Stone’s opponents were not so fortunate. They were more experienced, and both had weapons in each hand. On carried a small sickle on a short handle in one hand and a dagger in the other. He reached Stone first, hacking at the young warrior with the razor-sharp sickle. Stone swayed out of reach, the sickle blade passing just below his chin and close enough that Stone felt the wind as it passed. The outlaw followed the slash with an overhead stab with his dagger. Stone spun out of the way like a dancer, his own knife blade slashing through the man’s abdomen just below his ribs. Blood and entrails spilled out, and the outlaw’s liver and right kidney were ruined. The man fell with a grunt and didn’t move.
The next outlaw had a spear. It was long and heavy, and the outlaw wielding it had had training. He slashed the heavy weapon at Stone’s head, who ducked below the iron spear tip. The outlaw also had a spiked club. When he saw that Stone was darting inside the reach of his spear, he dropped the weapon and swung the club with both hands. Had it landed, it would have broken bones, but the club found nothing but air. Stone had bounced away again, never standing still or giving his opponent an easy target.
When Lorik turned back around, he found the older man leaning over, heaving for breath. He walked over and snatched the club from the outlaw’s hand. The older man didn’t resist.
“Get down on the ground,” Lorik ordered the man, and he obeyed.
When Lorik turned to Stone, he found him facing down the largest of the outlaws. The man had a spiked club and was waving it menacingly at Stone. Lorik threw the older outlaw’s club at the remaining assailant. He saw the rudimentary weapon flying toward him and batted it away with his own club, but in that same instant Stone jumped forward, one knife plunging down into the outlaw’s groin from just beside the hip. The outlaw dropped his club and fell to the ground, crying out in agony.
“Shut him up,” Lorik said.
Stone bent forward and punched the outlaw, letting his brass knuckle guard smash into the man’s chin. The outlaw’s body went rigid as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, but he made no more sound.
Lorik turned to the old man and found him on his knees. The younger outlaw was crawling back into the woods, but Lorik caught him quickly and a swift kick to the ribs ended his escape attempt.
“Shouldn’t we just kill them?” Stone said.
“Not before I get some information,” Lorik replied.
He grabbed the young outlaw, who was groaning in pain, and pulled him back toward the fire by the man’s hair.
“Stop!” screamed the young outlaw. “Let me go!”
“Shut your mouth,” Lorik told him. “Or I’ll let my friend cut out your tongue.”
The outlaw looked up in fear and Stone held his bloody knife toward the fire. The boy’s bladder couldn’t withstand the fear, and a dark stain spread across his pants.
“Why do I get the feeling these two are new to the trade?” Lorik asked, pointing at the old man and the young outlaw.
“They have no skill and little enough courage,” said Stone.
“Don’t move,” he told the young man, who shook his head quickly, like a scolded child.
Then Lorik moved over to the older man and squatted beside him. He looked up at Stone and said, “Get him some mead.”
Stone complied and when he brought the man the cup, the man sat back and took it gratefully. He sipped the mead and he finally looked up at them.
“Are there more of you?” Stone asked.
“No,” the older man said, shaking his head. “Just the four of us.”
“Two now,” Stone said. “That’s one’s dead and the other is dying.”
“Good,” spat the older man. “I hope he dies slowly, the bastard.”
“You want to tell us what is going on?” Lorik said. “I know you’re not outlaws.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” the old man explained. “Thuryk’s Raiders took over the village.”
“Pallsen?”
“Yes,” said the old man. “He burned the outlying farms. He’s got our womenfolk and the men have been forced to go raiding. He sent us out with that bastard,” pointing to the man Stone had stabbed. He lay still, his face purple along his jawline and blood spreading beneath him, but he was still breathing. “Forced us to steal from people we knew. If we went against him, he would have killed us and then our womenfolk.”
“When did this happen?” Stone asked.
“Just a few days ago. The King’s marching the army to Yelsia, or so they say. The Earl pulled his men off of patrol so there’s no one guarding the forest road or the routes to the coast. Thuryk burned three coastal villages and then marched inland, completely unopposed. We were taken off guard, not that we would have stood much of a chance against his pirates.”
“How many men does he have?” Lorik asked.
“Thirteen still in the village,” the old man explained. “The rest he sent out to raid, each with three or four locals to act as guides and bolster his forces. He figures he can get more plunder that way, I suppose.”
“It’s a good plan,” Stone said. “All the rewards and none of the risks.”
“He’s a killer,” the old man spat. “He’ll slay us all in the end.”
“Why don’t you stand up to him?” Stone asked.
“It would be a slaughter,” the man said. “We aren’t fighters, just simple village folk. Farmers mostly, a few tradesmen and merchants. Without the Earl’s men we had no hope.”
“Well, this was unexpected,” said Lorik. “I knew the outlaws would be emboldened by the absence of the King’s soldiers, but I didn’t expect them to take over whole towns.”
“What should we do?” Stone asked.
“We could avoid Pallsen and make our way to Yorick Shire, but we risk running into more outlaws along the way. Plus, we might not find that city in any better shape than Pallsen.”
“We could run this Thuryk out of town,” Stone said.
“Just the two of us?”
“It’s possible,” Stone said. “I’ve taken out thirteen men before, but it’s bloody. We’d have to go in at night, quick and quiet. And we’d have to kill every one of them.”
Lorik stood up and stretched. He was tired, and seeing the dead man on the ground and the dying raider in a pool of blood made Lorik feel sick. The last thing he wanted to do was to start a war with thirteen outlaws, but what choice did he have? If Thuryk held Pallsen, Lorik had no chance of doing business in the town. He’d have to take his cargo farther north, and, with the outlaws roaming the land, his risk would increase exponentially.
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Lorik said.
Stone turned to the old man. “We’ll help, but we need to get into the town at night and strike when they least expect it. Can you lead us in, help us hide if we need to?”
“Not me,” said the old man. “I’m too old, you saw that. I wouldn’t be much help, but the boy there, he’s a thief. He can do it.”
“I’m not a thief,” the young outlaw said.
“What’s your name?” Lorik asked.
“Griff,” the young man said.
“What are you, eighteen, maybe nineteen years old?”
“Does it matter?” Griff said angrily.
“It does,” Lorik said, squatting by the young man this time. “You have a chance to redeem yourself. You can help us, help save the town.”
“I don’t give a damn about that town,” Griff said. “It can burn for all I care.”
“He’s bitter because we caught him stealing,” the older man said. “He had silver in his pouch when we found him sneaking through an alley.”
“It was my silver,” said Griff. “I earned it. You old codgers thought I was stealing but I wasn’t.”
“I doubt a good thief snaps twigs when he’s sneaking up on honest teamsters,” said Lorik.
“There aren’t many twigs in town to worry about. He’s not a woodsman, that’s certain,” said the older man. “But he’s a thief. We
’ve been trying to catch him for a few years.”
“Years?” Stone said. “He’s hardly old enough to be out of essential school.”
“But not too young to climb in a window and steal your valuables,” the old man said.
“Is that what you do?” Lorik asked.
“I’m good at finding things, that’s all,” Griff said. “I may have stolen a time or two, but it was always for other people. I had to do it, just like I had to come here with Roran. I had no choice.”
“Roran,” Stone said to the old man. “Is that you?”
“Aye, Roran Tillerson. I have a candle shop in Pallsen.”
“I know your shop,” Lorik said. “I’ve seen it.”
“And I know you, Lorik Horaceson. Knew your father quiet well, although you seldom join us for drinks in the Dancing Fiddle, like he did.”
“He was a good man,” Lorik said. “But he drank too much too often.”
“He was a friend,” Roran said. “I was sorry to hear about his passing. And I’m sorry I brought this misfortune on you.”
“It wasn’t a misfortune for us,” Stone said.
“We still need more information,” Lorik said to Stone. “You think that man you hit can still talk?”
“It’ll hurt, but he’ll manage,” Stone said.
“He deserves a lifetime of pain,” Roran said. “They all do.”
“Their time is coming,” Lorik said. “I can guarantee you that much.”
Chapter 10
Stone poured water from his canteen over the raider’s face. The man’s jaw was swelling at an unnatural angle. He coughed and moaned as he regained consciousness. It took a few moments for the pain to subside enough that he could tell what was happening.
“You’re one of Thuryk’s raiders, is that right?” Lorik asked him.
The man gave a slight nod.
“Good, I need to know how many men he has in Pallsen.”
“I don’t...” he was panting and his words came in gasps, “know.”
“Don’t lie,” Lorik said. “It won’t help you. I can help you, but you’ve got to help me first. Understand?”
The man nodded, then his head fell back against the turf. He was sweating and his face, except for his jaw, was very pale.
“You’re dying, do you know that?” Lorik asked him. “But you’ve got a long way to go, and the pain is only going to get worse. I can help. I can ease the pain and help you get past this, but I need to know how many men are in the town.”
“You’re... going... to... kill... me,” he gasped.
“You’ve been stabbed in the guts, there’s nothing anyone can do to save you now,” Lorik said sadly. “But you can make peace with us and with your maker. Then I’ll finish you myself, neat and quick. The pain will be over, you understand that?”
“I... don’t want... to die,” the raider sobbed.
“You should have thought of that before you entered this line of work,” Stone said coldly.
“I’m sorry you’re dying. You ambushed the wrong man this time and it cost you dearly. Now, let us help you. Tell me how many men Thuryk’s got.”
“A dozen,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain.
“That helps,” Lorik said. “Do you know where he’ll station them? How many will be on watch?”
“They take turns,” he gasped. “Every other night. One in the...” A wave of pain made the man grimace and clench his teeth for a moment, but it passed and he continued, “common room... two in the street.”
“Good, and they stand watch half the night?”
“Yes,” the man said.
“Good. How many did he sent out raiding, like you?”
“Two dozen.”
“Will any of them miss him when he’s gone?”
“No,” the man said. “They’ll fight... over his... ship.”
“That’s what I figured. Anything else I need to know?”
“He’ll kill you.”
“I’d be disappointed if he didn’t try.”
“You want me to do it?” Stone asked Lorik.
“No, I told him I’d take care of it.”
Lorik bent down and pulled out a dagger with a very thin blade. It was too delicate for most jobs, but it cut through the man’s neck with very little pain. Blood poured into the ground, and the raider gave a little shudder and died.
“Well, there’s another camp ruined,” Lorik said. “I don’t suppose you all rode horses?”
“No,” said Roran.
“That figures. I want to push on from here for a ways. Stone, help me with the horses.”
Once they had the big Shire horses hitched to the wagon again, they found Griff going through the dead men’s belongings.
“What?” he said when he saw them looking. “They don’t need it anymore.”
“No, they don’t,” Lorik said. “Roran, can you drive a team?”
“Never tried,” said the old man.
“Well, climb on up and I’ll lead the horses.”
“I’ll walk my horse, and Griff can stay with me,” Stone said. “He doesn’t strike me as the take-charge type.”
They walked for nearly an hour before stopping to make camp again. No one talked. By the time they stopped they were all exhausted. Stone took the first watch while Lorik and the others slept. He had spent many sleepless nights in the past, and, although he was tired, he paced around the dark camp until it was only a few hours before dawn. Then he roused Lorik and took his spot on the wagon to sleep.
Lorik was tired, but he’d had trouble sleeping. His mind was just too occupied with what was happening in Pallsen to get any rest. After the fight with the outlaws and then hearing Roran’s description of what had happened to the village, he had volunteered to help. It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. Risking outlaws on the open road was one thing. Sneaking into a town and killing Thuryk’s raiders was a different matter entirely.
He had heard of the marauding band of thieves; in fact Lorik was quiet sure Thuryk spent time in Hassell Point whenever he wasn’t out raiding villages or attacking merchant ships. He had never met the outlaw, but he’d heard enough to know the man was dangerous. He couldn’t imagine sneaking into Pallsen and killing the outlaw, not to mention the dozen or so men he had with him. It was lunacy of the highest order, and just thinking about it made his skin crawl. It bothered him to see injustice, and whether that was to the people of Hassell Point or in a village outside of the Marshlands, it made no difference. But to do something about it required risking his own life.
On the one hand he felt he had little to lose by dying. His life had fallen into a routine of work with brief periods of rest, and he had no real connections to anyone. He wasn’t married and had no children; he did have some friends but their number was growing thin. Chancy was getting older, Yulver came into port less and less, and now Vera was leaving the Marshlands. He was closer to his horses than to any person he knew. Still, dying, even for a good cause, seemed like such a waste. He had so much more living to do, and now that he was aware of it, he might not have enough time to do it.
He watched as the sun finally appeared. He was tired and grumpy, but there was only one clear path ahead. He had to help the people of Pallsen and hopefully restore some order to the Yorick Shire fief, if for no other reason than to get trade going again. He checked on the horses and started a fire. He didn’t want to stay in camp too long, but he wanted to check his bow before they left. If the outlaws were roaming the countryside, it was very likely that they would encounter another group before too long.
His bow was a simple weapon. It was made from yew, an evergreen tree that was easy enough to find in the forest even though it wasn’t found in the marshes. Lorik had found the tree when he was a young man. He had cut it down and traded the lumber to a bowsmith in Yorick Shire in exchange for the longbow. It was almost as tall as he was, and the cord was made from sheep’s gut. He made his own arrows,
carefully planing the narrow shafts and tipping them with steel broad-head arrow points. He used goose feathers for the fletchings and could hit a target the size of a small plate at over a hundred paces. He used the bow for hunting mostly, but he had occasionally used it to ward off bandits.
He checked the wood for cracks but the weapon was solid, even after years of use. Then he strung the bow, which took several minutes and left him panting with exertion. Then he tested the bow’s draw. The feeling of power that came from drawing the bow boosted his spirits a little. Then he spent time checking every arrow in his quiver. He normally kept the bow and arrows wrapped in deerskin and slung under the bench seat of his big wagon. He had rigged small hooks to hold the weapon within easy reach in case he needed it on the road, but he wanted it even more accessible than usual.
He roused the others. Griff complained about being woken up, and for a moment Lorik wanted to strangle the boy, who had slept through the night while Stone and Lorik stood watch, but he held himself in check.
“It’s cold rations this morning,” Lorik told them. “We’ll have to be on the lookout for more outlaws today, and I want to reach Pallsen before dark.”
“I’ve got hard bread,” Stone said to Roran and Griff. “But that’s all I have left.”
“I’ve got a couple of overripe apples,” Lorik added.
“I’ll take some mead, if you have enough,” Roran said.
“We have plenty of mead, help yourself,” Lorik said.
He grabbed Griff by the shoulder as the young man started to follow Roran toward the keg of mead.
“I don’t think you need mead to start your day,” Lorik told him.
“Why not?”
“You haven’t earned it,” Lorik said.
“What? I’ve done as much as Roran.”
“No, you haven’t,” Lorik said pointedly. “You need to show us how you can help in this enterprise before we can trust you. I’m not sure you won’t simply hand us over to Thuryk when we get to Pallsen.”
“How am I supposed to show you I’m trustworthy?” Griff asked.
“You can start by not getting drunk when you first wake up.”
Lorik (The Lorik Trilogy) Page 12
