Once they were all out of the castle ruins, they felt better. Stone led the way back across the valley. It wasn’t until they had scaled the steep hill and looked back over the ruins that they saw a pile of stone gargoyles on the far side of the valley.
“You think the troll killed them all?” Vera asked.
“Troll?” Lorik added.
“I have stories too you know,” Stone said. “We weren’t just twiddling our thumbs while you fought to save the queen.”
Lorik smiled and they both laughed; the sense of danger and fear seemed to drift away and they turned their backs on the castle ruins forever.
***
Princess Amvyr woke with a start. Her face was aching horribly. The blood had dried, making her skin itch, but the wound was still open. The gash started just past her ear, and got deeper as it dragged across her cheek and ended on her high cheekbone. She tried working her jaw but it was too painful. She knew eating was out of the question, but she needed to find water. She knew there was a well deep down in the pit, far below, so she started moving slowly that way.
Her head hurt and her legs were shaky. There was blood on her hands and down her chest from her face. The last thing she remembered after being cut was seeing Lorik and Josston fall. He was a fool, she thought to herself. His offer to be his high priestess was an empty lie, and he’d used her as bait, willing to trade her for the power he had siphoned in the Larish.
She moved slowly in the darkness. Before she had been afraid. In the castle she had feared so many things, but now fear was her ally and the darkness was like a comfortable cloak around her shoulders. She moved down the steps, further and further into the pit.
She had expected the smell of animals, but the stench of burning flesh was much worse. It was so pungent as she continued down that her stomach revolted and she was threw up, tearing the scab that covered her gashed cheek. Fresh blood trickled down her face as she wiped her sleeve across her lips. Anger overcame her, a cold fury that begged for revenge. She cursed silently and kept descending.
In the bottom of the pit, the torches had burned out, but there was a red glow from a large fire that had been kindled. She moved toward the glowing embers, drawn like a moth to a flame. She stared down at the charred bones and knew immediately that Josston was dead. Many of the bones were broken, and she guessed that her mentor’s body had been hacked apart. Lorik’s dagger, the same weapon that had slashed her face, was still impaled through Josston’s skull.
She picked it up, the leather and wood from the handle had burned away, and the metal seared the flesh on her hand, but she held on. Then with an inward smile, her face still a mask of pain and blood, didn’t move, but in her heart she laughed as she viewed her mentor’s fate.
Fool! she thought as she discarded the charred skull. It hit the embers and broke into several pieces. He was dead, and from the looks of it Lorik killed him. She didn’t know how the big man had done it; killing Josston had seemed impossible, but perhaps the elvish magic was stronger than she had known. She went in search of the water, but along the way found something even more valuable. The Larish lay against the wall like a discarded toy. She went to it and felt the power of its magic. There was even a tiny bit of the magic they had siphoned from Lorik still in the cup. Somehow she knew that if she touched it, if she let it absorb into her flesh, it would heal the gash and banish the darkness that had taken root in her heart. For a moment she was tempted, but then she slung the few remaining drops of glowing magic from the cup. They hit the ground and sizzled away.
The castle was a source of great magic, dark and powerful. Amvyr held the Larish tightly to her chest. She wouldn’t give up the hate she had for Lorik, or her father for that matter, or any of the bumbling fools who should have protected her. She would see them suffer. She would make them pay for their incompetence. She would rise up, filled with the dark magic of the castle, and make it a place of glory once more. She would learn to control the stone guardians, and create an army of her design. She would make the Five Kingdoms cower at her feet and fear to even mutter her name.
She laughed in the darkness, the sounding echoing off the cold stone walls. She tasted her own blood and laughed some more.
Epilogue
The journey south was uneventful. They left the small camp overlooking the ruins that same night, pausing only long enough for Stone to retrieve his sword and leave it as a gift in the cave of the troll. He had hoped that he might see the creature that had saved him, but the troll was nowhere in sight. Stone hoped the creature would find his gift and know where it came from.
The horses they had left behind when they entered the dense forest north of Forxam were gone. They took their time traveling. Lorik was just as big as before, but his muscles seemed less defined and he was frequently out of breath. Issalyn struggled at first as well, her body simply too abused to make the long journey easily.
Stone and Vera didn’t seem to mind going slow. In fact, Vera was starting to struggle with morning sickness, and the frequent rests helped her as much as they did Lorik or Issalyn. In Forxam, they found Vyrnon waiting for them. He readied the horses, which he had been caring for. Lorik found King Ricard in his castle, brooding over his lost daughter. The king was angry when he learned that Lorik hadn’t saved Princess Amvyr. He accused Lorik of abandoning her, but his wife convinced him that they should send men north to search for the ruins.
Commander Lorys quietly confirmed Lorik’s suspicion that Lord Yettlebor had marched on Ort City and set himself up as King of Ortis. King Ricard obviously didn’t care, so Lorik and the others slipped away in the night. They made much better time on horseback and were wary of being pursued by King Ricard’s men, but they never came.
“I guess he doesn’t care about you,” Stone said teasingly.
“He should be searching for his daughter,” Vera said, rubbing her own swollen abdomen.
“She is lost,” Lorik said. “She was allied with Josston.”
“He did something to her,” Issalyn explained. “She wasn’t always like that.”
Lorik rubbed his back where she had dug her claw-like nails into him, feeling the scars she had left there. He didn’t care to remember the princess with such hatred in her eyes.
“She’ll have a hard time getting to the surface of that pit without help,” Stone said.
“We’ll let the king worry about that,” Lorik said.
“Speaking of worries, what do you want to do about this Lord Yettlebor?” Issalyn asked.
“I don’t know,” Lorik said, which was the truth.
Lorik cared for Ortis and didn’t want to see King Oveer replaced with another self-serving tyrant. On the other hand, his taste for violence was gone. He felt tired all the time, and couldn’t help wondering if he was getting too old. He felt sorry for Queen Issalyn, and their romance had deepened into true love. If she had wanted a kingdom, Lorik would have fought for it, but she didn’t seem to care. All any of them wanted was peace.
They turned east at the border and rode past the shores of the Northern Sea. Snow occasionally fell, and they took shelter wherever they could. They had no money and were forced to sell a horse just to buy food. The desperation in the south did not reach the northern villages. The threat of a witch’s army was nothing more than a bad rumor to the people who were resettling in the small townships along the coast.
When Lorik finally saw the Wilderlands, he was both relieved and saddened. The camp of refugees was gone. The people he’d saved had gone south with Lord Yettlebor, happy to have a king and soldiers to protect them, although Lorik guessed that King Ricard would require that his cousin return the Baskla Royal army soon. Still, it appeared that things were returning to normal and Lorik wanted nothing more than to find solace in the towering trees.
“I think my days of adventure are over,” Lorik told Stone, as they rode a little way ahead of the others.
“Where will you go? Back to Hassle Point?” Stone asked.
“N
o,” Lorik said. “I’ll go back to the Drery Dru, if they’ll have me. Will you come?”
Stone studied the saddle horn for a long time, then shook his head.
“I want to make a home for Vera. A place we can call our own and raise our baby.”
“No one would fault you for that,” Lorik said. “Do you know where you’ll go?”
“Not far,” Stone said. “Vera will want to be close enough to visit you in your treehouse, I’m sure.”
“Tree village,” Lorik said happily. “You should see it Liam,” he used his friend’s real name, which seemed to add gravity to his words. “It’s beautiful. There will always be a place for you and Vera... and your children. I’m happy for you, my friend. I couldn’t have done any of the things we accomplished without your help.”
“You think we’ll be remembered?” Stone asked.
“Perhaps... it would make a good story, wouldn’t it.”
“Aye, it would indeed,” Stone said, and they both laughed.
We hope you have enjoyed the Lorik trilogy, set in the world of the Five Kingdoms. For more adventures, be sure to read Wizard Rising and the entire Five Kingdoms series.
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Wizard Rising
Prologue
“I sense a blossom opening,” said the wizard.
He wasn’t talking about a flower.
“We have felt it,” said another wizard. This man was younger, although still well along in years.
“The power is rare,” declared the first wizard, whose face was hidden beneath the dark hood of his robe.
“Yes, much like your own.”
“We must begin our search,” said the first wizard, who was obviously the master.
“The child was probably only just born,” said the younger wizard.
“Yes, but it would be best to find this child before he discovers his power. We need to train him in his early years to ensure he will never betray us.”
“It could be a girl,” said the second wizard.
“Yes, and if so we must destroy her.”
The second wizard bowed his head. Wars had been fought over women, kingdoms brought to utter ruin. A woman with power could destroy the Torr, and so if this new source of magic was found in a girl, she would be killed.
The first wizard noticed his companion’s hesitation and said, “Do not forget your own loyalty, Branock. The Torr must not be divided over senseless moral concerns.”
“Yes, Master.”
“In time we will rule the Five Kingdoms of Emporia and our power will be unstoppable.”
“You are right, of course,” said Branock.
“Now, begin your search. This new one must be found and dealt with, or we may have to wait another lifetime to secure our hold on Emporia.”
Branock bowed and left the room. The elder wizard moved to the window and looked out over the city far below. He could see the King’s palace and the garrison that represented the kingdom’s power. Osla was the largest and most influential of the Five Kingdoms. The wizard looking down from the Torr stronghold could have reached out and destroyed the garrison. He controlled such power and could have caused the roof to cave in or the walls to topple, but such a feat would turn the populace against him. He had spent years convincing the people that the wizards of the Torr served to protect the Five Kingdoms. In reality, he had merely consolidated his power and destroyed any wizard who would oppose him. And he knew that the people scurrying about their lives like ants in the dust below needed their illusions of power, so if he destroyed their army they would have no security and the other kingdoms would turn against him. He could defeat them; he was confident of that. His power, along with the power of the other three wizards of the Torr, could destroy the combined might of the Five Kingdoms, but he had no wish to rule over a land of anarchy. When he took his place as High King of Emporia, he wanted peace and stability. And now, when they were so close, the only thing that stood on the horizon between him and his destiny was the strange bloom of power.
Wizards could sense the magic in other people. If the source was close enough, they could isolate the location of that power, feel it approach or move away. When the members of the Torr were together, their power combined and allowed them to sense magic at great distances. This new spark of magic was rare in its brightness. The wizards couldn’t locate the bloom of power, but they could feel it, as if the clouds had parted, and although they couldn’t see the sun, the light would shine through. At first that warmth and brightness was pleasant, even exciting, but the master wizard knew that before long, as with bright sunlight, that feeling would turn to discomfort and eventually to pain. The master knew that if this powerful person, whoever it was, continued to grow in strength, he or she could eventually challenge the power of the Torr. He would not let that happen. On the other hand, if this new bloom of magic, this flower in a field of grass, could be added to the Torr, then the master would have his executioner, a wizard loyal only to him with the power to keep the other wizards in line and perhaps even allow the Torr to extend their power.
The master wizard turned from the window and sat down at the desk which occupied the center of the room. The walls were lined with thick books on everything from anatomy to astronomy. There were treasures from each of the Five Kingdoms and from across the oceans. Some of the books were so old that only the master’s magic held them together. They represented his vast power, and as he looked at them, he saw his dream, his destiny: to line up the people of the Five Kingdoms around him like the books, all in their proper place, all serving him, the Master of the Torr.
Chapter 1
Zollin sat on the post that was to be the corner support for the new inn that was being built in Tranaugh Shire. He wasn’t very good at carpentry, and being so high up in the air made him dizzy. The inn was to be a two-story building, one of the biggest in town. Quinn, Zollin’s father, rarely asked Zollin for help, but a two-story building needed multiple hands, and so Zollin sat atop the post, waiting for his father’s apprentice, Mansel, to hand up the connecting beam.
“Here you go,” said Mansel as he hefted a stout oak log that had been cut and shaped into a square beam.
“I just hold it?” Zollin asked.
“That’s right, son,” came his father’s gruff voice, and Zollin thought he detected a note of frustration in it. Zollin had been his father’s apprentice for five years, but he just wasn’t skilled with his hands. Nor was he strong enough to lift the heavy beams, which would have made the job pass more quickly. Instead, he would steady the beam while Mansel lifted the far end up to his father.
“It’s going to be heavy, but whatever you do, don’t drop it,” his father instructed. “If it splits, it’ll have to be milled again, and we can’t afford to waste good timber.”
Zollin nodded. He hated the pressure of being put in such a position. He had stopped wondering why he had to work with his father. Every man in the village had to earn a living. Most sons learned their father’s trade, and at sixteen years old Zollin should have been able to work on his own, but as hard as he tried, Zollin just wasn’t a good carpenter. Mansel was two years older than Zollin, and he had been Quinn’s apprentice for three years. He was the youngest of a large family, and although his father was a master tanner, Mansel’s four older brothers were already working in the tannery, and so his father had found another profession for him.
“I’ve got it,” Zollin said as he gripped the rough timber beam.
“Brace yourself,” his father said.
Zollin wrapped his legs around the post he was sitting on and strained to hold the beam as Mansel lifted it.
“Uuhhhggg,” Zollin grunted, straining to hold the unruly beam.
“Steady, Zollin!” his father barked.
Zollin felt a stab of resentment but ignored it.
He was determined not to drop the beam.
Mansel was helping to hold the beam steady and Quinn, with a rope around the beam, was pulling it up. Once the beam was high enough, Quinn stepped on a long iron spike he had hammered into the post he was sitting on opposite Zollin. He set the beam on the post and looked at his son.
This was the moment Zollin had been dreading. He would have to stand on his own spike and place his end of the beam on the post. Then, once the log was in place, he would need to swing around and sit on the beam so that he could secure it by nailing it to the post with two of the long iron spikes. It was a difficult maneuver for Zollin, who preferred to keep both feet on the ground. But the beam’s weight helped to steady him, and he managed to set the big oak timber on the post without much fuss. He then sat on the beam and threw his leg over, turning as he did so that he faced away from his father, who was already hammering at his own spike with steady blows that vibrated through the beam and up Zollin’s rigid spine.
Now that he was in place, all he needed to do was to nail in the spikes. He looked for his hammer and nail bag. It was hanging from the spike near his foot. He should have retrieved it before situating himself on the beam, but it was too late now. As he leaned down for it he could see Mansel smirking up at him. And after a joint-stretching second he knew why—the bag was too low to pull off the spike. He would have to turn back around and get on the spike again to get it. He was so angry he wanted to scream. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t any good at carpentry. He assumed he was more like his mother than his father, although he had never known her. She had died while giving birth and Zollin didn’t even know what she looked like.
He reached one more time, straining with all his might. The strap was so close, but he couldn’t get his finger under it. In his mind he could see his finger wiggling beneath the strap, but the bag was too heavy and only tore at his fingernail. Come on, he thought to himself as he willed the bag to move. And suddenly it did.
Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy) Page 32