Lorik dropped his pike and bent over, putting his hands on his knees and struggling to breathe. A horn sounded from high above the castle, the long deep note echoing off the cobbles below.
“That’s it!” Stone shouted, hurrying to Lorik’s side. “Time to go.”
“Get everyone inside the castle,” Lorik said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Not without you,” Stone insisted.
“I’m coming, just go!”
Stone hesitated, but a second beam snapped and an upper hinge broke free. He waved his arms at the other volunteers, some of which were wounded and limping down from the wall.
“To the castle!” he bellowed, hurrying past Lorik.
It took another long moment before Lorik stood up and moved slowly down the snow covered stairs to the bailey in front of the sagging gates. He made his stand just beyond the reach of the gates, leaving enough room in case they fell inward. He didn’t think he could move out of the way fast enough if they fell inward and he didn’t want to die being trampled to death beneath the massive wooden doors.
A few of the volunteers stopped when they saw Lorik draw his swords. They were torn between taking a stand with him at the gates and sticking with the plan that had been crafted in the wee hours of the morning.
“Get inside,” he hissed, his voice completely gone.
The men moved on up the steps to the castle and Lorik tried to steady his breathing, it was no use. He was reminded of his father who had struggled to breathe as he lay on his deathbed. His father had choked and sputtered, each ragged gasp was a monumental feat. Lorik felt the same way. His lungs seemed to be clogged with thick mucus and the cold air burned with each breath. His chest ached, his shoulders were on fire, his arms felt like they were tied down with heavy stones. He could only put weight on his bad leg for a second before it threatened to give out beneath him.
So this is how it ends, he thought to himself. Well, I’m taking as many of these monsters with me as possible.
The gate creaked again and the final beam broke. The gates parted, the wooden beams had not broken in the center and the wooden doors didn’t quite open up, but it was enough for a few of the mutated fighters to squeeze through. Lorik waited for them, letting them get to their feet and amble toward him before he moved.
The first fighter struck down with a heavy, overhanded blow, but Lorik slid out of the way and brought his own sword down in wicked slash that severed the fighter’s arm at the elbow. The forearm, hand, and sword fell onto the ground as dark blood fountained out of the stump. The mutated fighter looked confused, but didn’t retreat. Lorik hobbled around the wounded fighter, using the wretch’s big body for cover. A quick stab dispatched the second fighter, as Lorik’s sword ripped through the massive throat. A cascade of hot blood splashed over Lorik as he spun on his good leg and parried the third fighter’s clumsy attack. Lorik’s second sword came up just under the brute’s ribcage and dissected his enemy’s heart.
The first fighter still stood, watching his life’s blood pump out through the stump of his arm. Lorik pushed the mutated fighter, who fell over into the snow and bled to death. Lorik drew a ragged breath and steadied himself on his good leg. His sprained ankle was throbbing painfully, and his feet were so cold he could barely feel them.
The gate fell with a crash, one door knocked completely off its hinges, the other swinging wide with a piercing creak. Lorik looked up as dozens of the enemy fighters surged toward him. He shook his head and grimaced as his mind shut off the pain receptors that registered the terrible ache in his leg. He knew this was the end and he vowed to himself that would not die easily.
He charged forward, limping but moving better than he had all morning. The first three fighters died before they could raise their swords. Lorik hacked and slashed as each new foe came into range. The mutated fighters didn’t try to avoid Lorik, nor did they spread out once inside the gate. They came straight at the angry warrior, who swayed and turned, his twin swords flashing in a deadly display of killing fury.
***
Stone rushed into the castle, herding as many volunteers as he could forward. The first checkpoint was the dais in the great feasting hall. More spears had been gathered there, as well as swords, shields, maces, and axes. The plan was to start their attack on the raised platform as the enemy made their way through the long hall. The benches and tables had been piled up on either side of the dais, creating a small area that could be defended by one or two people.
When the enemy got too close, the volunteers would fall back, most taking refuge inside the king’s private dressing room. Two men would hold the narrow doorway, being relieved when they grew weary. Once that position fell, they would fall back to the next strategic point in the queen’s dressing room.
Several of the volunteers were wounded. Some had slipped on the snowy parapet, others had been forced to fight the mutated soldiers who had successfully climbed the castle walls. By Stone’s count, they were down four men, and five others were wounded. He paced as he waited for Vera to make her way down from the high watchtower. If the enemy made it into the feasting hall before Vera, she would be cut off and unable to join them. She would have to make her way back up to the king’s royal apartments and then down the private staircase that led into the queen’s dressing room. Worse still, she might be followed, although from what Stone had seen of the witch’s army, he doubted that any of them were that clever.
He’d fought hard on the wall, hacking and slashing with the long poled pikes, killing and maiming the mutated soldiers who never even cried out when the heavy blades severed arms or hacked into their skulls. The soldiers were frightening to look at, their bodies twisted and overgrown in such an unnatural fashion. But even more horrific was the way they moved, the way they fought with no thought of self-defense. How could anyone be so careless with their own lives? Stone couldn’t imagine how evil the witch in the south must be to send so many creatures to their deaths in such a careless fashion.
“Where is Lord Lorik?” asked one of the volunteers, who stood nervously swaying behind Stone.
“He’ll come in soon,” Stone said, although he didn’t believe it.
He’d seen the look in Lorik’s eyes that said he wouldn’t be pressed any further. Stone hoped he was wrong; he’d come to love the big teamster who had taken a chance on partnering with him. Lorik had been a friend, a mentor, and an inspiration to everyone who knew him. His sense of duty, of doing the right thing, was so admirable that he made Stone want to be a better man. The last thing Stone could imagine was losing Lorik. Since the bigger man’s encounter with the forest elves, he’d been an unstoppable force. But his wounds from the day before had slowed Lorik’s reflexes. The big warrior was at risk, and Stone had to force himself not to race outside to his friend’s aide.
Just when Stone felt he was about to scream from anxiety, Vera can running into the feasting hall. Stone felt relief flooding over him. He hurried across the room and swept Vera up in his arms, spinning and kissing her before hurrying back to the dais with her.
“Where’s Lorik?” she asked.
“He’s at the gate,” Stone replied.
“What? Why?”
“He insisted. He’s holding back the fighters who broke through the gate.”
“All by himself?” she asked incredulously.
“You know Lorik.”
“And I know you,” she said, tears shinning in her eyes. “Go get him.”
“Tragger, Yorg, with me!” Stone said.
He grinned at Vera and grabbed two spears. The two volunteers Stone had called for grabbed spears as well and raced after Stone.
***
Lorik had a pile of bodies around him, but the mutated fighters kept flooding into the bailey. He was forced to back up as he fought. The wretched soldiers had no concern for their fallen comrades, stepping on the bodies of the fallen as they marched forward. Many lost their footing and fell forward, heavy blades crashing to the ground around
Lorik. He moved back to avoid the falling fighters, killed several more, then moved back again.
His legs were trembling and his arms felt weak. He slashed his swords across the throats of the enemy fighters who came into his dance of death. It was the quickest way he’d discovered to bring the mindless fighters down. They often fell to their knees, dropping their weapons on the blood-soaked ground and then finally collapsing. It slowed the progress of the incoming fighters, but didn’t take the strength or extra time that stabbing the fighters took.
Lorik had lost count of the number of mutated fighter’s he’d killed, but he was halfway to the castle steps when his injured ankle finally gave out. He fell to his knees and slashed at the thighs of the approaching fighters before toppling onto his back in the snow. He knew death was coming for him, he could feel the Cold Reaper’s breath on his neck as he lay in the snow. He stared up, noticing just how blue the sky was. He could feel the sun on his face and it made him smile.
Then a shadow loomed over Lorik and he gripped his swords tightly, waiting for a rusty blade to come down and end his misery. Instead a brown streak flashed over his head and one of the mutated fighters fell like a huge tree. Lorik felt the crash and looked up as three more spears whistled past him, slaying the lumbering fighters who were coming near Lorik.
“Get up, you lazy oaf,” Stone called as he skidded to a halt beside his friend.
“What?” Lorik asked in surprised. He wasn’t even sure what he was seeing was real.
“Get up, we’ve got to fall back!” Stone shouted at Lorik.
He grabbed Lorik’s arm and pulled him up. Another volunteer came running up and grabbed Lorik’s other arm. Lorik struggled to his feet, feeling completely exposed. He was afraid his friends would be cut down trying to help him, and even though all he wanted was to fall down, close his eyes, and escape into the darkness, he struggled on.
Stone pulled Lorik’s arm over his shoulders and put one hand on the bigger man’s belt. He pulled his friend along, supporting Lorik’s weight on the big man’s injured side. Another spear streaked past.
“Hurry!” Yorg shouted from the castle steps. “They’re gaining on you.”
Lorik tried to hurry; his body hurt from head to toe, but he strained forward. They reached the castle steps and lunged up. Lorik hopped up the steps. He would have fallen if not for Stone, who stayed with his friend, steading him as they climbed. Tragger and Yorg ran ahead and readied the castle doors. Stone and Lorik lurched through after them, and the two volunteers slammed the ornate doors closed, flipping down the built-in locking beam. For a moment, everyone took a deep breath in relief that they had survived. Then, with a crash like thunder, the enemy fighters slammed into the doors of the castle.
Chapter 21
“We have to move!” Stone shouted.
Lorik didn’t want to move; he just wanted everything to stop, but he knew he had to get up and set an example for his men. If they were all going to die, then they would die fighting. He scrambled to his feet, careful not to put weight on his injured ankle. The castle doors were not built for security, they bowed inward, straining the locking beam.
“That door won’t hold,” Lorik said. “But if we kill some of them as they are coming through, it will slow the others.”
“Spears!” Stone shouted. “To me, to me!”
Several volunteers sprinted forward and met Lorik and Stone at the entrance to the feasting hall with several spears in hand. Lorik sagged against the stone pillar that marked the entrance to the great hall. There was a massive vestibule between the castle doors and the feasting hall.
“Should we support the door?” asked one of the volunteers.
“No,” Lorik said, his voice was so hoarse that it was barely more than a whisper. “Throw your spears. Kill them just as they are coming through the doorway. They’ll have to stop and remove their dead to get through.”
Stone took a spear, but Lorik just watched. His massive chest was still heaving, trying to get enough oxygen in his mucus-filled lungs. The door sagged, pausing for just a moment before finally collapsing.
“Now!” Lorik shouted.
Two spears flew toward the entrance. The big, mutated fighter in the lead was hit in the chest. He fell. The next fighter was a woman, with a round face and massive hips and thighs. She moved forward, her eyes expressionless as she tried to step onto her comrade and gain entrance. Another spear flew, slamming into her belly and causing her to fall back, onto her butt. The next fighter tried to push her aside, but another spear took him in the shoulder. The next fighter tried to squeeze between the pile of bodies, some were dead, others slowly expiring without a sound as they were trampled by their companions. The fighter raised his sword and slashed down, hacking at the spear that stood out of a dead soldier and blocked his path. The volunteers threw their final spears. One missed, the other hit the fighter in the hip, causing the mutated soldier to fall onto his side.
“That will hold them for a few minutes,” Lorik shouted. “Let’s move.”
He was limping into the hall when Stone came up beside him and supported Lorik’s injured side.
“How’s the ankle?” he asked.
“Killing me slowly,” Lorik replied. “I was done for outside until you showed up.”
“Hey, what are friends for. Besides, I want to be able to hide behind your big body when I make my final stand.”
Lorik chuckled even though it hurt to laugh. He saw that several of the volunteers stood ready to defend the dais and even though Lorik wasn’t hopeful they could hold the position for long, he felt a sense of pride in the men he led. They were grim faced and angry; Lorik knew they would need that resolution to hold them steady in the hours to come.
Stone led Lorik past the four men on the dais. They had a barrel of spears in front of them and each man held a spear at the ready. Lorik hesitated by them.
“If they come in slowly, just a few at a time,” he told them, “wait until they’re close to kill them. A major wound will stop them and then they’ll be in the way. If we can stack their corpses between the benches and tables, it will make their job more difficult. They’ll be vulnerable climbing over their fallen. It’s our best shot of killing them. Stone and I will stay here, ready to charge forward and dispatch the stragglers.”
“We will?” Stone asked, feigning surprise.
“Not without some water first,” Vera called, bringing two large mugs filled with water to Lorik and Stone.
Lorik took his and drank it greedily. The water was cool and it ran down his parched throat in a refreshing wave. Stone drank too, ignoring the look of concern in Vera’s eyes.
“They’re coming through!” shouted one of the volunteers.
“Move back,” Stone told Vera.
“I will, you be careful,” she replied.
“Let me take your place,” Vyrnon told Lorik. “I can hold them back as well as you can on one leg.”
Lorik looked at the big horse master for a long moment. Vyrnon didn’t shy away from Lorik’s gaze.
“Alright,” Lorik said. “Don’t get in the way of the spearmen. There’s no sense losing you needlessly.”
“We’ll cut down the stragglers,” Stone said. “Then retreat if things get too hot.”
“Remember,” Lorik said as loudly as his hoarse voice would allow him, “the kill box is just behind us. When the enemy gets too close, we fall back and hold that position. No one needs to be a hero, you understand?”
There was chorus of grunts and affirmations. Vera led Lorik back into the king’s chamber.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“More water,” he croaked.
Vanz refilled his mug and Lorik sank onto a tall stool where he could see the volunteers through the open door. He could see the first of the mutated fighters ambling into the great hall as well. They moved forward with no thought of evasion or self-defense. They walked slowly forward, one after another almost in single file. The volunteers took aim wit
h their spears.
“Tell them to communicate!” Lorik growled. “We can’t waste weapons on the same enemy.”
Vera rushed forward and relayed the message. Lorik looked around. Most of the volunteers were exhausted, others were grievously wounded. Vanz was giving food and water to the men that were hunched against the walls.
“You lot be ready to move back,” Lorik said. “I want those wounded carried through to the queen’s quarters. They’ll be more comfortable there and in less danger. Get these side doors barred just in case I’m wrong about these monsters and they come looking to flank us.”
The volunteers obeyed. Lorik stood to his feet, swaying for a moment as a wave of dizziness passed over him, then he used the stool like a crutch and shuffled toward the door. Vera was watching in horror as the witch’s minions marched methodically forward. The first spear hit the lead fighter in the chest. The witch’s mutated soldiers wore no armor and did nothing to protect themselves, not even trying to dodge the deadly spear attack. The fighter fell to the floor and the next mutated soldiers simply stepped over the first’s twitching body and continued forward.
“What are they?” Vera asked in shock.
“They’re under some type of enchantment,” Lorik said.
“What an awful way to die,” she said.
“They don’t seem to feel the pain,” Lorik said. “That’s something at least.”
The mutated fighters were taller than even Lorik, their shoulders broad and round with magically enhanced muscle. Their proportions were all wrong. The eyes weren’t even, often one arm or one leg was longer than the other. Some muscles bunched out grotesquely at odd angles that were completely unnatural. And none of them seemed to communicate or even realize what they were doing.
Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) Page 18