“I think it could be.”
“So what do we do?”
“We could set our own trap.”
“You want to try and trap the creatures?”
“No, don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying I want to set traps for them, but what if we douse these torches, find a place to watch from outside the village, and then wait to see what happens when the search party follows the trail.”
“If the beasts are waiting for us to rush blindly down their path, we might be able to surprise them,” Mansel said, seeing the wisdom in the plan. “But what about the girl?”
“Well, there is one other option. It’s faster but more risky.”
“What?”
“I could ride down the trail, move fast, see what happens. You could cover me from the dark.”
“What could I do if you’re attacked?” Mansel asked.
“Just cover me with your bow. That should be enough. If I get into trouble you can ride to the rescue.”
“That’s a ridiculous plan,” Mansel said.
“But its the only chance we have of saving the little girl.”
“I’m not willing to risk you for the girl,” Mansel said. “She’s probably dead already.”
“So we’ll wait for the hunting party,” Quinn said.
“I could follow their trail,” Mansel volunteered.
“I can’t cover you with that bow the way you can,” Quinn said.
Mansel looked distressed, which wasn’t what Quinn wanted, but he needed Mansel to come to the same decision Quinn had. The only option that could possibly save the girl meant risking Quinn’s life. He had no problem with that, but if he died, he didn’t want Mansel to struggle with guilt or feel that had made the wrong decision. Every second they waited made Quinn’s stomach twist with fear that the little girl was dying and that they would be too late, but he felt that a few moments spent to clear Mansel’s conscience was worth it.
“Fine,” Mansel said, handing Quinn his torch. “But don’t go too fast. And give me a minute to get ready.”
“I will,” Quinn said. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Don’t get eaten before you become a grandfather.”
“Good advice,” Quinn said.
Mansel turned his horse and rode off into the darkness. Quinn waited as long as he dared and then started down the trail. The blood stood out on the ground. There were splashes of glossy red blood every five or six yards, allowing Quinn to follow the trail at a fast trot. He looked up occasionally, but the light from his torches made the darkness beyond impenetrable.
He had gone nearly a mile from the village when he finally saw the girl, but his horse was struggling to turn back and Quinn was certain the creatures were waiting to attack. Quinn fought the horse, taking both torches with one hand and yanking the reins with the other. The little girl was unconscious but Quinn thought he saw her chest moving. There was a dark patch of blood around her.
“Laney!” Quinn shouted.
He heard the snarl just before he saw the flash of white fur looming up out of the darkness. He swung the torch but he wasn’t fast enough. The creature bit hard into Quinn’s forearm just as the horse bolted. Quinn didn’t have time to pull his spear from the harness beneath his saddle before he fell. The only thing that registered in his mind before he smashed hard into the ground were the sounds of more snarling animals rushing in for the kill.
Chapter 12
Lorik stood up slowly and turned around. He had been staring into the fire and his swords were propped against the stone hearth, but he made no attempt to take them up. Instead he raised his hands in surrender. The soldiers looked unsure of what to do; they had clearly been expecting a fight. And there was no sound from the small bedroom where Vera and Stone were supposed to be sleeping. Lorik was certain they weren’t asleep and for the briefest of moments he even considered the possibility that Stone or Vera had betrayed him to the soldiers, but he dismissed that fear just as quickly as it entered his mind.
“We’ve orders to take you to Ort City,” said one of the soldiers.
“Good,” Lorik said. “That's where I want to go.”
The soldiers looked surprised again. They had expected a fight, but Lorik seemed content and not in the least belligerent.
“We’re going now!” the soldier said, his voice much too loud for the little room. Lorik thought the man sounded scared.
“In the middle of the night?”
“That’s right,” the soldier said. “I said we’re leaving and that’s that.”
“Great. I’m packed, and I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
He hefted his pack, still not touching his swords. The soldiers looked uncertain, but Lorik gave them no reason to think he was a threat and they slowly began to relax. Lorik smiled and waited patiently, knowing that it would do him no good to attack the soldiers. They were just doing what they were told, and after giving a lot of thought to how he would go about removing Yettlebor from the throne, he had decided that his best bet would be to win the loyalty of the army. Yettlebor, as Lorik remembered him, was a pompous ass. His troops bypassed him even when he was just a general, preferring to take their reports and concerns to a subordinate. If Lorik could ingratiate himself with the army, he would most likely win their loyalty and then the entire situation in Ortis would change. Yettlebor might be in control of Ort City, but if his soldiers joined Lorik, then he would have to give up his absurd claim to the throne.
“I hope you have horses, or at least a wagon,” Lorik said.
“Of course we have horses,” the soldier said.
“Good, then I’m ready when you are.”
“You aren’t going to fight us?”
“Why would I? We want the same thing. Besides, I would have to be daft to take on a group of well trained soldiers like you.”
“That’s right,” the soldier said.
He was clearly in charge of the small band. There were only a dozen of the soldiers from what Lorik could see. Four were in the small cottage, and several more were waiting outside. They all had their weapons drawn, but none of them looked keen for a fight.
“So we can go,” Lorik said.
He stepped forward and the soldiers tensed. Lorik was a big man, even without the magic the Drery Dru had instilled in him, which had made him look like the image of a god. His shoulders were thick with muscle, his legs almost as large as tree trunks. He wasn’t as well defined as he had been when under the influence of the elvish magic, but he was in good shape, with hardly any fat on his large frame. The solders were adults, but most were young men, and none even came close to Lorik’s size. It was natural that he made them nervous, even without a fearsome reputation.
“You men have nothing to fear from me,” he said.
“Good, you’ll be better off that way. Tie his hands,” the soldier ordered.
“Is that really necessary?” Lorik asked.
“It is if I say it is,” the soldier insisted.
Lorik thought the soldier sounded a little like a petulant child but he didn’t resist. Instead, he stuck his hands out, holding the wrists close together.
“Should I tie them behind his back?” asked the soldier who had pulled a length of rope from his belt.
“That will only make it harder for him to ride,” the soldier in charge said. “Tie ‘em in front, and let’s get moving.”
Lorik was patient, letting the soldier tie him up. The man had no experience with rope. Lorik had spent years as a teamster, learning the trade from his father and he was proficient in tying knots. The mess that the soldier made wouldn’t last long, but Lorik reminded himself that he was going to earn the soldiers trust and he wouldn’t do that by breaking free of their pitiful bonds.
He cast one look at the door that led to the other room. He could see that it was open just slightly. There was no light in the room, no noise. He guessed there was no reason to expect that there might be someone else in the cottage, although if the soldiers had really been watching Stone, they sh
ould have known he and Vera were inside. Perhaps it was the surprise of not being challenged that made them forget about the owners of the little house. Either way, Lorik was glad his friends hadn’t also been detained. He knew Stone could handle himself in a fight, but he didn’t want to see either of them mistreated on his behalf.
He nodded slightly toward the door, trusting that his friends saw him and would understand that he was all right. He was trusting Stone and Vera to follow him and bring his swords. He wished he’d had time to explain himself to them, but that opportunity had not presented itself.
“So,” Lorik said loudly. “You’re taking me to Ort City. I’m ready to go.”
“That’s right,” the soldier said.
“He’s tied up,” the soldier who had bound Lorik’s hands said.
“Then we move!” the lead soldier said.
Two men fell in behind Lorik as they led him away. He still had his pack over his shoulder and he thought it was a mistake that the soldiers hadn’t taken it and searched it for weapons. There were none, but the soldiers were either slacking on their duty or poorly trained.
They had horses waiting nearby, held by three more soldiers. Lorik counted fifteen men in total. It was a reasonable number to apprehend a legendary fighter. He was just one man after all, but Lorik could have defeated them if he really wanted to. They had rushed into the cottage, thinking to surprise Lorik, but in reality they had traded their superiority in numbers, their greatest advantage, for the lesser advantage of surprise. Lorik could have stayed inside, where he was familiar with the room and where obstacles might hinder their fighting. He could then easily fend off the larger group, because only a few of them at a time could get close to him. Then there was the fact that Lorik wasn’t alone. He had Stone with him, and even if the soldiers didn’t know Stone’s amazing fighting abilities, it once again reduced their superiority of numbers.
He didn’t resist in any way, climbing carefully up onto the horse they had waiting for him. He would have liked to check the horse’s tack to be certain everything was as it should be, but as a prisoner he didn’t have the opportunity. The soldiers formed two lines on either side of Lorik and walked their horses out of the city. They rode through the darkness with only two torches to light their way as they moved south. There was nothing to hinder them across the grassy plains and the night was cool, almost chilly.
They stopped and made camp shortly before dawn. Most of the men tried to snatch an hour's worth of sleep, but Lorik watched the men. He sat leaning against his pack, which was still slung over his wide shoulder. As the sun rose, the soldiers prepared a hasty breakfast of boiled oats. The food was bland, especially compared to the exotic fruits of the Drery Dru he had dined on for so long, yet Lorik was reminded fondly of being on the road with his father. They often carried oats or rice, which was the staple of their meals whenever they hauled cargo through the Marshlands. His father always used something to flavor the oats—honey if he could get it, but salt at the very least. The soldiers weren’t as forward thinking, but the food was hot and filling. They served Lorik a large bowl of the porridge, which he ate gratefully. Then they set out again.
Lorik was sorely tempted to look back over his shoulder to see if he could spot Stone and Vera following them. Yet he didn’t want to make it obvious that he was trying to see if his friends were coming to his aid. He didn’t really need their help. The soldiers were taking him right where he wanted to go, but he couldn’t help but worry that they might not come. He wanted his swords when he faced Yettlebor. The fabled Swords of Acromin were almost like a crown, and Lorik was truly deadly with the weapons. He would feel much more confident with the swords hanging from his hips when he entered the throne room in Ortis.
“Is it true you stopped the entire army the witch sent?” one the soldiers asked after about an hour of riding.
The formation had grown sloppy, and the soldiers were all riding in a group around Lorik. They had gotten comfortable around him. He didn’t seem like a threat, and so they treated him more like an equal even though his hands were still tied. The ropes had stretched and the knots were all loose; Lorik knew he could cast off the restraints if he chose to, but he didn’t.
“Who told you that?” Lorik said.
“Everyone says it,” the soldier said. “I’m Ian.”
“I’m Lorik. And to answer your question, no. I didn’t stop the witch’s army. In fact, I don’t know what did stop them. Only that they turned back.”
“I heard that a wizard from Yelsia stopped them,” said another soldier.
“I’ve heard that too, and I’ve met that wizard,” Lorik said. “It’s most likely the truth, although stories such as that tend to be exaggerated over time.”
“But you did fight them,” Ian insisted.
Lorik nodded.
“Just you and few others, against an army?”
“We didn’t have much choice,” Lorik said. “We were trying to slow them down to give your army time to intervene.”
“That must have been some battle,” Ian said, and Lorik could hear the yearning in his voice.
“It was a desperate battle and it ended none too soon,” Lorik said. “I take it you’ve never seen combat.”
“What makes you say that?” the young man said, his back stiffening with a sense of injured pride.
“Don’t be offended. Lack of experience doesn’t make you any less deadly. I just noticed that you wear your sword high on your hip. Your shield looks new. When your blade was drawn last night it was highly polished, and there were no marks from your whetstone.”
“I would rather be fighting than sitting in camp or being sent on foolish errands,” Ian said.
“And no doubt you’d be a great warrior,” Lorik said.
“Is it true you rescued a thousand women who had been captured and taken to Norsik?” asked another soldier. “My name is Gern.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gern. Actually, I didn’t do that alone, and I don’t think there were quite that many people. Most were women and children and they had just been taken to the northern side of the Wilderlands when we infiltrated their camp and rescued the captives.”
“What do you mean infiltrated?” Ian asked.
“We went in after dark and freed the captives while the Norsik celebrated their victory. They thought they were safe because they had made it back to Norsik. We just gave them a taste of their own medicine.”
“But surely they came after you. You couldn’t outrun raiders with a thousand women,” Gern said.
“We fought, but again, it wasn’t just me. And we had a few advantages.”
“You held off an entire army of raiders?” Ian said, his voice full of awe.
“That’s not quite true either. Most of the raiders were still in Ortis. They sent their oldest and least experienced warriors back with the captives.”
“But I heard that when you got back to Ortis, the entire Norsik army was waiting for you,” Gern said. “Ain’t that what we heard, Ian?”
The young soldier nodded.
“They were camped near the city where you found me,” Lorik said. “And yes, I fought them, but it was a foolish thing to do. I would have been killed if not for the wizard from Yelsia you mentioned. He flew in on a dragon and rescued me.”
The soldiers looked like children in that moment, hanging on Lorik’s every word. When he glanced forward he saw that the leader of the band of soldiers was looking forward, but like all the other men, he too was listening to the story. Lorik went into detail about the fight with the Norsik. It was a common enemy, and the soldiers from Baskla had no love for the raiders. And listening to the story passed the time as they rode over the nondescript fields that led south to Ort City.
In Lorik’s mind he could see the future, when those empty fields would be farmed or grazed by a thriving Ortisian populace that was prosperous and happy. The world seemed so empty since the Witch's War. And it made Lorik sad to think that so many people had been
lost.
They stopped at midday to rest the horses and have a light meal. They were all lounging, talking, and eating with no guards posted. No one expected a threat of any kind, and it seemed foolish to keep men on watch. Lorik hadn’t resisted, and there was no indication that anyone was following them, a fact which made Lorik nervous although he tried to hide it. So everyone was surprised when a group of soldiers came galloping toward them.
The soldiers around Lorik got quickly to their feet and Lorik followed suit. The Basklian soldiers wore plain gray tunics as uniform, with only their leader showing any vestiges of rank—and his was a low one. But the men that rode toward them wore splendid uniforms of red and blue, the colors of the Ortis flag. From their garments and the way the soldiers stiffened, Lorik realized that the approaching soldiers were officers.
“Who’s in charge here?” demanded the first of the officers to arrive.
“That’d be me, sir,” said the soldier who had questioned Lorik the night before. “I’m Haltis, squad leader. I have Lorik as my prisoner.”
“So I see, Squad Leader,” the officer said, his voice full of condescension. “And why pray tell was no guard posted? Other than the ropes on his hands, your prisoner looks more like a guest of honor than the criminal he is.”
“He offered no resistance sir,” said Haltis. “We didn’t think it necessary—”
“There they go thinking again,” the officer said. “What did I tell you, Ulber, they’re like sheep in need of constant guidance.”
Lorik had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking up to defend the soldiers from the haughty officer. Ulber, the officer’s companion looked dangerous. He had a thick brow and small eyes. He too wore an Ortis uniform, but where the officer’s clothes were ornamented and looked new, Ulber’s were well used and just a little bit dirty. The men with the officers were fighters, every one of them. There were no well-polished weapons or superfluous armor. They all had a hard look to them, and Lorik knew they wouldn’t be won over the way his captors would have.
“You are right, Lord Pyllvar.”
Lorik wanted to ask exactly what Pyllvar was lord of, but once again he decided that keeping his mouth shut was the wiser choice. It didn’t take a genius to see what was about to happen, and Lord Pyllvar wouldn’t be the first officer to step in and accept credit for the work of his men. Lorik detested such arrogance, but even if he could convince the soldiers who had taken him from Stone and Vera’s cottage to fight the newcomers, there was no way he could keep a majority of them from being slaughtered.
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