Chaos Descending (18 page)

The wolverine died long before Mansel’s strength gave out. When he finally stopped stabbing the animal, it was nearly cut in two. He flung the carcass off him and got shakily to his feet. The tinder had been on the remains of some wood that would have burned up completely in an earlier fire, but no one had been around to tend to the burning logs. The wood began to burn brightly, and Mansel looked down at his hands, which were covered in blood. His whole body was covered in blood, but very little of it was his own. For a moment he was transfixed, but then he heard growling outside the cabin. He picked up a burning log and hurried to the open door, not noticing that some of the other logs had tumbled from the fireplace.

In front of the cabin was another of the white furred creatures, only this one was dark with blood all around its muzzle, neck, and forepaws. Mansel held up the firebrand, trying to shine more light on the creature. The incredibly large wolverine growled menacingly, but when Mansel moved out onto the porch the beast fled, running away from the cabin into the darkness.

The horse neighed again, and Mansel ran to see about the poor animal. He saw none of the wolverines, but he guessed there were more close by. He soothed the horse as best he could before climbing into the saddle. Then he drew Death’s Eye and rode around the stable. In the darkness beyond his circle of light he heard the deep, throaty growl of another wolverine, but he didn’t let that stop him. He searched for any signs of Nycol. The ground between the stable and the cabin was hard packed dirt, but he did see hoof prints leading away from his property. The stride was long; Nycol must have fled at full gallop. Finding her was the only thing on his mind, and he didn’t notice the smoke rising from the cabin behind him as he kicked the horse forward. He knew Nycol’s time was running out, and he was determined to find her no matter what.

Chapter 17

The mercenaries dragged Lorik for several hours—much longer than he had anticipated—but the time gave him the chance to formulate a plan of sorts. Each soldier carried a short curving sword. If he could just get hold of one of their weapons, he would be able to fight his way clear.

The mercenaries were hardened killers. Despite his superior size and strength, they could overcome him with their greater numbers. The one thing he had in his favor was the way the group of soldiers were spread out. They didn't see him as a threat, and their arrogance would play right into his hands if he waited for the right moment. It wouldn’t do him any good to break free and then be run down by the mercenaries on their horses. Even if he was able to get one of the horses, he couldn’t outrun his captors. Biding his time and waiting for an opportunity to escape without being followed was the best option. He couldn’t wait too long, though, or he’d end up dead before he got his chance to escape.

It was just before nightfall when the troop stopped to make camp. Lorik was exhausted but hopeful that the coming darkness would conceal him once he made his escape. The rope around his neck had rubbed the skin raw. Whenever he tried to adjust it, the mercenary leading him tugged on the rope, sending him stumbling in an effort to stay on his feet and cinching the rope even tighter.

"See to the horses!" Pyllvar said. "And secure the prisoner. I doubt those yokels could tie a proper knot."

"We know our business," snarled Ulber. “Don’t let your new position go to your head.”

“Is that any way to speak to a lord?” Pyllvar asked, feigning outrage.

“Don’t know; never spoke to one,” Ulber grumbled.

The mercenaries set up their camp quickly and efficiently. Lorik had hoped they would remove the rope around his neck before retying his hands, but his captors were more cautious than they let on. Two of the larger mercenaries held him tightly, one on each of his arms. Another man held the rope around his neck, ready to jerk Lorik backward if he tried anything. A fourth man untied the rope around Lorik’s hands, which were then jerked behind him and retied.

“Enjoy a short rest,” Pyllvar said. “The real fun begins once we've eaten.”

Lorik was pushed down near the fire, his rope leash tied to a stake that was hammered into the ground. Getting free would be possible, but not easy. The mercenaries watched him as they set up their camp for the night. He would have to wait for nightfall to work on the ropes binding his wrists. Unfortunately, his hands were already growing numb, and he wouldn’t have the dexterity he would need to sort through the knots. He might not even have the strength to hold a weapon if he was able to get free at all.

For the first time since being taken captive, he wondered if he might not survive. The thought of dying didn’t disturb him nearly as much as the gall of dying at the hands of mercenaries he knew he could defeat in a fair fight. Their arrogance about his plight made him seethe, but there was little he could do about it.

The mercenaries ate little, but drank much. Several of the men were drunk by the time their meal was finished. Lorik watched them, struggling with his bonds whenever he could. He was close enough to their large campfire that he was clearly visible to them, but once they began drinking, they rapidly lost interest in their prisoner.

“Time for some fun? What say you?” Pyllvar said in a loud voice.

The mercenaries shouted their approval. Lorik was flexing his hands, trying to force the blood to flow back into them. He had no idea what his captors had in mind, but he was certain it wasn’t anything good. They removed the noose for the first time since taking charge of him, and he knew his time was close. Only two men had taken hold of his arms; the rest were sitting or lying sprawled out closer to the fire. The night seemed dark, and something inside Lorik knew that the darkness would hide him. He needed to get away from the camp, to let the darkness cover him, and then he would be truly free. The mercenaries were drunk and probably without any night vision from staring into the fire all evening. Even though his hands were numb and still securely tied behind his back, Lorik knew his chance to escape had finally come.

He slammed his shoulder into the man on his left, and then lashed out with his foot toward the man on the right’s knee. His boot connected, and the mercenary’s leg gave way. The injured man screamed as his knee buckled. Lorik caught a glimpse of angry faces around the fire, but the men were slow to get up, and Lorik raced away. The darkness beckoned like a lover Lorik hadn’t seen in a long time. He ran away from the camp, his own eyes straining in the darkness, his hands still struggling to break free from the ropes that had been wrapped so tightly across his wrists.

He didn’t see the large form of Ulber looming up out of the darkness in front of him. Afterward he spent many long hours trying to figure out how the burly mercenary got the drop on him. He couldn’t remember if Ulber had been around the fire, but he guessed not. Ulber wasn’t as big Lorik, but he was a thickly built man. His body was shaped like a wine barrel, his head was large, and he had a very short neck. Lorik ran into Ulber at full speed, his hands still tied behind his back. The impact was so massive that Lorik fell to the ground while bright spots floated in his vision. Ulber grunted but didn’t fall, a fact that irritated Lorik, but he didn’t have long to worry.

Rough hands snatched him up and dragged him back to the fire. Lorik smelled the sour odor of alcohol on the breath of his captors as they cursed him, and he was shoved down hard, almost falling into the fire as he struggled to regain his balance with his hands bound behind his back.

“They always run,” Pyllvar said. “Ulber enjoys the chase. I was anxious to see how you’d handle the situation. You have quite the reputation, even in Hassell Point. You’re the local hero there. But it’s a nasty place. I don’t blame you for leaving.”

“Enough talk,” Ulber said, drawing an almost delicate looking knife. It was thin, with no cross guard, just a leather-wrapped handle and a blade about the length of Lorik’s middle finger. The blade curved upward slightly, and the point looked as sharp as a needle. Ulber held the knife lightly with his fingertips.

“King Yettlebor wants you dead,” Pyllvar said, "but he needs some information first. Now I’m not a cruel man, but my associates can be. Answer my questions, and we’ll make things quick. Although I can’t say painless—where’s the fun in that? We won’t make you linger, not if you cooperate. But if you’re stubborn, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to let Ulber have his way.”

The other mercenaries laughed, all except for Ulber, who had a crazed look in his eye. He was like a starving man just feet away from a roasting pig, and he could hardly wait for the meat to finish cooking before gorging himself on the rich meal. Lorik did his best to look as if the news wasn’t horrifying, but inside he felt his bowels turn to water.

“King Yettlebor wants to know about your plans,” Pyllvar said in a merry tone. “Specifically, he wants to know if you are planning to support his rule.”

“He’s no king,” Lorik spat. “He’s not even from Ortis.”

“True enough, but he wears the crown, has an army, and controls the kingdom. That kind of sounds like a king. Doesn’t it sound like a king to you, Ulber?”

The big mercenary grunted and Pyllvar went on.

“It almost sounds like you want to remove Yettlebor from power. Now, that is exactly the kind of information we were trying to obtain. Tell us your plans.”

Lorik cleared his throat and spat into the fire. Ulber grinned happily but Lorik ignored him. Pyllvar didn’t look as pleased.

“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Lorik. Just tell us your plans. Do you have an army? How did you plan to attack Ort City? You don’t really expect us to believe that you were captured so easily by that band of merry idiots we took you from.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Lorik said.

“Well, I’m afraid that you will care, because I believe in torturing people to death. Ulber, take a crack at him. We’ll see just how cooperative he is once the blood starts flowing.”

Ulber stepped forward as Lorik was jerked upright by two more of the mercenaries. They pulled his arms so tight that the rope tore the skin on his wrists and made them bleed. Lorik felt the blood running across his palms, and the pain seemed to make everything around him come into focus. He heard the wood popping in the fire; he heard the rapid breathing of the mercenaries who were excited by the prospect of torture; and he heard a bird call that was common in the Marshlands, but not in the northern portion of Ortis where he was currently held captive. Lorik couldn’t help but smile, and then he kicked Ulber as hard as he could. His boot smashed hard against the burly man’s groin. Ulber grunted, taking a few steps back, but still not going down.

Stone was silent as he rushed toward the group of mercenaries, and Lorik saw only the blur his friend created. He was so fast that three of the mercenaries had fallen victim to the young warrior’s deadly knives before the others realized they were under attack. Ulber turned, a look of disappointment etched on his face as Stone slashed one knife across an opponent’s throat, ducked under the hasty attempt to cut him down by another, and jammed a second knife into his attacker’s stomach.

There was no time to appreciate Stone’s speed or deadliness. Lorik charged forward, pulling the two stunned mercenaries who were holding his arms. This time Ulber fell when Lorik crashed into him. Lorik fell too. One guard let go to keep from falling, but the other went down with Lorik and Ulber. Lorik twisted his body as he fell, so the mercenary fell on Ulber’s knife hand. He heard a gurgle and guessed correctly that the blade had found a home inside the mercenary, but Lorik was already kicking both legs toward the remaining guard. His boots landed against the man’s thigh and hip, sending him sprawling into the fire. He fell, screamed, and then ran into the night with his clothes and hair ablaze.

Lorik felt Ulber pushing him up, so he shifted onto one knee, then slammed his forehead down into the burly soldier’s face. The bones of Ulber’s nose crunched with the impact. Lorik rolled away, using his momentum to get back on his feet. Stone was behind him as he came up, and Lorik heard the whisper of steel as a knife blade slipped between his wrists and sawed at his bonds. It only took one section of the rope to give way, and then Lorik’s strength burst the rope apart. His hands were still numb, but it wasn’t the time to stay and fight. They needed to get away as the rest of the mercenaries regrouped.

“This way!” Stone said, running past the fire and away from the mercenaries.

Lorik saw a look of crazy fury on Ulber’s bloody face, then he too turned and sprinted into the darkness.

Chapter 18

It took longer to get everyone into the inn than Quinn had hoped. There were more attacks, all from different parts of the village. And once again, the victims weren't eaten, at least not right away. Quinn felt guilty, but he knew he had been right in getting everyone together. No one could have predicted that the animals would attack so viciously, or that there were so many of the wretched beasts. He couldn't help but wonder if hunting them earlier that day had somehow focused their attention on the village.

Inside the inn's common room, families were huddled together. Quinn had never seen the large open room so crowded, not even during the winter when most of the village took shelter at the inn to ride out the worst storms. The bench tables had been moved against the walls, so that men could stand and look out the long, narrow windows that were just below the inn's low roofline. Buck was one of the last villagers to return. Vickry was with him, urging his family to greater speed as they outran the overweight innkeeper.

Quinn was at the door to the inn, spear in hand, ready to take up a station outside the protection of the building's stout walls if necessary. Buck wouldn't have survived if it weren’t for a volley of arrows that rained down on the two creatures chasing him. A few arrows even managed to strike into the oversized wolverines' flesh. Their shaggy, white fur was almost like armor, and only a direct hit would penetrate their tough hides.

"Get inside!" Quinn bellowed. "Quick!"