Chaos Descending (13 page)

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.

From the looks of things, Yettlebor was smarter than Lorik had given him credit for. Having lived in Hassell Point most of his life, a port city on the far side of the Marshlands where outlaws and pirates often made harbor, Lorik recognized the type of men who now wore the royal uniforms of Ortis’ army. Yettlebor had hired mercenaries and outlaws to rule the land. He had traded the fortune of a kingdom that wasn’t his own to secure his place as king. Probably granting the mercenaries lands, titles, and in most cases, unrestricted authority over the people of Ortis in exchange for the loyalty of criminals.

The reality was not only shocking, but infuriating. Lorik knew how men like Pyllvar would treat the citizens of Ortis. They would be his slaves, forced to work themselves into exhaustion just to pay his taxes and support his excessive lifestyle. That thought alone made Lorik furious, but seeing men who had no ties to Ortis and who only truly cared about themselves, wearing the royal uniform of the kingdom that Lorik loved, made his blood boil. Still, he held all his emotions in check and made sure that his face and posture remained passive.

“We shall relieve you of this burden,” Pyllvar said, “since you are so obviously inept. Take your men back to the border and resume your duties there, squad leader.”

“My lord,” said Haltis. “Our orders were to watch Lorik’s friends and to take him to King Yettlebor when he returned from the Wilderlands. We were never on guard duty.”

“Then I’m giving you new orders,” Pyllvar said. “Go watch the forest for signs of Norsik raiders. That will be all.”

Haltis looked almost as angry as Lorik, but he didn’t argue, especially when Ulber leaned forward in his saddle menacingly.

“Yes sir,” Haltis said.

“Bring the prisoner,” Pyllvar said, turning his horse away from the group of soldiers.

Ulber motioned to his men, two of which moved forward. Lorik had hoped he would be able to ride the horse the soldiers had provided him, but when he saw the rope the mercenaries carried, he knew he would have to walk.

The soldiers looked aghast as the mercenaries dropped a loop of the rope around Lorik’s neck and led him away. Lorik didn’t speak and didn’t resist. He held his hands close together, hoping that his new captors wouldn’t bother retying his hands. Lorik was under no illusions about Pyllvar and his men, or what Yettlebor would have ordered them to do. They wouldn’t bother to take Lorik to Ort City alive. They would kill him as soon as they were out of sight of the soldiers and then carry his carcass back to their king. If Lorik was going to survive the afternoon, he would have to make a move soon.

The rope tightened as the mercenaries who led him hurried back to their comrades. And Lorik only had time for one last glance over his shoulder, but there was still no sign of Stone or Vera. And Lorik knew he had to think of some way of freeing himself and escaping the mercenaries on his own. He needed time to think, but he had no idea how quickly the mercenaries would try to slay him. The only thing Lorik knew for certain was that his options were quickly disappearing. If he were going to survive the day, he would have to do something drastic… and soon.

Chapter 13

The sound of the arrow slamming into the white haired creature was loud, and the force of the projectile, along with the creature’s resulting movement caused by the pain, gave Quinn a moment to regain his senses. He had been pulled from the saddle, but the creature had lost its bite on his arm. While the creature's longest teeth had penetrated the leather wrist cuffs he wore on his forearms, the wound wasn't life threatening or even debilitating. His arm burned, but his adrenaline was pumping so much that he hardly felt the pain. He had lost his spear in the darkness, but the torches lay burning a few feet away.

Four of the white-haired creatures had converged on the horse, and the resulting neighs of terror, mixed with the ferocious growling of the beasts as they fought the poor steed, were horrifying. Quinn saw the horse fall to the ground with two of the white beasts on its back and another with its powerful jaws clamped down hard on the horse’s rear leg. The animals looked like wolverines, but their fur was completely white and they were much larger than a typical wolverine. These creatures were larger than a dog, with thick, powerful legs, wide bodies, and pointed faces. Their jaws bulged with muscle, and their teeth seemed too big for their mouths. Their most horrifying feature was the long, black claws on the ends of all four feet. Quinn guessed the claws were at least as long as his fingers.