Lorik (The Lorik Trilogy) (15 page)

The horse scrambled to the side and galloped out of the swamp, leaving Stone and Lorik behind as it ran into the wilderness beyond. Stone was so surprised that he hit the water flat on his back, but his instincts kicked in, and he rolled to his feet immediately. Lorik jumped off the wagon with a javelin but didn’t have a chance to catch Stone’s horse. He ran back to the water and saw the mud dragon swimming toward Stone, who had both knives drawn.

Lorik threw the javelin and turned to grab another without even looking to see if the first hit the mark. He wasn’t trying to kill the beast, just get one javelin into its thick skin so that it couldn’t hide beneath the water. He turned around after grabbing two more javelins and saw that his first had lodged in the mud dragon’s side. It rolled, snapping the lance, but there was still enough wood standing up that they could see it. There was also blood in the water now, which would draw the other mud dragons. The animals weren’t opposed to eating their own kind when the opportunity arose.

“Go back,” Lorik shouted.

Stone obeyed instantly, moving slowly backward through the knee-deep water. The wounded mud dragon was thrashing, and Lorik hoped it would distract the other creatures from attacking Stone. In only a moment there were three pairs of eyes moving slowly through the water toward the wounded mud dragon.

Then, without warning, a huge mud dragon jumped out of the water in front of Stone. He fell back to avoid the massive jaws, which snapped closed where he had been a moment before. The sound of the teeth clacking together sounded like the crack of a whip. The beast’s momentum carried it forward so that it came down on top of Stone, who was busy slashing at the mud dragon’s soft flesh under its jaw. The mud dragon scrambled backward, and a javelin buried itself in the water beside Stone, who was on his feet in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the javelin, pulled it free from the muddy soil, and turned it on the mud dragon.

Lorik had thought all was lost when he saw the monster leap from the water at Stone, but he threw the javelin to the young warrior’s aid anyway. When he saw the mud dragon thrash backward, he threw the second javelin. It came down in the middle of the creature’s back. This time when the mud dragon rolled in the water, the steel head of the javelin was pushed deeper into the beast’s back, mortally wounding the beast, who spasmed and then stopped moving.

Stone didn’t hesitate for a second but turned and ran back to the far side of the swamp. When he reached the muddy bank he jumped up and landed in the mud on his hands and knees, crawling forward until he could stand up again. He turned and saw the carnage in the water. The first mud dragon was losing a deadly battle with two other beasts, while two more converged on the dying creature that had almost killed Stone.

“You okay?” Lorik yelled.

“Yes, just a little shook up.”

“You’re damn lucky to be alive,” Lorik said. “I’m sorry.”

“Just part of the job, right?”

They watched for a few more moments as the mud dragons devoured each other. Then they moved away from the scene of the attack, and Lorik stood ready with his remaining javelins while Stone made his way across the the swamp. Moving through the water was unnerving, but Stone didn’t give in to the fear he felt. He knew that the best way to overcome fear was to face it as soon as possible. And while he didn’t run into any more mud dragons, crossing through the swamp on foot, as harrowing as it was, gave him a sense of mastering the fear. His heart was racing as he slogged through the water, but he forced himself not to panic or hurry. He moved cautiously through the water, alert for any movement, and when he reached the other side he and Lorik both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why don’t you take a turn in the wagon?” Lorik said. “Get those wet boots off and let your feet dry. I’ll lead the wagon and see if we can’t find your horse.”

Stone accepted and climbed up into the wagon. He had just pulled his boots off, having to pour water out of them, when Lorik handed him a wooden cup of mead.

“I don’t know if it’s strong enough to calm your nerves, but it’s worth a try.”

“Thanks,” Stone said.

“We’ll need to remember this if we keep you on horseback,” Lorik said as he turned the horses back toward the trail. “It might be better if we both stay on the wagon next time.”

“I won’t argue,” Stone said, taking a long drink of mead. The warmth spread through his arms and legs, which had been chilled from the swamp water. “Thanks for throwing that javelin. It saved my life.”

“Forget it,” Lorik said, as he led the team of horses back toward the trail. “I should have found a better place to cross. I didn’t think about the mud dragons attacking your horse.”

“We both made it out alive, and I won’t forget to check for mud dragons at any body of water ever again.”

They trekked on and found Stone’s horse half an hour later. It was covered in mud, but unhurt. They tied the mare to the back of the wagon and let it follow behind them for a while without a rider.

When night came they made camp and built a bigger fire than usual. Stone’s boots were still very wet, so they set them near the fire in hopes of drying them out. They both had an extra cup of mead that evening, and Stone struggled to sleep. He had faced death many times, but the memory of the mud dragon’s dripping maw and the rotting stench of its breath haunted his dreams.

The next day they met Varn. He was a little man, short and thin. His hair and beard hung down past his shoulders. He wore a vest that was brown and leathery. It took Stone a few minutes to realize the vest was made from mud dragon hide. He carried a javelin and a small skinning knife. Varn was a true Marshlander, living off the land, rather than in a village.

“The water’s up, east of here,” Varn told them. “But you should have an easy trail north.”

“Thanks for that information,” Lorik told him. “I’ve got some mead here. Would you like a cup?”

“I never turn down good brew,” Varn said. “It’s rare in the marshes, that’s for certain.”

They all had a drink as they traveled along. Stone was surprised that they didn’t stop or that Lorik didn’t offer Varn a seat on the wagon—not that there was much room with the keg of mead on the bench seat beside him—but it seemed somehow rude that they just kept moving as they talked.

“I never thought I’d see you with a partner,” Varn told Lorik. “I thought you were too nasty to have any friends.”

“It was his idea,” Lorik said, pointing back toward Stone. “Although we had a run-in with a pack of hungry mud dragons yesterday. He may have changed his mind.”

“Trekking through the marshes isn’t for the faint of heart, is it?” Varn called back to Stone.

“No, it isn’t.”

“I’ve had a run-in with a few mud dragons myself,” he said, holding up his left hand and revealing that his ring and pinky fingers were missing. “Nasty brute ate my fingers, but I had the last laugh. This is his hide right here,” he said, rubbing the vest. “They’ve got tough skin, but it can be softened up. I usually use it to make the soles of my boots. The old folks can shape it so that there aren’t any seams, which makes the boots waterproof.”

Varn turned back to Lorik. “When will you be back through?”

“A week or so,” Lorik said. “We have supplies to trade for, then we’re coming home.”

“You think you could pick me up some wool? Marna down by Olis Village is having a baby soon. She could use something warm for the little one.”

“Yours?” Lorik asked.

“Could be. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Just one bale of wool?”

“That would be more than enough,” Varn said.

“All right, I’ll keep an eye out for you on my way back through.”

“In a week or so. I’ll find you,” Varn told him. “Good luck, mate,” he called to Stone.

“And you as well,” Stone replied.

Then, without warning, Varn turned into the thick brush that lined the trail.

“Did he give you something to trade for the wool?” Stone asked.

“No,” Lorik said. “Varn’s a Marshlander. They don’t usually make trade goods, and I doubt he’s even seen more than a few coppers in his whole life.”

“So you’re just going to buy the wool for him?”

“Yes and no,” Lorik said. “I trade with the Marshlanders, mainly in information. They know the marshes better than anyone else. If you have a problem out here, they’re about your only hope. It never hurts to do them a favor when you can.”

Stone nodded. He agreed that it made sense to keep a man like Varn on your good side, but he didn’t like being taken advantage of by anyone. He was used to living in a world where nothing was given for free, and the strong took what they wanted from the weak.

There were no more incidents in the next three days it took them to cross the marshes. There were mud bogs that had to be circumvented, but they made good time. Stone was surprised as the terrain suddenly changed. The swampy marshes disappeared and vegetation changed from shrubs and wilted grass to rolling hills with tall trees and short, green grass that the horses nipped at whenever they had a chance.

They had to turn west to find the road that led from the marshes to Yorik Shire, although they didn’t plan to go all the way to the large city where the Earl held court. Instead, they planned to stop and trade at Pallsen, a fairly large village less than two days’ ride from the Marshlands.

The road was little more than a dirt path, but it was level and straight. The ground was hard-packed with no vegetation, so the horses made good time. They were able to travel half a day before stopping to make camp for the night. They had just finished seeing to the horses and were sitting down next to a small fire when they heard a twig break. Unlike the marshes, where the animals were nearly silent, the forest road seemed alive with life. There were birds nesting and squirrels hopping from branch to branch. As evening fell, crickets chirped and insects buzzed around the fire.

Stone and Lorik were both aware that the breaking twig was not a natural sound, although neither of them moved or spoke. Stone looked around, but it was impossible to see in the dark. Their little fire made the forest around them seem all the more dark compared to its brightness.

Lorik always kept his new axe close to hand, never leaving it in the wagon when they made camp and making sure it was within reach when he slept. He slowly reached out and took hold of it. Stone nodded and slowly turned away from the fire. Lorik turned to face the opposite direction. There was another crack, this time followed by the sound of someone cursing under his breath.

Lorik’s body felt tight. Fear was running an icy finger down his spine, and his bowels felt watery. He’d known that outlaws were a possibility, but he hadn’t expected them this close to the marshes. In the past, some outlaws had tried to use the unforgiving terrain of the Marshlands as a hiding place, but most outsiders had no desire to risk the dangers of the swamps. Their fire must have attracted the men slowly approaching their camp. Although they didn’t seem experienced in stealth, it was a fight nonetheless, and Lorik knew that anything could happen in a fight. He preferred to stack the odds in his favor whenever possible. Facing an unknown number of outlaws in the forest at night was not his idea of a favorable situation.

“Now!” came a shout from the dark, and they heard the outlaws rushing forward.

Lorik snatched up his axe and raised it with two hands above his right shoulder. Stone drew his knives and waited as the men hurried forward. It was hard to determine the exact number because they had surrounded the campsite. The first to appear was an old man with nothing but a knotty club. He came running straight toward Lorik, his face red with exertion and his scraggly, gray beard puffing with each gasping breath. A second man followed the first. He was younger and armed with an old sword.

The old man swung his club, but Lorik dodged out of the way, and the attacker’s momentum carried him past Lorik. The younger man charged ahead with his sword held straight out in front of him. Lorik swung his heavy axe to knock the sword away; it connected with the rusty blade with a pop, and the sword blade broke in two. Lorik saw the look on the young outlaw’s face change from determined to defeated in that instant. He followed his parry with a well-aimed kick that knocked the young outlaw’s foot out from under him. The young man fell to the ground with a thud.

Stone’s opponents were not so fortunate. They were more experienced, and both had weapons in each hand. On carried a small sickle on a short handle in one hand and a dagger in the other. He reached Stone first, hacking at the young warrior with the razor-sharp sickle. Stone swayed out of reach, the sickle blade passing just below his chin and close enough that Stone felt the wind as it passed. The outlaw followed the slash with an overhead stab with his dagger. Stone spun out of the way like a dancer, his own knife blade slashing through the man’s abdomen just below his ribs. Blood and entrails spilled out, and the outlaw’s liver and right kidney were ruined. The man fell with a grunt and didn’t move.

The next outlaw had a spear. It was long and heavy, and the outlaw wielding it had had training. He slashed the heavy weapon at Stone’s head, who ducked below the iron spear tip. The outlaw also had a spiked club. When he saw that Stone was darting inside the reach of his spear, he dropped the weapon and swung the club with both hands. Had it landed, it would have broken bones, but the club found nothing but air. Stone had bounced away again, never standing still or giving his opponent an easy target.