By morning the camp was in disarray. When the sun came up the soldiers found dozens of their comrades lying dead on the ground, their throats cut. And not just along the perimeter of the camp, but all through the mass of soldiers. Orders were shouted by weary commanders who hadn’t slept. The knights and nobles climbed onto their horses, grateful that they might be able to nod off as they rode. The rest of the army got on their weary feet and marched along the muddy track.
“Shall we continue to slaughter them?” Spector asked gleefully.
“No,” Lorik said. “Not the main force. There will be stragglers of course, but we’ll launch the next wave of attacks at sunset.”
Lorik didn’t need much rest, and the cold didn’t bother him, but there was nothing else to do. He and Spector took refuge in a small grove of trees. Lorik ate some of the food he had brought with him, then slept for a few hours. By noon they were on the move again, with Lorik running as fast as a horse could gallop. It only took an hour before the main army came within sight. There were stragglers, but Spector killed anyone who had fallen far enough behind to have lost sight of the main group.
There were a few hours of daylight left. Lorik made his way around the army, moving far enough to the east that he couldn’t be seen, then charging ahead so that he could find a place to hide within sight of the main road. Most of the land in Ortis was open rolling hills, with low bushes and tall grass. Trees grew, usually in groups, but had been cut to maximize space for farms. Lorik found a group of mature oak trees, their bare limbs looking ominous in the dull winter sunlight. A light mist was falling and Lorik knew it would soon become snow.
Checking his arrow supply he made sure he had plenty of arrows to sting his enemies with. As he waited for the army he checked the fletchings and searched for the straightest arrows. He would only have the opportunity to target a few of the soldiers marching through his land, and he wanted to make each one count.
The sun was an hour from setting as the army came into view. Lorik knew the soldiers would be searching for a suitable place to make camp for the night. They were exhausted, moving slowly, their boots covered with heavy globs of mud, the horses trudging with their heads drooping. The cold, damp weather seemed to press down on the soldiers. Fear and fatigue was like a disease eating away at their resolve. Lorik felt no pity for them. They made the choice to invade Ortis, and they would have to live with the consequences. But they wouldn’t suffer long, Lorik thought to himself.
His first arrow arced high into the dull gray sky. The soldiers might have noticed it if they had been more vigilant, but they were too exhausted to notice anything but the man in front of them. Before the first arrow reached the apex of its shot, Lorik launched a second missile. And as the first fell like lightning toward the front part of the long line of soldiers, Lorik loosed a third.
The first arrow fell among the knights riding at the front of the retreating army. It glanced off of a knight’s shield that was slung across the rider’s back and sank into his horse’s haunch. The horse tried to rear, but the weakened muscles collapsed and the beast flopped to the side, crashing into the rider beside him and flinging the rider into another knight. There was shouting, as horses spooked and riders tried to regain control without being thrown from the saddle. Some succeeded, others were not so lucky. More than one man was stepped on by the frightened animals.
The second and third arrows fell among the foot soldiers, each one wounding a man. There were screams and shouts as the soldiers pulled together to fend off the attack they feared was coming, but Lorik merely sat among the dark boughs of the wet oak trees, his black armor blending in perfectly, as he watched the carnage he had created. It would have taken months to slay the entire army in such a manner, but slaying them wasn’t his purpose. He wanted to scare them, to make them nervous. They would make mistakes and he would capitalize on them.
That night passed much like the one before. Lorik fired arrows at sentries, Spector killed in the camp. When morning finally came the soldiers were on the verge of insanity. Fatigue, fear, hunger, and the growing cold were taking an awful toll. Nearly a hundred men refused to leave when the army set out, and even more had been killed in the past two nights. Lorik took his sword and went among the soldiers huddled in the mud, too tired and scared to press on. The main force had moved out of sight and the distraught soldiers watched him approach as if their deaths were inevitable.
Some didn’t even resist as he killed them, others raised shields and swords, but they were so weak they had no chance of surviving. Lorik wondered briefly if he was doing the right thing. The soldiers were practically helpless. Had he left them there most would have died from exposure, but he felt they deserved to die by the sword. They had raised arms against him, against the people he had resolved to protect. There was no mercy left in him and the darkness that fueled him called for blood.
Once the stragglers were massacred, Lorik hurried toward the main army again, only this time he didn’t try to hide. He stayed a hundred yards behind the rear guard and fired arrows at the group. There was shouting and continual efforts to guard against him. Shields were raised, but Lorik took his time, finding openings to shoot his arrows into. He was running low on arrows when the knights were ordered to the rear of the column. Lorik smiled as he saw them approach. Had they charged him on sight they might have survived, but instead a small squad was sent to kill him. The flurries of snow that had fallen in the night had developed into a substantial snow storm, which is why the knights charging toward Lorik didn’t notice Spector until it was too late.
The wraith rose up in front of the lead horse like death himself. The horse tried to dodge to the side, smashing into the horse to its right. Spector’s knife slipped across the horse’s exposed shoulder, slicing to the bone and causing the animal to fall. The rider was thrown, his body smashing hard into the frozen ground. Bones snapped as the charge fell to pieces. The riders on the edge of the group managed to avoid the chaos, but most collided with either the fallen horse or their comrades. Few of the knights were able to keep their seats, and those that fell were injured or killed from the fall or the thrashing horses. Spector pursued the knights still on horseback. There were three to Lorik’s right, and two on his left. He could tell immediately that they were terrified. Either the sounds of their comrades’ agonized screams or the sight of Lorik standing tall, his swords held ready, robbed them of their desire to fight.
Spector caught up to the pair of riders on Lorik’s left, stabbing one in the back of the head as his knife slipped under the edge of the knight’s helmet. He wounded the other with a slash across the knight’s hip, his knife glancing off armor before finding the crease between the man’s thigh and abdomen. The rider leaned over the wound instinctively, losing his balance on his horse. He tried desperately to stay in the saddle, but failed. He fell to the ground and didn’t move as his horse continued running down the road past Lorik.
The other three knights tried to attack, but they simply didn’t have the heart. Lorik engaged one of the men, but the other two turned their horses away from him, circling wide before trying to return to the main group. Lorik caught a half-hearted chop toward his shoulder with one of the twin swords of Acromin. The other blade stabbed up into the knight’s exposed armpit. The warrior cried out in pain, dropping his sword and falling across his horse’s neck.
“Should we pursue?” Spector asked as the main army disappeared into the swirling snow ahead.
“No,” Lorik said. “We wait for them to make camp.”
The snowstorm wasn’t so thick they couldn’t keep up the march, so when the army came to an abandoned village, they took shelter, at least those that could. The king and his commanders huddled in a farmhouse. The rest of the army crowded into various buildings, barns, and sheds. The buildings were in various states of disrepair. Lorik guessed the village had been abandoned before the Witch’s War. Most of the structures had some sort of roof, although he guessed that many were leaking as the h
eat from the crowds of bodies rose up and melted the falling snow that had gathered on the roofs.
Guards were set, but the unfortunate men on watch were terrified. Lorik and Spector watched. It was obvious that the army was miserable, but the dark magic seemed to feed off of the suffering. For the first time Spector seemed in no hurry to shed blood.
“First we take their horses,” Lorik said. “Then we set the buildings on fire.”
The wraith hissed in approval. The horses had been gathered on the far side of the village and tied to a picket line. Several guards were assigned to watch the animals, but with the snow falling thick and exhaustion setting in, it only took an hour before most of the sentries had left their posts to find shelter and sleep. Lorik honestly couldn’t blame them. The sentries were all foot soldiers, yet they had been given the task to watch over the horses that carried the knights and noblemen home. The truth was, the sentries didn’t care if the horses were stolen. They only cared about staying warm and getting rest.
Lorik and Spector killed four men who had faithfully remained at their posts. Then, they untied the picket line and led the horses away. They didn’t have to go far to be out of sight of the village. Lorik untied the horses, removed their bridles, and set them loose. He knew the horses could find food as they moved south and eventually his people could take them in.
Darkness fell as the snow finally began to subside. Nearly six inches covered the ground, not enough to truly hamper the army from Baskla, but enough to increase their pain as they tried to escape Lorik’s wrath.
Building a fire wasn’t easy, but Lorik managed it, kindling a spark on the dry twigs that were sheltered under wild shrubs. Once he had a decent blaze burning, he made a torch from a bundle of skinny branches. He only needed one of the buildings to catch fire and the most difficult part of his plan would be approaching the camp with the torch. He would be visible and in a sense vulnerable. Spector went ahead of Lorik to clear the way, but the soldiers were so tired that new sentries had not been posted and eventually the men on watch had sought shelter. Lorik hurried toward the farmhouse with his torch. The wind had blown mostly from the north, and the southern side of the house was much more sheltered from the wet snow. Lorik didn’t need the house to burn down, what he needed was smoke and enough of a blaze to wake the soldiers.
Lorik found a small window on the south side of the house. The glass was gone, but tattered curtains still hung across the opening. He lit the curtains on fire, before thrusting the torch up into the exposed eave on the end of the house. Perhaps it was because the wood was old that it caught fire so quickly, but whatever the cause the fire spread through the roof by the time Lorik had dashed back into the darkness on the far side of the road.
It only took a minute for shouts and cries from inside the shelter to wake the camp, then men were pouring out of the building. Lorik watched, reveling in the chaos as the soldiers shouted for the guards who did not appear. Soon the night was lit with the burning building. The fire cracked over the old wood and hissed as the snow on the rooftop fell down into the flames below. Lorik could see King Ricard. He was bedraggled, his fine clothes soiled with mud, his hair and beard tangled. He was surrounded by guards and officers, but Lorik could have killed them all in the chaos, especially when it was discovered that the horses were gone.
Spector continued his killing spree, slaying the soldiers like an invisible ghost, and as the bodies dropped panic set in. With no light or horses, and leaving most of their armor and even weapons behind, what was left of the army from Baskla fled north, crunching through the snowy night and straight into Lorik’s hands.
Chapter 24
Roleena replaced several members of the Sea Arrow’s crew, adding her own people. Mansel was given duties as Roleena’s guard, along with another man almost as tall as Mansel, but thicker through the chest and belly. He was an older man, who smelled of sweat and filth so strongly that it made Mansel’s nose burn. They took turns watching over their new captain, ensuring that none of the crew came close enough to do her harm. Not that there was dissension among the crew. Those who had committed to her from the Arrow’s original crew worked hard to please her. And those from the other ships were fiercely loyal.
They stopped in Winsome just long enough to sell the cargo of wool the ship was carrying. They had to use bags of sand as ballast to balance the ship, but without a full load of cargo the Sea Arrow was even faster than before. Mansel and the other guard accompanied Roleena into a tavern, where a deal was struck with a fat man in velvet robes to purchase the wool. Mansel guessed that Roleena couldn’t just take the ill-gotten goods into market. They returned to the ship and the sailors unloaded the cargo onto a barge that carried it back to the shore.
Roleena kept most of the money, but each crew member was paid two silver marks. Mansel guessed that Roleena had sold the cargo for well under market value, and the haul was smaller than a typical trade vessel. Still, it was silver in the purses of the sailors and they seemed happy enough. Mansel wondered if Roleena was keeping the rest of the coin to pay the crew members of her other two vessels, or if she was simply keeping it for herself.
Before they left the other two ships, the sea monster lifted Roleena’s flagship, the Crest Dancer, off the rock, letting the sea water drain out of the ragged hole that had been gouged into the hull. The sailors were hard at work building a patch that would allow the ship to be sailed into a harbor where it could be repaired in a more thorough fashion. She also had two large trunks moved into her new cabin on the Sea Arrow. The wall that separated the captain’s berth from the guest quarters was removed, making one space that stretched as wide as the ship. It wasn’t large, but it was larger than before.
More than once Mansel was called into Roleena’s quarters, usually whenever she wanted to talk with the men who sailed her ship. She didn’t like being alone with anyone, but she didn’t feel the need to stay out on deck ensuring that the vessel was handled correctly either. Her first mate, an older man with greasy, gray hair and a booming voice, saw to the sailing. And a small man with no eyes was Roleena’s spy among the crew. The blind man was a master at repairing sail cloth, braiding leather or hemp, and was considered to be a good luck charm by the sailors. He spent most of his time down in the crew’s quarters, working and listening. Occasionally Roleena called him up into her cabin where he told her all the gossip going on among the men.
It was during one such visit that Mansel discovered what was in the two chests. The first was no mystery. Roleena had several bottles of wine in a large chest, along with a wheel of cheese, and a large sack of fruit. She did not share her largess with the crew, who lived on ship’s biscuits and whatever salty meat they could get. The grog was a strong spirit that Mansel didn’t recognize, but his daily ration of half a cup warmed his belly and helped him sleep.
The other trunk was left open only once, and Mansel saw books bound in thick leather, some even had metal bands to hold the books closed. The young warrior had no idea what the books were, but he knew they were valued by the pirate queen. She closed the trunk when she saw him staring, and fixed him with an icy glare as the blind sailor continued talking about one of the crew members struggling with an illness he’d obviously picked up from a wench at some seedy brothel.
Danella was moved into Roleena’s cabin and bound with a chain that was secured to her left foot. She had just enough slack in the chain to stand up and move over to the corner or lie on her bed, which was a narrow cot against one wall. Mansel wanted to tell her that he was working to free her, but there was never a time when he was allowed into Roleena’s quarters when she wasn’t also there. Danella refused to eat, and her hair quickly grew limp and there were large circles under her eyes. Sorrow shaded her face and she was lethargic whenever Mansel was ordered into the cabin.
Vyctor was not so fortunate. He was stripped naked and left lashed to the main mast day and night. He was given no food or comfort of any kind and when the stench of his filth grew too s
trong the sailors doused him with buckets of sea water. The hulking man never complained, in fact Mansel never heard him make a sound. When they turned north the weather grew worse, and more than once it snowed. Vyctor sat huddled on the deck, exposed to the freezing cold day and night. His fingers, toes, and ears began to turn black. Mansel feared that if he was able to devise a way for the three of them to escape, Vyctor might not be strong enough to leave the ship.
Escape was always on his mind, but in the freezing waters, miles from shore, there was no way to flee. The Sea Arrow had one small jolly boat, but it took several men to lower it down to the water and Mansel had no hope of getting it down without being seen, not to mention getting Danella free from Roleena’s cabin. His best chance was to wait until they reached Tragoon Bay. From there he suspected that Roleena would want to take her prisoners back to Orrock and once they were off her ship he could break them free, even if he died in the process. At least he wouldn’t have to live seeing them suffering day after day.
It took a week and a half to sail up the coast to Tragoon Bay after leaving Winsome. Mansel was sick of being on the ship and couldn’t comprehend how the sailors who didn’t come ashore more than a couple of times a year could stand such a life. As the bay came within sight Roleena called her first mate to her cabin and gave her orders.
“I will go ashore and find passage up the river to Orrock. Once I do, I want the prisoners and this chest placed on board.”
Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11) Page 20
