Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy)

by Toby Neighbors

I will give you everything you desire.

  Lorik realized he could have everything, but he also realized it would mean nothing to him. His father’s voice popped into his head, reminding him that working for the things he wanted was good. When you work for something, you can take pride in it, his father had said. A man uses his strength and energy to provide the things his family needs. There’s never any shame in a hard day’s work.

  Lorik stepped back and the change was palpable. The temptation was suddenly gone, like stepping from a dark cave, and into sunlight. Lorik waited for a moment, trying to remember what he needed to do. The darkness around him was still as complete as before, but it didn’t seem frightening anymore, just bothersome.

  He turned and made his way to the staircase that led back up into the castle. He moved carefully, taking each step cautiously and keeping one hand on the stone wall. The stairway spiraled upward. He passed several doorways, but kept moving up. Eventually, he saw light. It was dim, but enough that he could make out dark shadows among the gloom. Then he smelled bread baking, and the unmistakable scent of oats.

  He followed his nose more than his eyes and eventually came to the kitchens. Vanz was hard at work. He had bread in the ovens and a large pot of bubbling oatmeal. Light was pouring in from an open window, as well as from the fire that crackled merely in the hearth.

  “You’re up early, my lord,” Vanz said.

  “So are you. Breakfast smells good.”

  “Should I prepare you a bowl? It’s naught but oatmeal and fresh bread, but there’s butter, honey, and some fruit preserves.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Lorik said.

  He ate quickly, finishing the bowl of warm oatmeal sweetened with honey and eating an entire loaf of warm bread with butter. There was wine and ale, but Lorik drank water. Then he took a burning stick from the fire.

  “I’ll light a fire in the feasting hall,” Lorik said. “We have a lot of work to do today.”

  “I’ll make sure everyone has plenty to eat,” Vanz assured him.

  Lorik thanked the cook and went up to the feasting hall. It was empty and gloomy, but he soon had a fire going in the hearth. He searched in the servant’s quarters and found a long pole with a hook on the end. He used it to open the shutters over the high windows in the feasting hall. The cold winter air came in, but so did the sunlight. Lorik felt it was a fair trade.

  None of the volunteers had roused themselves yet, and Lorik decided to run up to the top of the lookout tower. He jogged up the stairs, happy to be working the tensions from his muscles as he ran. When he finally reached the top, he stepped outside with more than a little trepidation. He feared that a massive army would be seen marching toward the city, but even though he looked in every direction, there was nothing to see. Nothing moved in the city below or in the countryside that surrounded the castle, except the long grass that swayed in the cold winter wind.

  Lorik filled his lungs with the cold air, then jogged back down to the feasting hall. He collected two pots from the kitchens and banged them together as he walked up the wide, ornate staircase that led to the sleeping quarters. His volunteers came stumbling out.

  “Breakfast is downstairs,” he called. “Everyone up and out to the feasting hall. There’s work to be done.”

  The men grumbled, but none were truly angry.

  “I think sleeping on feather beds is making you all soft,” Lorik called to the men.

  “What’s got you in a tear this morning?” Stone asked, stepping out of a room and closing the door behind him.

  “I’ve found something,” Lorik said. “Come with me.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “How can you think of food at a time like this?” Lorik teased.

  “You’ve already eaten, haven’t you.”

  “Maybe just a little. Now come on, I have something to show you.”

  Chapter 14

  The trip north had been uneventful. Queen Issalyn had left the refugee camp near the Wilderlands the same day that Lorik had gone south. The day had been as gray as she felt; leaving Lorik simply didn’t feel right. She’d been excited when she married King Oveer, but that had been more over the pomp and circumstance than because she loved him. And that marriage certainly hadn’t turned out the way she thought it would. In the end, she felt more like a prisoner than a queen.

  For days she and her escort had ridden west, moving swiftly as they circled the southern point of the northern sea which separated the Norsik tribal lands from Baskla. It snowed on the fourth day of their journey, big white flakes that seemed to dance in the air. The snow soon covered the ground and made their journey slower than before. They crossed the border and the softly rolling plains changed into rough, rocky hills full of stunted trees.

  The volunteer guard sent one man ahead to find shelter for the night, and just before night fell they were led to a small farm where they took shelter in the barn. The farmer was an older man; his wife was very sick and the barn was nearly empty. Only an old milk cow, some chickens, and a blind horse remained. The volunteers saw to the party’s horses, fourteen in all. Queen Issalyn and her shieldmaidens did their best to make the loft into a warm, comfortable space. A wood stove on the ground level of the barn was the only source of heat. The barn had been skillfully built, but it was decades old and had fallen into disrepair of late. Water dripped from the leaky roof, and cold wind blew through the cracks between the warped planking.

  A little warmth could be found from the old metal stove pipe that ran from the wood stove up through the loft and out the roof of the barn. The queen’s maidens huddled around it on a layer of hay that would serve as their bed for the night. Issalyn stood near the window, which was shuttered but the gaps were wide enough to see through. She watched the snow falling until the night became too dark.

  Lanterns were lit on the ground level, but due to the risk of fire none were brought up to the hay loft. Soft light shown through the loft’s opening from the main barn level, but so did the smell of animals and manure.

  “This is not a fit place for you, my queen,” said one of the maidens, wrapping a blanket around Issalyn’s shoulders.

  “It is warm and mostly dry,” Issalyn tried to smile. “It shall do for tonight.”

  The truth was that Issalyn didn’t care about spending the night in a filthy barn. Nor did she care that it was cold. Her misery came from being so far from Lorik. She had never met a man like him. He was both humble and kingly at the same time. He genuinely cared about people, from the men he rode with, to the poorest refugee in the camp by the Wilderlands. He was an unstoppable warrior, she was sure of that after seeing him battle the monsters that had attacked them on their flight north. Yet he was kind to her, and her maidens. She remembered the warmth of his touch and shivered. The thought of his soft kisses made her knees tremble.

  He was the perfect example of masculine strength, but she was attracted to much more than his hulking appearance. She was drawn to his noble character and sense of duty. At the refugee camp she had heard stories of how he had rescued a group of women and children who had been captured by the Norsik and carried away into their tribal lands. He had fought the raiders and led the captives back through the Wilderlands, only to find a huge army of raiders camped on the Ortisian side of the massive forest. Then, she was told, he fought the raiders single handedly, killing hundreds before a massive green dragon appeared and fought with him.

  He not only looked like a hero of old, he was capable of great deeds just like the warriors of legend. Queen Issalyn had no doubt that poets and singers would write great ballads of his mighty feats. And yet, it wasn’t his fame or his accomplishments that she cherished, it was his tender touch and warm embrace.

  “Are you okay, my lady?” the servant asked, shaking the queen from her reverie.

  “Of course,” Issalyn said. “We should eat and then rest. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

  Dinner was more dried rations. The farmer was existing
on cows’ milk and old vegetables. He didn’t have enough to feed the queen’s party and she insisted that he didn’t try. Instead, they chewed salted pork and drank water from the farmer’s well. It wasn’t a satisfying meal, but the party was tired and cold. The women huddled together in the loft, sleeping close to share their body heat. The men slept around the wood stove on the ground floor, their weapons kept at the ready.

  The next morning, they found almost a foot of snow on the ground, but Issalyn insisted they push on. To her way of thinking, if Lorik was fighting to give King Ricard’s men time to reach the border, she wasn’t going to let anything keep her from getting them there quickly.

  The horses trod slowly through the snow. It was impossible to see the road leading north, buried as it was under the snow. So they traveled where the snow was flat with trees looming up on either side. They rode single file, the volunteers taking turns riding point in an effort to not tire their horses too badly as they trudged through the fresh snow.

  Early that afternoon, they came to a village with an inn. The queen had fled without thinking of taking coin, so they settled for a single room for Issalyn and two of her maids. The others camped behind the small inn. It was the first time that had a warm meal in several days, and the first real bed Queen Issalyn had slept in since she left Ort City.

  The terrain became more difficult to cross, especially since the snow left everything muddy and slick. The trails were rocky, causing the horses to lose shoes from their dark hooves. The queen’s maidens insisted that she ride, but Queen Issalyn refused and walked her horse along with the others. Early on the tenth day of their journey, they were met by small group of soldiers traveling south. One of the volunteers went forward to introduce Queen Issalyn. The two groups met beside a huge boulder. One of the soldiers, a knight from all appearances, came forward and bowed before the queen.

  “My lady, it is an honor to meet you. My name is Josston, son of Lord Ulbaar.”

  He was a slender man, close to Issalyn’s own age. He wore his armor, which looked well used and maintained, easily, as if he were accustomed to the weight of it. He had long brown hair which he kept tied back in a loose ponytail and his cheeks and chin were covered with dark stubble that showed spots of gray.

  “King Ricard has sent us south to check on the border. Has the witch’s army overrun your lands?”

  “You know of the witch’s army?” Queen Issalyn asked in surprise.

  “Yes, we’ve heard rumors. I wasn’t in Forxam when the wizard came on his dragon to warn us. These are truly wondrous times we are living in.”

  “They are, but perilous as well,” Queen Issalyn said. “Ort City was overrun by horrible flying monsters. I’m afraid most of Ortis is lost. A small group of volunteer soldiers have moved south in hopes of buying us time, but without the army from Baskla, I’m afraid we will all be overrun.”

  “You have nothing to fear, my lady. King Ricard is mobilizing his forces. If you can give us a detailed account, I will send it north to Forxam.”

  “I was on my way to do just that,” Queen Issalyn said.

  “Then allow me to escort you.”

  “What about your mission?” she asked.

  “My task was find out as much as possible and report back to my king. I doubt I can learn more than you already know, my lady.”

  “Good,” Queen Issalyn said.

  The group, twice as large as before, moved north more swiftly. Issalyn rode beside Josston and told him what had happened in Ortis.

  “My late husband was mobilizing his troops to sail north and attack Yelsia,” she told him as they rode along.

  “Yes, we were waiting to join forces with him, I’m afraid,” Josston said. “They never came.”

  “No,” Issalyn agreed. “I was not with them, but we suddenly got word that Oveer wanted all his troops to join him in Osla. He was marching south and even the reserve guard was to join him. We were left defenseless.”

  “I’m shocked,” Josston said. “What would cause him to make such a rash decision?”

  “The witch,” Issalyn said quietly. “He must have fallen under her spell.”

  “I cannot imagine anyone being able to compare with your own beauty, if I may be so bold,” the knight said.

  Issalyn felt her checks flush. She had not been around men for a long time. King Oveer had only brought her out to show off her beauty to visiting dignitaries or on feast days. As the Queen of Ortis, the men who spoke to her were courteous, but none dared to flirt with her. Despite Oveer’s reputation for infidelity, he was also known to be extremely jealous. Issalyn had not be sincerely complimented in years.

  “You may,” Queen Issalyn said. “And thank you. I’m afraid my husband and his entire army are dead.”

  “That is what we heard as well,” Josston said sadly. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

  “What I need is not sympathy,” Issalyn said. “My husband was a fool. He has left our kingdom in a desperate situation. The Norsik invaded when they realized the troops guarding the Wilderlands had abandoned their posts. If not for Lord Lorik, there would not be a kingdom left.”

  “We have heard of this man as well. He is a lord of Ortis then?”

  “Not exactly,” Issalyn said. She felt slightly guilty talking about Lorik to another man. She liked Josston’s attention; he was a handsome man, and obviously a chivalrous one as well. Their flirtation made her feel alive and she found it exciting.

  “He is a mighty warrior,” she said, “like a hero of old. He is king of the forest elves in the Wilderlands. At least, that is what I have been told. He rules the refugee camp which is made up of survivors from the Norsik raids and people fleeing the witch’s monsters from the south.”

  “Where is the camp?” Josston asked.

  “It is stretched along the northern border,” Queen Issalyn replied. “The monsters haven’t come that far. They have fallen back with captives which the witch is using to create her army.”

  “Who is this foul sorceress?”

  “I don’t know. Most of our information comes from the same wizard you mentioned. I did not speak to him, but Lord Lorik has.”

  “The wizard did not consult you in Ort City?”

  “No,” Queen Issalyn said, her face downcast. “I did not learn of him until I met Lord Lorik. He and his volunteers came south and escorted the refugees north from Ort City. He saved all our lives.”

  “He must be a mighty warrior,” Josston said.

  Queen Issalyn felt her cheeks flush again and realized she probably sounded like a young maiden bragging about her beau. She straightened in her saddle and adjusted the heavy cloak around her shoulders.

  “He is,” she said softly. “Tell me more of what the wizard told your king.”

  “He warned us of the witch’s army. He claimed to be gathering forces to make a stand on the Falxis side of the Walheta Mountains. He urged us to join forces with this Lorik you speak of on our southern border.”

  “Do you believe him?” Issalyn asked.

  “As I said, my lady, I wasn’t there when he spoke with King Ricard. I will say that I find all of this hard to believe. I heard that the reason we were mobilizing to attack Yelsia was because they harbored a wizard. We also heard rumors of a great black dragon ravaging the northern villages of Yelsia. Now a witch is creating an army and we’re to join forces with the king of the forest elves. I’m afraid I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “I understand,” Queen Issalyn said. “I feel much the same way. I don’t think I could believe it if I hadn’t seen the monsters for myself.”

  “You mentioned the monsters,” Josston said. “What were they like?”

  “They were horrible,” she admitted. “They had the body of a horse, but the chest, shoulders, arms, and head of a man. Their eyes were black and they had talons for fingers. Long, oval shaped wings sprouted from their back. They were almost like dragonfly wings. And from the haunches of the horse they had a huge scorpion tail, c
omplete with venomous stingers.”

  “It is truly hard to imagine,” Josston said.

  “They were worse than any nightmare,” she confided. “I had the city gates closed, when we saw them approaching, but they flew over the battlements. They impaled their victims with their tails and then flew south again.”

  “Surely if they impaled people, the witch couldn’t use the victims as her army. Isn’t it more likely that they were eating the people they caught?”

  “I don’t know,” Issalyn said. “We never saw them eating their victims. We survived the first assault in the royal castle, but the monsters broke through the roofs of the other buildings. No one was safe. When the second wave struck, it became obvious that we couldn’t stay in the city. The monsters attacked in large numbers, and eventually they would have razed the castle. After the second attack, we gathered what survivors we could and fled north.”

  “I’m sorry you had to endure such horrific events,” Josston said, his gaze so steady it made Issalyn both giddy and nervous at the same time. “I assure you that you are safe now, my lady. I guarantee it on my honor.”

  “You are very kind,” Issalyn said. “How much farther is Forxam?”

  “Not far, my lady. Not far.”

  Chapter 15

  They went down into the bowels of the castle once again. This time they both had lamps. When they went into the dungeon, Lorik feared that he might be tempted to open the secret door again, but this time the voice beyond was silent. Perhaps, Lorik thought, it was because of the light or maybe Stone’s presence. Either way, he was glad not to be tempted again. It was disconcerting to think that perhaps the way out of the castle was through the secret door in the dungeon corridor, but that is not where the mist had led Lorik. If that hidden passage was the only way out of the castle, Lorik knew he would abandon the city before opening the door to whatever evil lay beyond it.

  “Oh, what a lovely place you’ve brought me to,” Stone said as they walked down the dungeon corridor. “And what a magnificent aroma. I’m glad I didn’t eat.”