He pulled the little dart out of his shoulder as two more hit his lower back. He shouted and swung around, raising his axe in the air, but his vision began to blur and the axe felt extraordinarily heavy. He staggered around, still not seeing anyone or anything that might be attacking him.
Then another dart struck, this time in his stomach, and he reached down to brush it away, but found that he couldn’t hold his axe any longer. Then his knees buckled and he crashed onto his side. His axe fell beside him and the world went dark.
Lorik woke slowly. He felt rested, as if he were rousing from a good night’s sleep. He started to move and felt his body swaying. Then he remembered that he was in the Wilderlands and had been attacked by something. He remembered the stinging darts and he opened his eyes. He could see bright sunlight, filtering through green boughs. He was warm, and as he struggled onto one elbow he realized he was alone.
He turned his attention to the bed he was resting on and found that it was made from soft, hairy twine. It was a hammock of sorts, made, he guessed, from the hairy bark of the massive redwood trees. Then he noticed that his hammock was stretched out over nothing but air. Below him he saw the great tree trunks stretching down into darkness far below. He couldn’t see the forest floor and a wave of dizziness made him clutch the edges of the hammock he was resting on. His right hand ached terribly when he squeezed the thin twine, but he refused to let go.
Then he heard a muffled laughter and a light, sing-song voice speaking in a foreign tongue. He didn’t understand the language, but he recognized a rebuke when he heard it.
“Hello?” he said, his voice a bit shaky. “Is someone there?”
“We are always here,” said a high-pitched, playful voice.
“Who are you?” Lorik asked. “Where are you?”
“We are here,” said the voice.
It was coming from behind Lorik’s head. He turned carefully, craning his neck to see where the top of his hammock was connected. An arm’s length from the top of the hammock was a hole in the tree. He could see at least a dozen small faces watching him intently.
“How did I get up here?” Lorik asked. “I’m not crazy about heights.”
More giggles and more harsh words in the sing-song language.
“We put you there, tree cutter. Until you explain why you’ve come into the forest to cut down the ancient trees.”
“I didn’t,” Lorik said. “I’m not here to cut trees.”
“Your kind is always cutting,” said the voice.
Lorik strained to see which of the tiny faces was talking and finally saw a sweet-looking little boy—the creature looked like a child to Lorik, at least. All of the faces were the size of a toddler’s, their skin just as smooth, their faces just as innocent.
“You chop down the forest and burn, burn, burn. We have seen you searching through the forest. We have seen you kindle fire. These are crimes in the Wilderlands. Crimes you must answer for.”
“I didn’t mean to commit any crimes. I was here scouting and fighting the Norsik.”
“Ah, yes, that is another trait of your kind, always warring.”
“The Norsik took women and children. I was trying to stop them.”
“By cutting down trees?”
“I didn’t cut down any trees,” Lorik said.
“We saw you. You raised your axe to cut the tree.”
“I was just cutting some bark to make a torch to see by.”
There was a collective intake of breath by the small, childlike creatures.
“So you admit your crimes,” the leader of the little people said.
Then he began to talk, and his voice seemed to dance or sing, the words coming fast and unintelligible, but pleasant to listen to just the same. Finally, after a long silence, the voice spoke so that Lorik could understand again.
“You are guilty,” said the voice. “You have only two options, death or the Kingtree, it is your choice.”
“My choice?” Lorik said. “Please, this is just a mistake. I didn’t mean to hurt the trees or scare anyone with fire. I just need to find the Norsik raiders who took my friends. Please, help me find them and I will leave the Wilderlands, I promise.”
“You have confessed your crimes freely, tall one. There are only two options left. Our laws are as old as this forest and just as immoveable. Your sentence is death or the Kingtree. Which do you choose?”
“What is the Kingtree?” Lorik asked.
“It is the tallest and oldest of the ancient trees. Long ago our ancestors hid the swords of Acromin in its lofty boughs. If you wish to prove your innocence, you can attempt to climb the Kingtree and retrieve the swords.”
“My hand is broken,” Lorik said. “I want to climb the tree and prove my innocence, but I’m not sure that I can.”
“Then we will mix the sleeping nectar. It is a painless death and swift.”
“No,” Lorik said. “I choose the Kingtree. Please, let me climb the Kingtree.”
The voices erupted in what sounded to Lorik like a celebration. And then, although he couldn’t see anyone or anything moving him, the hammock moved closer to the tree and tiny hands pulled him inside. He was amazed to find not just a room, but a village, all made of wood within what appeared to be the limbs of the tree. There was no bark here, and the buildings were stained different colors, some with intricate artwork. There were arching windows and doors, broad walkways spiraling up, and swinging bridges made from the same hairy fibers as his hammock.
“What is this place?” Lorik said in wonder.
“This is Erkadine,” said a small female. Her hair was long and braided with threads of silver. Her clothes were made from a combination of what appeared to be hemp and leaves.
“Erkadine?”
“It is our village. I am Shayah.”
“I’m Lorik,” he said, still staring around him in wonder.
“Take him to the Perkote to prepare him for the Kingtree,” said the little boy who had passed sentence on Lorik.
“Wait, please,” Lorik said. “Who are you people? I mean, what are you? Are you children?”
The group of toddlers giggled and the boy spoke again.
“We are the Drery Dru, guardians of the forrest. I believe in your language we are known as Druids.”
“You mean forest elves?” Lorik said.
“If you say so,” the boy said. “And no, we are not children. We have been the guardians here since the trees were saplings. Don’t judge our age by our appearance, tall one, we have been here much longer than you have been alive, and we will continue to be here once you are gone.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Lorik said. “I’ve heard of you in stories, well, legends really, but I didn’t realize the legends were true.”
“I assure you, the Drery Dru are real. We once ruled forests as vast as your Five Kingdoms, but that was before the time of man in this world. Now, we are all that is left. This tiny, ancient forest from another time that your kind calls the Wilderlands.”
“I am honored to meet you,” Lorik said.
“Hennick, I am known as Hennick.”
Lorik stuck out his hand to shake the elf’s tiny hand, but the elf merely frowned and bowed.
“Don’t think that you can escape your fate, tall one. Man is a devious race, and why the Maker chose to give man his power is a mystery. We will not be tricked or fooled into letting you go.”
“I understand,” Lorik said. “And though my honor may not be what you would call valuable, I give you my word that on my honor, I will not try to trick or deceive you. I did not mean to give offense when I cut your trees. I did not mean to threaten your forest with fire. I am truly sorry. The Wilderlands are a strange place to me, but I want only to rescue my people from the Norsik. I will do whatever it takes to do that.”
“Fine,” Hennick said. “Take him to the Perkote and prepare him. You have one hour.”
“Come, Lorik,” said Shayah. “This way to the Perkote. We shall see that you a
re ready to attempt to climb the Kingtree.”
They led Lorik down a long, winding staircase. The stairs were narrow for Lorik and he took them three at a time, but he made it safely down to the lowest level of the tree village. The Perkote was a bowl-shaped indention in the trunk of the tree. Although bark covered most of the tree village, internally the trunk stopped at the Perkote. The bowl was filled with dark water and the lighting was dim. Elves floated or swam in the Perkote, some merely soaking along the edges.
“Disrobe, tall one,” said one of the elves. “You must bathe and prepare yourself for the climb.”
Lorik felt silly, but he did as he was told. A group of elves whisked his clothing away and Lorik lowered himself into the water. The pool was deep and he had no trouble submerging himself in the warm, pine-scented water. He scrubbed his body and hair, then he climbed out. More elves brought a light-colored, sleeveless, short robe and kilt.
“It is tradition for a climber to wear the Anglone,” Shayah said. “It is made from the tree spinners high in the canopy.”
She helped him arrange the garment and clip it into place. She also gave him a comb and mirror. They were both tiny, but Lorik was able to see himself and comb the tangles out of his hair and beard, which he had not shaved since the Norsik had invaded Ortis en masse.
Then food was brought, berries and tender root vegetables. There was a sweet syrup to dip the food in and light refreshing cider in small cups. Lorik’s hunger and thirst returned with a vengeance and he ate ravenously.
“You look better,” Shayah said as he ate.
“I haven’t eaten in a few days.”
She smiled and served him more food. When the meal was over Lorik stood up. He was completely satisfied, but not bloated or overly full.
“Now you are ready,” Shayah said.
“Don’t I need my boots?”
“Nay,” Shayah said. “Your feet will grip the Kingtree better without them. Come!”
She led him back up the tree village. Horns blew and soon a large crowd of the forest elves were following Lorik and Shayah. They reached a long, thick branch with a large opening. There Hennick was waiting.
“I will take you to the Kingtree,” he said.
“Good luck, tall one,” the elves called out.
“I will pray for you, Lorik,” said Shayah.
“Thank you,” Lorik said.
He was suddenly very nervous. He followed Hennick out onto the branch. It was a thick limb, but it swayed under his weight just the same. None of the other elves followed.
“Your village is magnificent,” Lorik said to Hennick.
“Erkadine is but one village. Every tree in the forest is home to many Drery Dru. Now, perhaps you understand why your crimes grieve us so.”
“Every tree?” Lorik asked. “What about outside the Wilderlands?”
“The young trees of your Five Kingdoms have no guardians, though in some places the Dryads born of dark magic rule.”
“Dryads?” Lorik asked.
“They are part tree, part Drery Dru. A wizard created them centuries ago, but their minds are stunted and their nature is selfish. Not unlike men.”
“Not all men are that way,” Lorik said. “Some are good, noble even.”
“Is that why your kings and warriors lay waste to the land around them? Because they are noble?”
“No,” Lorik said. “I admit, many people called nobles are not noble, but they can be.”
“Your kind has always been full of hope and dreams. Perhaps you are noble, Lorik. Perhaps you will be the first to climb the Kingtree, but I have my doubts.”
“Tell me about the Kingtree,” Lorik said.
“It is the heart of the forest,” Hennick said. “It towers over the other trees, but its heart is gnarled, grieving over the loss of its Drery Dru and the pain it sees over the wide earth. Acromin was once a great and noble king of your kind. He was the last friend of the Drery Dru, but he was killed. Murdered by one of his ignoble nobles, and the king of the Drery Dru, along with his entire village, was killed with him. The descendants of Acromin brought his weapons here, to be guarded by the Drery Dru. The swords hold great power, but only the true protector of the Wilderlands can possess them. If you are truly innocent, if your heart is noble and your honor is strong, perhaps you can climb the Kingtree and restore the friendship between man and Drery Dru.”
“And if I can’t?” Lorik asked.
“Then you will die,” Hennick. “There is no other way.”
Chapter 35
Lorik was led across an intricate set of walkways made of tree branches, and as he followed Hennick he forced himself not to look down into the murky depths below. They passed other trees and in each he saw hundreds of little faces all watching him with the same expression of delighted innocence. It was strange to think he was walking to what amounted to an execution. He had no idea what the Kingtree was or how difficult climbing the tree would be, but since the alternative was death, he really had no choice.
He tried to focus his thoughts on Vera, but his friend Stone kept rising up in his mind like a ghost. Lorik assumed his friend was dead simply because he knew Stone would never rest while Vera was taken captive. It was possible that Stone had run into trouble or been delayed and didn’t know that Vera had been captured, but that seemed like wishful thinking to Lorik. His friend would have died for Vera, and chances were, he did die defending her. Now it was up to Lorik to save her, but most likely he would die climbing the Kingtree and Vera would be forgotten.
Tears sprang unbidden to Lorik’s eyes. They ran down his cheeks and he refused to wipe them away. They were the only tears that would fall for Vera, and so he let them fall.
It took over an hour to reach the Kingtree. Lorik had no idea where he was and yet when he saw the massive Kingtree he couldn’t believe he had never seen it before. The redwood trees of Wilderlands were huge, easily towering over three hundred feet tall, but the Kingtree was not only much taller, its trunk was five or six times the size of its neighbors.
“This is the Kingtree,” Hennick said. “It is the heart of the forest.”
They went inside the tree through an arched opening like the one Lorik had seen in the other trees, but instead of a village, the interior was a mass of rootlike vines. Lorik had the distinct impression that what he was seeing wasn’t overgrowth or lack of maintenance, it was decay. The Kingtree was slowly dying.
“What is wrong with it?” Lorik said compassionately.
“The Kingtree has no Drery Dru,” Hennick said. “The life of the Kingtree is in the Drery Dru, so it has decayed for centuries. When the Kingtree dies, the last of the Drery Dru will fall with it.”
“But you have other trees,” Lorik said.
“Our kind is tied to the Kingtree,” Hennick said. “Every great forest had one. Some died naturally, others were burned or cut down. In every instance, when the Kingtree died, the Drery Dru and the grand forest died with it. We are the last, and in time, we will pass out of memory as well.”
“I’m sorry,” Lorik said. “What can I do to help you?”
Hennick laughed. “You are tricky, tall one,” Hennick said. “You cannot escape the verdict for your actions that easily. Nor will your tears weaken my resolve. You must climb the Kingtree, or die trying.”
“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” Lorik said sadly. “I did not know about the Drery Dru, nor about your forests. And these tears are not for me,” he said, wiping his cheeks. “I weep for my friends. If I die, they will be lost.”
“Then don’t die,” Hennick said.
Lorik thought he detected a note of hope in the forest elf’s voice.
“You don’t want me to die?”
“No, I wish death on no creature,” Hennick said. “My people are guardians of life. We prune only to encourage growth. If you reach the swords of Acromin, you will have our support in your quest.”
“Thank you,” Lorik said, reaching out his hand.
H
ennick didn’t shake hands with Lorik, instead he bowed.
“We will be watching, tall one. Good luck. May the Life Giver bless your quest.”
Then Hennick left the Kingtree. Lorik looked around but saw none of the angelic-looking forest elves. He wondered briefly how they would watch him, but it was a mystery for another time.
He looked up again, examining the huge knot of rooty vines that grew from the center of the tree. There were also climbing vines that ran up the tree’s inner wall. It didn’t look too difficult, he thought. He flexed his right hand, and the pain felt like a sharp stab wound each time he closed his fist. That would make things more difficult.
He walked slowly around the inside of the tree. No spot looked more favorable than another. He tested the strength of the vines that hung down and they all seemed easily able to support his weight.
“Okay then,” he said to no one in particular.
He took hold of the knot of roots and started climbing. It was easy to find handholds and footholds. The roots were sturdy and occasionally there were small holes, like windows in the thick outer bark, where light from the sun shined in. The air became colder the higher he climbed and eventually the roots and vines became smaller. Whenever Lorik felt tired he would stop and rest. His thirst had returned, but he ignored it. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his back despite the cold. His muscles were getting tired and his right hand ached.
The space between the inner knot of root-like vines and the outer walls of thick bark grew as Lorik climbed. Eventually he began to see bright blue sky ahead. The sight was so encouraging that Lorik increased his pace. Occasionally one foot would slip or his broken hand would lose its grip, but despite the fact that his heart felt like it would pound out of his chest with each frightening slip, he was never in any real danger of falling. He had been afraid that he would have to climb a branchless tree or that the tree would be smooth and round with no way to hold on, but the interlocking roots or vines, whichever they actually were, made the arduous task possible.
Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) Page 30
