Lorik The Defender (The Lorik Trilogy)

by Toby Neighbors

  Lorik wondered if perhaps the wizard Zollin had been successful in destroying the witch, but he had no way of knowing.

  “I’m going to leave you now,” Lorik said. “Good luck getting home.”

  “What was the noise I heard outside?” Rylee asked.

  Lorik hesitated. What if the soldier he had killed had been like Rylee? Or what if it had been her companion.

  “Is anyone helping you here?” Lorik asked.

  “No, why?” the mutated woman said, her voice deep and hard to understand.

  “I was attacked outside this home,” he explained. “I killed the soldier who attacked me.”

  He saw the fear on Rylee’s face, but there was no sign of grief or regret.

  “You should be careful,” Lorik told her. “There are still dangerous people,” he said the word slowly, not sure what to really call the mutated soldiers now that they were free from the witch’s control, “around here. If you see... normal humans, let them know you aren’t a threat as quickly as possible. You were dangerous under the witch’s control, and others might still consider you a threat.”

  “Thank you,” Rylee said. “I will be careful.”

  Lorik nodded and then left the small home. The cold air outside the little cottage was cold, but it served to energize Lorik. He found his walking stick and hurried back toward the castle, never noticing that the silvery mist was pulsing out of the city and pointing him north.

  Chapter 22

  Queen Issalyn was cold, wet, and sore. Josston had forced them to ride through the night. They were either lost or trying to evade trackers. First he went one way, then doubled back and took a new direction. Josston led them in opposite directions over and over again. They climbed one steep hill, only to cross back over and then climb it again. They eventually settled in a bog that was surrounded by massive trees covered in creeping vines. One of Josston’s men was sent away with the horses and Queen Issalyn was chained to a great, gnarly root, along with the younger prisoner that Josston had recently returned with.

  They whispered in the darkness. Night had fallen and the temperature was bitterly cold in the damp bog. The ground was so wet it soaked through their clothing and the mud clung to them. Queen Issalyn had never been so dirty, not even as a little girl. She was terrified and exhausted, yet she forced herself to find out as much as she could about what had happened to the girl she was chained to.

  “What’s your name?” Issalyn asked.

  “Amvyr,” the girl said through chattering teeth.

  “I’m Issalyn.”

  “Why did they take us?” the girl asked, her fear evident in her voice. “What are they going to do with us?”

  “I don’t know,” Issalyn said. “Where did they take you from?”

  “From the palace,” Amvyr said, as if it should have been obvious.

  “You mean Forxam?”

  The girl nodded. “I am King Ricard’s daughter.”

  Issalyn was rocked back by the realization of what had happened. She had been fooled by Josston, she’d known that. But she hadn’t realized that he was so daring as to kidnap the princess. She could only guess that most of the king’s army was away from the city, probably away from Forxam altogether. Josston knew about the witch and her army, which made it at least likely that King Ricard did too. Perhaps he was marching south to help Lorik. Just the thought of Lorik made tears sting Issalyn’s eyes. She couldn’t help but believe if she hadn’t been so flattered by Josston’s flirtations that perhaps she would have seen him for what he really was.

  “How did they get you out of the castle?” Issalyn asked. “Weren’t there guards?”

  “Father has marched south with his army,” Amvyr said. “A wizard came to the palace, riding a green dragon and warning my father of an army marching north through Ortis. He convinced my father to take most of his troops south. There were only a few men left to guard the city.”

  Issalyn was both relieved and terrified. She had no hope that Lorik could find her and rescue her, he was too far away and completely unaware of the danger she was in. On the other hand, if King Ricard’s daughter had been taken, there was a good chance his soldiers would find them and free them, only most of those soldiers had marched south with the king, who was completely unaware that his daughter had been taken. It was frustrating, but Issalyn could see how things had fallen into place to make Josston’s daring crime possible. She had to find a way to free them. If they could just get away from Josston and his men, they might be able to find their way back to Forxam.

  “If we get out of here, could you find your way back home?” Issalyn asked.

  “You mean escape?” Amvyr asked.

  “Yes, if we escaped could you get us to Forxam?”

  “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” she asked.

  “Yes, but there is no escaping danger now. We are in danger every minute we are in their control,” Issalyn nodded her head toward the men with Josston, who were huddled around a small fire. “Could you get us home?”

  Amvyr shook her head. “I don’t know where we are. And they’ve changed directions so many times.”

  Issalyn felt a stab of anger, but choked it down. The girl was young and obviously terrified. It wouldn’t do Issalyn any good to get angry. Still, she felt like she had no good options. If she stayed with Josston and his men, she was in danger. If she escaped, she could wander through the thick forests and steep ravines until she starved or met some worse fate. She needed a way to get to safety; otherwise, she was as good as dead already. A queen without a king wasn’t much use to anyone, not even for ransom, not that anyone was still in Ortis who had the resources to pay a ransom.

  “How old are you?” Issalyn asked Amvyr.

  “Fifteen,” she said through her chattering teeth.

  “Well don’t worry, Amvyr. We’ll find a way out of this mess together.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Issalyn, Queen of Ortis.”

  “Did they kidnap you too?”

  “In a way,” Issalyn said. “I was coming to seek your father’s aid against the witch’s army. Josston tricked me into believing that he served your father and would take me to him.”

  “He never worked for father,” Amvyr said sternly.

  “I know that now,” Issalyn said, trying to be patient with the young girl. “Will someone come for us?”

  “I don’t know,” Amvyr said.

  “Your mother was in Forxam wasn’t she? What about your father’s ministers? Isn’t someone there in charge of security?”

  “Yes, my mother is there. But I don’t know who would come. My father didn’t include me in those kinds of things.”

  “I understand,” Issalyn said. “Still, we can hope that someone is looking for you. We need to make sure we’re ready when they arrive. You never know what we might be able to do to help.”

  Amvyr nodded, but she looked so terrified that Issalyn doubted that the young girl would be much help if an opportunity to escape presented itself. Still, Issalyn vowed not to leave the girl behind. They would escape together, or die trying.

  The night passed slowly. Issalyn was exhausted, but there was no way to get comfortable in the freezing mud while chained to tree roots that snaked out through the mud under her. She dozed off and on, praying for rescue. In her brief dreams she saw Lorik. He was always confused, looking for her but not understanding that she had been kidnapped. She woke up more than once calling his name.

  The men on watch glared at her in the darkness, but she ignored them. The next morning they set off on foot. It was a grueling day, bitterly cold, and with no real trail. They moved between trees and up steep hills, fighting their way through thick undergrowth. Their clothes were torn and ripped on thorns. Rocks seemed to find their way into their shoes and fatigue clung to them like the mud, weighing them down and making the trek difficult. The men behind them shoved them along whenever they failed to keep pace. More than once Issalyn fell, and by midafternoon her hands and
knees were bruised and bleeding. Amvyr fared no better, and although she hadn’t enjoyed being held on a horse by the stinking guard, she wished after her long day of walking that her captors hadn’t gotten rid of their horses.

  As the sun began to set, Josston rushed back and had his men hold both girls down. Filthy, stinking hands covered their mouths and held their arms back behind their backs until their shoulders felt as if they would pop out of place. Then they heard horses. Josston had led them into a ravine. A small, stream flowed slowly through the dense growth of weeds and thorns. The girls were held down on the ground, near the stream while the riders rode by on the high ground.

  The horses slowed and Issalyn heard voices, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. Her heart was pounding and she struggled until the pain in her arms and shoulders became overwhelming. Then, to her great disappointment, she heard the riders spur their mounts away. The familiar drumming of hooves faded into the distance. Josston soon had them up and moving again, but only a short distance. Then, he made camp in a clearing. He used rope instead of chains and tied the women’s hands behind their back and tied their ankles together too. They built a big fire and then, to Issalyn surprise, Josston and his men left.

  “Now is our chance,” she whispered furiously to Amvyr. “We’ve got to get these ropes off and escape.”

  “It’s impossible,” the young girl cried.

  “No it isn’t, don’t give up.”

  “It hurts my wrists.”

  “The ropes will stretch, don’t quit,” Issalyn urged her.

  Night fell and Issalyn continued to try and break free of her bonds. She felt every moment pass, as if time had somehow taken on weight and was pressing down on her. She worked feverishly to get free, but the ropes were too tight. Then, an hour after sunset, they heard horses again.

  “Listen!” Issalyn said. “Riders. They are looking for us.”

  “Or it’s the men who kidnapped us returning with their horses,” Amvyr said, sounding almost hopeful.

  “Don’t you want to escape and go home?” Issalyn said angrily. “Don’t you know what’s in store for us if we don’t?”

  Amvyr burst into tears and Issalyn wanted to scream. She had wanted a daughter since she was Amvyr’s age, but she had never imagined her own child being so weak and whiny.

  “Help!” Issalyn shouted. “Over here!”

  “Shut up!” Amvyr said angrily. “You’ll get us into trouble.”

  “We’re already in trouble,” Issalyn said. “Help!”

  Soldiers rode into the clearing. In the wavering light of the fire Issalyn saw the dark green uniform of the Basklan forces. Her heart swelled with hope.

  “It’s the princess,” one of the soldiers said.

  “Where are your captors?” another demanded.

  “They abandoned us here before nightfall,” Issalyn said.

  One of the soldiers slid off his horse and hurried over to Princess Amvyr’s side, drawing his dagger to cut her free, but before he could an arrow suddenly slammed into his chest. The soldier dropped like a stone and was dead before he hit the ground.

  “It’s a trap!” shouted the leader of the group, but arrows were already flying.

  In only a moment six of the soldiers fell from their horses, the others tried desperately to find cover. Issalyn and Amvyr cried out, but their shouts of terror were drowned out by the soldiers who couldn’t see into the dark trees. There was nothing but their horses to hide behind and the blazing fire ruined their night vision while making them perfect targets for Josston and his men.

  One by one the soldiers were struck down. The arrows were slower in coming after the initial volley. It was obvious that the kidnappers were taking their time, aiming carefully to make each shot count. The horses pranced around, frightened by the shouting and the smell of blood. More than once Issalyn thought she would be trampled by the skittish animals.

  “We must retreat!” shouted a young soldier.

  “We can’t leave the princess!” yelled an older man.

  Unfortunately, whenever one of the soldiers tried to rescue Amvyr, he was shot down. Several soldiers lay on the ground with arrows protruding at odd angles from their bodies, some were screaming in pain, others lay eerily still. Queen Issalyn tried harder than ever to escape her bonds, but it was no use.

  The soldiers had numbered an even dozen, but in the end, only three managed to ride away into the dark night and one of them was gravely wounded. Josston came back into the clearing with his men. He checked on his prisoners.

  “It seems you both survived,” he said with a smirk. “How fortunate for you.”

  “Eventually you’ll be caught and killed,” Issalyn said.

  “We’ll see,” Josston said.

  “Kill the survivors,” he ordered one of his men. “The rest of you ride them down. I don’t want anyone returning to Forxam. Not when we are so close to our goal.”

  Josston’s men gathered the horses of the fallen soldiers and rode after them. Josston sat down by the fire and began to eat dried rations from his pack. Issalyn’s stomach growled with hunger, but she didn’t say anything. Amvyr was weeping uncontrollably and Issalyn tried to quietly comfort her. But the truth was she also felt a deep sense of dread. Josston was no mere outlaw, he had tricked Issalyn into coming with him willingly. He had successfully kidnapped a princess from the royal castle in Forxam, and now he had set the perfect trap for the soldiers who had been sent to rescue the princess. It would be days before anyone knew the fate of the soldiers, and unless more than one group was sent out to search for Amvyr, it would be weeks before anyone found them again.

  Issalyn and Amvyr were close to the large fire and warm for the first time since they’d been taken prisoner. It was the only comfort she had. The ropes burned against her raw skin, her stomach growled with hunger, her throat was parched with thirst. But above all, her heart ached. She wanted to see Lorik just one more time, she thought. To feel the sense of security she had experienced with him. Then the night closed in and she fell asleep as a wave of despair crashed over her, snuffing out any hope that she would survive.

  Chapter 23

  Lorik hurried back into the castle and lit a fire. There was plenty of wood laid by, and oil to kindle to the blaze. A few sparks were all that was needed and the fire took quickly. Lorik then lit a lamp and made his way down to the dungeon. It was difficult for Lorik to climb over the bodies of the fallen mutated fighters without doing more damage to his sprained ankle, but he managed. In the dungeon he hurried past the empty cells and went into the storage room, pulling the hidden cord that sprung open the door to the secret passageway.

  “Everyone out,” he called, his voice echoing on the stone walls.

  There was shuffling and grunting. Lorik guessed that most of the people in the escape tunnel were asleep.

  “What is it?” asked one of the volunteers.

  “We’re safe now,” Lorik assured them. “Come out and I’ll explain it all.”

  The volunteers came out slowly. They were stiff with cold and fatigue, most had just been roused from an exhausted slumber. They looked into the dark dungeon skeptically, as if Lorik might be leading them into a trap. When Stone came out he had the same look of disbelief as the others. Vera didn’t bother holding back her skepticism.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “They’re gone,” Lorik said. “The witch’s army is gone, well, at least most of them. Come on, I’ve got a fire going upstairs. I’ll explain everything.”

  “Are you sure that it’s safe?”

  “I wouldn’t do anything that would put you in danger,” Lorik said. “Now, come on.”

  He led the way back up through the dungeon and past the heaping piles of mutated corpses. The dead bodies made the volunteers even more nervous. They carried their weapons at the ready and were nervous as they made their way to the servant’s quarters where Lorik had built the fire. The room was bright with the light from the fire, and t
he volunteers huddled near it, soaking up its warmth.

  “Tell us what happened?” Vera said. “How do you know the monsters are gone?”

  “I left the tunnel,” Lorik said, immediately holding up his hands to stop Vera’s rebuke. “I had a feeling that something was different. I went up to the watchtower and there were no more crowds of soldiers, but I saw lights in the town. Some of the buildings were being occupied. I went to investigate.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Vera said angrily.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but the mist was leading me,” Lorik explained.

  “What mist?” Stone asked.

  “Mist, like in the Wilderlands,” Lorik said. “It was beckoning me outside.”

  Stone and Vera looked at each other nervously. Lorik was sounding crazy, but they didn’t voice their fears.

  “There are still a few of the mutated fighters in the town, but they aren’t under the witch’s control anymore,” Lorik continued. “It’s like they just woke up. They’re frightened, even of each other. I don’t know how many of the fighters were released, but the streets are littered with the dead.”

  “How do you know about this waking up?” Vera asked.

  “Because I spoke to one of them,” Lorik explained. “It was a woman, from Osla. She said she remembered the attack on her village by the Leffers, then she woke up here, in a mob of mutated fighters. She has no memory of anything in between.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “She begged for her life,” Lorik said. “She was crying and frightened, not mindless and blank the way the others had been.”

  “So what does this all mean?” Stone said.

  “It means we live for one thing,” Lorik said happily. “We’re alive and not in danger.”