxious to get back to Vera. He had ridden for an hour when he saw the dark blob in the distance. His heart sank, but he needed to get closer to confirm what he was seeing. It took half and hour more to ride close enough to make out the hoard of Norsik raiders that were moving south. It was difficult to ascertain the exact numbers, but he guessed there were well over a hundred Norsik warriors, and they were moving fast.

  Stone turned his horse and rode hard. His heart was racing. He knew that the group fleeing with Vera were mostly women and children. The only men with them were older, well past their prime and no match for a horde of Norsik warriors. He wracked his brain as he rode, trying to figure out how to save the people who were now under his protection.

  By the time he caught up with Vera he guessed that the horde of raiders was less than three hours behind them. He needed to speak to everyone, but the idea of stopping, even to make plans, was frightening. Still, if he was going to save them from the Norsik, he had to convey the danger.
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  “Vera,” he said as he galloped into the large group of travelers.

  “What?” Vera said, the concern in her voice showing clearly on her face as well.

  “We’ve got to change course,” he said. “There’s over a hundred warriors less than three hours behind us. And they’re traveling twice as fast as we are.”

  “Oh no,” Vera said.

  The news traveled out through the group like ripples in a pond.

  “Listen to me!” Stone shouted. “Everyone! Listen! There are raiders moving south. They will catch up with us before the end of the day if we continue south. Our only hope is to change course. If we turn east, perhaps they will pass us by.”

  “Won’t they be able to track us?” said one woman.

  “Possibly, but we don’t have much choice,” Stone said. “We can’t stay on the road.”

  There were cries of panic and arguing but Stone ignored it all. He put Vera on his horse and led the wagon off the main road. Most of the large group of refugees followed Stone, and he decided he couldn’t worry about the rest. He had to help those who were willing to accept his help, and a group of travelers as large as this would be visible for many miles on the wide open plains. If they wanted any chance of avoiding capture, they needed to move east now and hope for the best.

  The day seemed to fly by. People complained of fatigue but Stone pushed them all as hard as he could. He refused to let them rest for more than a few minutes at a time. He rotated people in the wagons, even making the children walk at times to allow some of the elderly to rest. It was a grueling day and when night fell, and although Stone wanted to keep moving, he gave in to their cries and complaints. They made a cold camp, with absolutely no fires allowed. Most of the refugees didn’t complain because they were simply too tired. Most of them huddled together and slept.