Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy)

by Toby Neighbors

  “Thank you,” Lorik told him. Then he turned to Shayah, “Thank you,” he said. Then much louder, looking up at the forest elves, “Thank you, thank you all.”

  They continued cheering, even as Lorik put one foot in the loop of the rope and took hold with his free hand just above the knot. The rope descended slowly at first, then sped up. The trip down took less than a minute, and when Lorik’s feet were on the ground, the rope sped back up into the trees. He disrobed, taking off the soft garments the forest elves had dressed him with and replacing them with his old clothes. They had been cleaned and altered, and they fit him perfectly. He pulled on his boots and strapped his swords back in place with the Drery Dru belt and sheaths. Then he set off through the forest.

  He had no idea how he knew where to go, but the forest was no longer dark and foreboding to him. In fact, it seemed as open and inviting as the plains. He had grown up in the swamps of the Marshlands, knowing how to traverse the dangerous landscape and learning how to recognize the hidden dangers. Now, suddenly, the Wilderlands seemed as familiar as the Marshlands ever had, but instead of dangers he saw the wonders he had somehow missed before.

  There were hidden springs beneath the leafy boughs of the wide-leafed bushes. There were animals, too, birds with muted colors and magnificent stags with enormous antlers. The mists rose up soon after Lorik finished dressing. They swirled and moved, showing him where to go among the trees. It seemed to be drawing him forward, beckoning him toward something in need.

  Lorik began to run and had to throw back his head and laugh. His muscles felt free and strong. He ran so fast that the massive trees became a blur. He jumped from the tops of the massive roots that stuck up out of the ground, bounding from tree to tree, running when his feet touched the ground, and leaping high into the air. He felt as though he could run for hours and hours, but he soon heard a familiar sound. It was the snort of a horse. Lorik slowed, following the mist and saw a desperate-looking figure ahead. He was slumped down against the roots of one of the massive redwoods.

  Lorik moved more slowly, straining to see who was there. His first thought was of the Norsik, but then the horse dispelled that notion. He wondered who else would be here in the Wilderlands, and a glimmer of hope sprang up inside him.

  He walked forward and saw the man’s face peer up at him.

  “Lorik?” the man said.

  “Hello, Stone.”

  “Oh gods,” Stone said, scrambling to his feet. “What has happened to you?”

  “You won’t believe me when I tell you.”

  “You’re so big,” he said in awe. “How did you get taller?”

  “It’s a long story,” Lorik said. “Come on, I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Do you know where we are?” Stone said. “I’ve lost my sense of direction.”

  “Yes, I know my way. But we have a long journey still, so let’s make the most of it.”

  They traveled fast. Lorik ran as Stone tried to keep pace on horseback. When darkness fell, Lorik discovered that he could still see the mist. It was even more ghostly than before, a soft, white wisp in the darkness urging him forward. Lorik took Stone’s reins and led the horse while his friend rested.

  The next day, they ran again. Lorik felt like he could run, not jog or trot, but run at full speed all day. The poor farm horse simply couldn’t keep up. Lorik had to slow his pace and take frequent breaks to let the horse rest. At one point along the way Lorik told Stone the entire story. His friend was in awe and after that Stone couldn’t keep from looking up into the canopy high overhead, although he never saw anything.

  Lorik found small springs of fresh water that allowed them to refill their canteens and water the horse. Over the course of three days, they moved through the Wilderlands unmolested. Lorik’s strength seemed only to increase. He slept at night, but he didn’t feel he needed to, even after running all day and leading Stone’s horse half the night.

  Eventually they came to the northern edge of the forest. They could see lights in the distance. It was early evening and the Norsik were celebrating their great victory. Lorik found that his eyesight had improved as well as his strength and stamina.

  “I can see the captives,” Lorik said. “They haven’t been here long, perhaps a day at most.”

  “Can you see Vera?”

  “No, I can’t make out their faces, not from this far away.”

  The land north of the Wilderlands was arid and rocky. There were tall plateaus and dry riverbeds. Very little vegetation grew, and water was difficult to find. Lorik and Stone hid their horse just inside the tree line of the Wilderlands and waited until dark to move closer.

  Once night fell, they moved across the dry, dusty plain. The moon and stars were out, so seeing the obstacles across the landscape wasn’t difficult. Lorik and Stone climbed a small, craggy hill and watched the Norsik camp. The majority of the occupants of the camp were women. They were fierce-looking people, with long hair and big hoops through their ear lobes. They also wore many colored rings around their necks and carried thick knives in their belts. The men in the camp were mostly those who had returned from raiding in Ortis, although some were elderly and obviously too infirm to make the journey, much less fight.

  “We could have traveled for days and not found that camp,” Stone said. “How the hell did you know right where to go?”

  “The mists led me,” Lorik said.

  “The mists? What are you saying? The fog in the forest told you where to go?”

  “It showed me,” Lorik said.

  “How?” Stone asked. “Man, if you didn’t look like some kind of giant out of a bedtime story I’d say you’d lost your mind.”

  “It is strange, I admit,” Lorik agreed, “but it’s true. Now we have to figure out how to get the captives out of the camp.”

  “It looks like they’re celebrating down there,” Stone said. “Maybe we can wait and just sneak them out.”

  “That’s actually a really good plan,” Lorik said. “We’ll have to take out their sentries, though.”

  They watched, noting where the sentries were located around the camp. It was obvious that the Norsik felt safe. They had posted only a few sentries on the forest side of their camp. There were more than twice that many to the north.

  “Why so few on this side and so many on far side?” Stone asked.

  “They’re obviously concerned about someone on that far side,” Lorik agreed. “Shuklan slavers or Borian warriors maybe. Or maybe just other Norsik tribes. I doubt that whatever led them to band together would keep them from fighting among themselves.”

  “Well, I don’t really care,” Stone said. “I just want to get Vera and get back home. Can you see her now?”

  “Yes, I can see her,” Lorik said. “She looks strong.”

  Vera and a few other women were bound hand and foot. Her hope of rescue had slowly died in the Wilderlands. If the raiders had moved straight north she would have believed that Lorik could find her, but almost immediately the Norsik raiders had begun to alter their course. She was even more discouraged that the soft soil left no tracks. Only a very talented woodsman with an intimate knowledge of the Wilderlands would be able to track them. Days passed without any signs of help, and Vera had determined to escape on her own. Most of the captives had been numb with fear and grief. They’d sat staring into space, lost inside their minds, hiding from the harsh reality that they faced. But Vera took advantage of the darkness in the forest. At night she’d chewed at the ropes that held her. It had been a long, difficult task, but when she’d finally broken free, she’d untied the bonds that held the few like-minded women around her. The next day they’d pretended their bonds were intact and followed the other captives until the mists rose up. Then, just before dark, they had made their escape.

  They had run as fast as they could, ducking around trees and staying low so that the mists covered them. Then night had fallen, and the women were lost in the darkness. They had hunkered down for the night and ho
ped that when the sun came the raiders would push on without them. Unfortunately, the raiders had spread out in every direction and hunted the women down. They had been beaten once they were found, and each one of them had been tied with a rope around her neck and forced to follow behind a warrior. If the women didn’t keep pace, they were dragged along the ground until they managed to get back on their feet. The men assigned to the women who had attempted escape showed no mercy. They tied the women’s feet together every evening and didn’t allow them to speak.

  The harsh treatment had only hardened Vera’s resolve. She had nothing left to live for but her freedom, and she was determined to win it back or die trying. That night she and her companions were tied to large stakes in the ground, her arms pinned back behind her so tightly she was afraid her shoulders would pop out of their sockets. Sleep was out of the question. She squirmed constantly, trying to find a way to relieve the pressure on her shoulders.

  The Norsik celebrated late into the night. The forty raiders who had led the women back to the Wilderlands had been joined by nearly a hundred warriors who had returned to the Wilderlands with loot, and a few that had stayed behind to guard their womenfolk. Now there were nearly two hundred warriors in the camp, most of them drinking and carousing late into the night.

  Stone slept while Lorik kept watch from the hill they had had settled on. It was only an hour before dawn when Lorik decided it was time to make their move. He roused Stone and they moved quickly down the hill. The moon had set and so only the stars gave light. Stone’s knee was improved, but he couldn’t run or spin the way he was used to when fighting. Still, he was able to sneak up on the tired sentry in the dark and slide his knife between the raider’s ribs without being seen or heard.

  Lorik was less subtle. He moved through the darkness quickly, like a racing shadow, and he used his new sword for the first time, decapitating the first sentry he met before the man could shout an alarm. The sword cut through the air with a quiet whisper, as if it were slicing the wind. Lorik smiled and kept running. The third sentry was a good distance away, but they didn’t want to take the chance that he might hear the captives moving, so Lorik took him out and then caught up with Stone sneaking through the camp.

  They made their way to Vera. She was facing away from them, and without a word Lorik sliced the ropes that held her while Stone hobbled around the post.

  “By the gods,” Vera said, her whisper seeming overly loud in the darkness. “You’re alive.”

  She and Stone fell into an embrace, tears streaming down their faces and making their frenzied kisses salty.

  “I came as soon as I could,” he whispered once they stopped kissing. “I got lost in the Wilderlands.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Vera said. “I lost hope once the raiders started leading us back and forth in every direction. I can’t believe you’re alive.”

  “I probably wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Lorik. He led us out of the forest.”

  “Lorik’s here?” Vera asked, looking around.

  She could see the hulking figure cutting the other women loose, but she didn’t recognize Lorik. He had grown nearly a foot, and his shoulders were broader and his waist slimmer.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “There,” Stone said, pointing to his friend.

  “No,” Vera said. “That’s not Lorik.”

  “It is now,” Stone said. “Trust me, it’s a long story and I’ll tell you all about it, but we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  Vera and the other women helped get the rest of the captives cut free and moving. The Norsik’ celebrations late into the night kept them from waking by the time Lorik and Stone had the captives all moving. They had just passed the dead sentries when the sun appeared. The women were in no shape to run, nor was Stone, but they hurried as best they could. They had to get back into the forest before they were seen, but it was an impossible task. The arid ground was kicked into a cloud of dust by the footsteps of so many people, and even though the sentries were on the far side of the camp, they saw the dust rising and called out an alarm.

  “What are we going to do?” Vera asked.

  “You keep the women and children moving,” Lorik said. “Get them into the forest. I’ll hold back the Norsik.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Lorik said, drawing his sword, “just keep moving.”

  “I’ll help him,” Stone said.

  “No,” Lorik said gently. “You won’t be able to keep up. Stay with Vera and help her. I’ll find you in the forest. You can count on that.”

  Stone and Vera looked at Lorik for a long moment, neither of them sure what to say. They were afraid to lose him and afraid of getting caught by the Norsik.

  “Go,” he told them. “Hurry!”

  They left and Lorik drew one of his new swords. It was the first time he had really looked at them since being high in the Kingtree. The end of the pommel had a strange shape, and after looking at it a moment, he pulled the other sword from the sheath on his back. Its pommel had a strange but different shape. Then it hit him: the pommels fit together. He held the swords together, pommel to pommel. The longer handle fit neatly inside the shorter, and with a short turn the swords locked together to become one deadly weapon with a blade at either end.

  Lorik smiled and then looked up. Nearly a hundred of the Norsik warriors were hurrying out of their tents and shelters to see what was happening. Lorik ran to meet them.

  Chapter 37

  It crossed Lorik’s mind as he ran that perhaps this was what Hennick had meant about laying his life down to protect his people. Lorik didn’t mind in that instant. He wasn’t worried about dying, or about anything else—his body felt too good, too strong, to worry. The Norsik raiders had spotted him and were hurrying to meet him in battle. Most of the raiders preferred an easy fight and enjoyed overwhelming defenseless settlements. They had no sense of honor or fairness when it came to fighting. They were used to fighting and killing and stealing what they wanted. So when they saw Lorik all alone, even as big as he was, they assumed they could quickly overwhelm him and then catch the fleeing captives. It was the kind of fight they preferred, or so they thought.

  Lorik reached the first raider and stabbed him with his longsword, using the curved point to rip the blade through his stomach before the raider was close enough to bring his own weapon to bear. The next three opponents converged on Lorik all at once. With a slash that spun his body around Lorik took out two of the raiders, his blade cutting across their chests and sending them crashing to the ground. Then, using the momentum of his spin, he brought the rear blade around and impaled the third raider. The man stood frozen, his own short, curved sword fell from his hand just before Lorik jerked his blade free.

  Then there was a crowd around Lorik, and he spun in a circle of death, twirling the sword around his body and slashing anyone who came near him. Six raiders died before the crowd started to fall back. Lorik finished his spin with a leap that allowed him to decapitate another raider, sending the unfortunate man’s head flying into the crowd.

  “Come on!” Lorik shouted. “Fight me, you dogs!”

  The Norsik at the edges of the crowd started to back away, some deciding to avoid Lorik altogether and pursue the captives. Lorik saw them streaming around him and decided to act. He feinted forward, causing the raiders in front of him to stumble backward into the raiders behind them, then Lorik turned and ran.

  The crowd assumed that Lorik was running away from them. They cheered and followed, but Lorik was so fast he quickly outdistanced the crowd and caught up to the raiders who had run around him. He cut down eight men from behind, then the others changed direction, trying to get away from Lorik and his flashing sword.

  Lorik then angled the other direction and caught up with the raiders who had circled him on the other side. The Norsik were unprepared to be attacked while they ran. They tried to stop and fight but Lorik simply flashed past them, his sword s
o sharp it severed flesh and bone alike.

  Finally the raiders came to a stop. They stood staring in disbelief. Only a single man stood between them and their escaping captives, but he was so fast, and so deadly, they were afraid to fight him.

  Then, from the back of the crowd came three warriors. They were painted with flaking blue war paint. The sides of their heads were shaved and instead of the Norsik’s usual short swords they carried spiked balls on long chains. Lorik smiled. He recalled what Stone had told him of the battle when Vera and the others had been captured.

  “You three keen on dying young, eh?” he asked.

  The raiders didn’t understand a word he said, but they recognized that he was taunting them and immediately they spread out, twirling their weapons. Lorik unhooked his swords and held one in each hand, waiting patiently for the attack he knew was coming. It wasn’t hard to guess the strategy. Lorik knew the man in front of him would feint while the two on the sides rushed in for the kill. Lorik felt so strong he thought he could kill the whole horde of raiders, but he knew what he needed to do was give the captives time to get to the Wilderlands. Lorik had no doubt that once they reached the Wilderlands he could lead them to safety, but the women and children were in shock, some injured and all of them moving slowly.

  Lorik spread his arms wide, inviting the man in front of him to attack, but also keeping his blades at the ready for an attack from either side. The other raiders were beginning to shout and cheer on the three warriors. Lorik tried to look bored.

  The raider in front of Lorik feinted forward, just as Lorik had guessed. Instead of reacting to the feint, Lorik moved to his right, ducking under the ball that the man to his right had swung at Lorik’s head and ripping open his stomach with a quick slash of his sword. Then Lorik spun around, moving toward the first raider from the side. The raider dodged back to his right and was hit by the other raider’s mace. The spiked ball crashed into the raider’s shoulder, smashing bones and slicing the muscle and skin to ribbons. The raider cried out, dropping his weapon and falling onto his knees. Lorik dashed forward and took advantage of the second raider’s surprise at the accident. He slashed his sword across the raider’s chest in a diagonal line from shoulder to hip. The man fell backward without a sound.