The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “I see you treat your sister with the same disdain as you have shown me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so don’t talk. Just listen, then give me an honest answer.”

  Her hand went to rest on her dagger. Great. He had angered her even more. Firelight danced on her scowling face, yet somehow she still looked beautiful.

  “No one has ever spoken to me like that. You will—”

  “Maybe they should have. You must think you stand on a mountaintop the way you look down on me. I apologized to you for the remarks I made that day to lure you out. You chose not to accept it. I—”

  “You offered more lies and smiled the whole time.”

  “Is that it? You think because I smiled that my apology wasn’t real?”

  “Do you wish me to believe otherwise?”

  “Yes, I do. The apology and the smile were for two different things. I was sorry for my words and my apology was honest. My smile was for words left unsaid. The time was not right for them to be spoken. Do I have to further explain my meaning?”

  “No, it was best you didn’t speak whatever you were smiling about.”

  “Fine. You either forgive or you don’t. This is a serious question and there are facts to back it up, so I tell you right now, don’t get indignant. Are your people aiding the goblin raiding parties that have been attacking and burning settlements across the frontier?”

  “Of course not. We honor the treaty.”

  “They flee into Black Mountain lands and emerge again to burn and murder good people.”

  “You lie. This is another one of your lies to trick me into something.”

  “Really? What do you suppose I am tricking you into now? That you will shed your clothes and dance naked under the stars for me? Or we will go in the barn and kiss and rub our bodies together in the hay? Well, what?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “You’re right. You don’t know anything. People are dying, and it looks like your people aid the murderers. If you don’t know, will you at least try to find out what is happening within your woodland realm?”

  Alexis was quiet. There was no scowl on her face now. “I don’t believe it, but I believe you do. I feel your question seeks the truth of the matter. I also saw your father speaking with you as he was leaving and that adds credence to your question. I will try to find out. It may take some time.”

  “Thank you. I hope in the future you don’t have to witness something before you believe me.”

  “We shall see.”

  “The fire is dying, and it’s getting too dark to work on this. Will I see you when you have word?” Morgan said, standing up off the log. He was about to carry his staff back inside the barn.

  “Morgan, can I see the staff? Why were you smiling the other day? What was left unsaid?”

  “Here, you can look at it. It’s nothing special. Now is no better a time to speak of such things than it was before.”

  Alexis approached, holding out her hand. Morgan tossed it to her. She hefted it first, checking its weight. Then she began spinning it in circles with both hands, then around her waist. Her speed increased with every turn around her body and the wood whistled as it cut through the air. He could barely track it until the crack of it stopping in her open hand. She held it with both hands and stepped within arm’s length, holding it out to him.

  “Alexis, Elven Ranger of the Black Mountains, would you be my friend?” Morgan took the staff from her hands. He walked in the barn door and set the staff down then turned back to her. One of her hands rested on her dagger. “That is how it will be, then?”

  “No, no, I was resting my hand. It is natural to me and I do it without thinking.” Alexis wiped her hands on her pant legs then held them together, fingers interlocking.

  Morgan walked up to her and stopped close to her face. “We started off like a lame horse,” he said softly. “I wish to make peace with you.”

  Alexis grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him. His arms wrapped around her again. For him, it was over all too fast when she broke her kiss and stared at his face. Then her hand pushed gently on his chest, signaling him to let her go.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “It would never work.”

  “Then why?” Morgan asked, rejection etched on his face.

  “I wanted to know what it would be like.”

  “I’ve wanted to know the same thing ever since I saw you. It has to mean something.”

  “It does. It means that this can never be. The memory of what just happened will fade and we will be better for it. Good night, Morgan. I will leave an answer about the goblins tied on an arrow. You will never see me again.”

  Morgan walked to the log and sat down. The fire almost out, the coals cast little light. He heard Alexis walk off as he stared into their red-hot depths. He didn’t look until someone sat next to him.

  “Have you come to gloat?” he asked the elemental sitting next to him.

  “No, Morgan. It has been a hard night for both of us.”

  “What do you mean? How is it you had a hard evening?”

  “I spoke with someone earlier. I thought him a child but then I reflected on his words. I am not used to being spoken to in that manner.”

  “You and the elf both. It seems a night for apologies, so I am sorry.”

  “Ah, don’t start apologizing now. Not after you so kindly pointed out my shortcomings. You were right. My sisters and brothers and I, we failed you and all the children of the world. Our purpose, our duty, was to this world we were born into and we put ourselves above it. We reveled in the children of the world singing our praises and making temples to us. Then, just as started, it ended. We walked away, believing we walked away from our now-faithless children. From the beginning, we were doomed to fail because we were not meant to be worshiped. We were tenders of the world, not gods for the peoples. So we slept, and yet again we failed our world.”

  “You are awake and now you have a second chance. Are you going to squander it teasing young men and elven females? If my mother wasn’t in the house, my father would wake my brothers and I with, ‘Get your lazy asses up and out of bed there is work to be done.’ If our world needs you, then it needs your brothers and sisters, too.”

  “I believe you are right.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “You can call me Crystal. It is what Dra'Extaral has named me.”

  “Who is Dra...”

  “Dra’Extaral is a dragon. A very old and wise dragon.”

  “I’ve never seen a dragon, let alone spoken to one.”

  “You will someday, but for now I can say no more.”

  “Good night, Crystal. I have things to think on while they are clear in my thoughts.”

  “Do you want the elf maiden for your mate? I will help you, but we do not have a lot of time.”

  “Death rides south on fiery hooves,” Morgan said, reciting a memory.

  “Who told you that?”

  “I thought it was you. It spoke to me like you do. In my head.”

  “Be wary, Morgan. I was not the one to say that to you.”

  “That is just wonderful. Good night, Crystal. You’re welcome to sleep in the barn.”

  Crystal laughed. It sounded like springtime. She walked off into the night, leaving Morgan watching in her wake.

  Five

  The long hallway was cold and dark. Queen Verlainia planned to hold court early with Jarol, Stonehead and Trobar. She had decided Jarol’s success in dealing with the clan leaders yesterday should be acted upon with haste. There would be a delegation to the Black Mountains, seeking permission for her army to pass through their realm. She had no quarrel with the elves of the Black Mountains. Her family was once royalty, but her ancestors had made some miscalculations. They underestimated other noble houses who had their eyes set on the throne. In the end, they had been driven out of the Black Mountains over two thousand summers ago. Revenge and hate had consumed them in the beg
inning as they lamented the loss of the throne. They nearly killed off their line trying to take back it back. War after war followed. Many fought on two or three fronts, as the clans of the north, orc, goblin and dwarf were not receptive of the banished elven clans who escaped certain death to find a new home.

  Verlainia excluded the clan leaders Raile and Ellitholm from the delegation due to their injuries, but was sending Raile’s second, Berhart. Raile’s son and daughter, Tarin and Railia, expressed their desire to accompany him during the feast last night and Berhart accepted with reluctance and their promise they would return home afterward. The southernmost clan in the kingdom was populated by human settlements: bandits, mercenaries, outcasts from other clans. There was an uneasy peace between all her clans and it was to be expected. If they brought a grievance to her, she would rule on it, but many times they took matters into their own hands and she dealt with the fallout. While she had no problem removing a trouble-making clan leader’s head from his shoulders, she tried to reason with them first.

  Jarol proved he could handle himself and he was smart. Now he would learn diplomacy. The king and queen of the Black Mountain elves would test him. Once they found out who he represented, they would make them wait for an audience and test the patience of their group. She felt Jarol would be fine, but Stonehead and Trobar might end up in a cell. Dwarves and orcs had very little patience with diplomacy. Berhart was her first pick to end up dead. He would push Jarol into a confrontation and would end up buried along the trail in the frozen ground—if they even bothered to bury him.

  She sat on her throne; it was cool to the touch but not cold. Her long green coat of mountain sheep wool was accented in snowcat fur at the collar, cuffs and hem. The crown was an ancestral heirloom taken by the displaced king when her family was ostracized. The queen’s crown was lost during the treachery that overthrew them. The dwarves had resized the one remaining crown for each ruling monarch since then.

  Her servants were hurrying, stoking the fires up higher, since they were never allowed to go out, and the clan leaders would be there soon.

  Jarol was the first to arrive for the meeting. He stood in front of her on the first step. His eyes were clear and bright. Verlainia guessed he nursed one drink all night long while sitting with his back against the wall. She smiled. He would not be caught hung over and dull-witted.

  “Good morning, My Queen,” Jarol said, leaning toward her.

  “Good morning, General,” Verlainia answered, wondering what he was up to.

  “You are alone. That does not often happen. Maybe I will take advantage of your lack of protection.”

  “And do what? You feel you are up to the task?”

  “I do. Summer after summer, since I was a boy old enough to know such things, I have watched you sit on your black throne, powerful, dangerous and beautiful, wondering.”

  Verlainia leaned forward, her face only inches from his. “Wondering what? You know you are still that boy to me.”

  “Then why don’t you take me to your bed, wrap us in furs and make a man of me?”

  “You saw my last two lovers chained to my throne for failing to please me and, being useless for anything else, I drained them. It would not look good for my general of generals to be chained to my throne, would it?”

  “I suppose it would look bad. But what if he didn’t fail you in war or in bed? Then how would you feel?”

  “If that were true, I am sure my appreciation would know no end. He might find himself chained, only it would be to my bed.”

  Jarol grabbed the queen’s ankle and ran his fingers along her smooth calf, memorizing its contour. His other arm shot up and grabbed her wrist as she swung an open hand at his face.

  “You go too far,” Verlainia hissed, glancing to see if the servants saw anything. Jarol moved her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers.

  “Too far? I was only halfway there. Risk and reward, My Queen. It is the same in love and war. The greater the risk, the greater the reward.”

  “And the punishment for failure?”

  “It is equal to the risk. If I fail, I will not need to worry about how you will punish me. I will already be dead.”

  “So, you desire to be my lover, my hero and my general. It is good. You wish for all except my throne, and that is the reason I chose you. Many have come desiring my throne, with little concern for my own needs and desires. They certainly were not going to be the hero of my people. But enough of this. The others approach, and we have much to discuss.”

  Mobar and Qan hurried into the great hall, seeing Jarol standing too close to their queen. They ran and flanked him on either side, hands on their weapons.

  “Good morning, brothers,” Jarol said cheerfully. “I was just discussing some private matters with the queen I didn’t want the servants overhearing.”

  “Both of you, take your places and leave Jarol be. If I am not safe with my general, I deserve to die.”

  Stonehead, Trobar and the others walked in, having had their breakfasts and probably an elixir from the apothecary for headaches. Dwarves and orcs loved any fermented brew, especially when it was free and flowing nonstop. Verlainia knew they would take full advantage of her hospitality—they always did—but they were her clan chieftains and how they were treated mattered. As queen, she never failed to feed and water them well. Good food and ale probably ranked higher than good women to most dwarves. Not so much with the orcs, who were known for keeping more than one wife. But when the occasion offered free food and drink orcs could be as gluttonous as dwarves.

  “Jarol will lead a small group consisting of those of you present and a small contingent of my elven soldiers to the petition the king and queen of the Black Mountains. It is my hope we can save many weeks by marching part of our forces through the northern edge of their lands. The other half of our army will march through the lands held by our Southern clan and enter the Southlands from there.”

  “I thought our new general was in charge of strategy,” Stonehead said.

  “The queen’s idea is sound and we all serve her, Stonehead. I would have spoke my piece had I found some fault with her logic. Right now, what we must do is convince a king and queen to let an army cross their border and feed off their land just so we can attack their ally. What would you say to them if we stood before them right now?”

  “Aye, they let us pass or else, is what I would say. I am not sure that asking permission is such a good idea. Must be something you came up with, boy.”

  “Maybe it was my idea, dwarf. Maybe not. It is far better than the foolish nonsense spewing from your mouth.”

  Stonehead came at Jarol, who was facing him. Verlainia held her hand up, her silent command stopping all others from interceding. She watched Jarol pivot out of Stonehead’s path, then grab hair on the back of his head and slam him face first into the edge of the stone step in front of her. Stonehead went limp and rolled to the floor.

  “Anyone else has anything to say about the diplomatic journey or our preliminary invasion plans?” Jarol asked.

  “Jarol?” Verlainia said curiously.

  “Yes, My Queen.”

  “What do you plan to do with him?”

  “I thought to lay him across your feet to keep them warm. Or I’ll ask Trobar if he would be good enough to lay Stonehead across a horse and we will take him with us.”

  “Yes, take him along with you. He would cause my feet to stink. I believe you are winning him over to your way of thinking,” Verlainia said, smirking. “Have his face stitched up before you leave so he doesn’t bleed out.”

  Stonehead’s name fit him. Jarol knew after the first fight his fist would work to knock him unconscious but only if he broke his hand in the process. In his case, stone was required to combat stone. Trobar grunted, then picked Stonehead up, hefted him over his shoulder and walked out.

  “Berhart, do you have anything to say?” Verlainia asked. “You are departing immediately, so now is the time. Your leader seems a bi
t touchy this morning. I advise you to phrase your questions at your own peril.”

  “My Queen, I am not touchy,” Jarol said. “I haven’t had my breakfast, is all.”

  “If there are no questions, ready your mounts. You leave within the hour. There is a wagon with two drivers to haul your personals. Jarol, stay with me for a moment.”

  Verlainia watched them leave. Berhart and Realia cast a sideways glance while Tarin shuffled along, hung over and half asleep. Beside her, Jarol’s stomach rumbled.

  “I was telling the truth, as you can undoubtedly hear.”

  “Listen to me carefully, then. You can take some food to eat in the saddle. If any member of this party does anything to jeopardize your mission, remove their head and leave their body for the crows. You have proven yourself and acted honorably toward the clan chieftains, which is more than they deserve. Even though I am fond of most of them, there is no reason to put up with any more challenges. Trobar will not bother you, but I am unsure about the rest. That goes double if you are in front of the king and queen. If you need to bloody the floor of their great hall, then do it. It will cement your leadership in the eyes of the Black Mountain royalty.”

  “If it becomes necessary, I will. I appreciate your advance permission to deal with the clan chiefs as I see fit.” Jarol raised his hands above his head and stepped up the two steps, invading her royal space. The twins frowned but didn’t move. “Maybe you could—” he began whispering in her ear. A crack echoed through the hall and her handprint remained on his face long after the slap.

  “When did you become so bold?” she hissed. Her remaining prisoner chained to the throne hugged the floor.

  “Father hired the best swordsmen, scholars and whores that gold in the north could buy to ensure I received a better education than he ever had. The latter taught me more about life than any of the others. However, I’m sure there is much more I could learn from you. Just a few minutes’ delay in leaving wouldn’t hurt anything.”

  “Get out my sight, you rogue,” Verlainia threatened. Her tone promised pain. Jarol jumped off the second step and ran toward the kitchens. She smiled after he was gone; there was no way she would let him know she enjoyed his roguish advances. It had been too long since anyone had acted like that toward her. Her elven suitors were so... boring. Jerome the scribe, that little bastard, was right about that. Maybe I should let him out of his cell. No, maybe next week.