The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  *****

  The riders exited the stronghold two hours after sunup. Just outside the gates, the captain of Ellitholm’s household guard and ten soldiers waited for them. The captain would act as Ellitholm’s second, he assumed, although Jarol didn’t know her name. The soldiers were led by Captain Theralin. Jarol knew of her and that the soldiers were part of the stronghold’s inner defenses. They were entrusted with the queen’s safety, but they weren’t in the meeting with the queen. He assumed they had been given their orders separately and that didn’t sit well with him. He called a halt and rode up to the where the soldiers waited.

  “Captain Theralin.”

  “General Jarol.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” Jarol said looking at the other female.

  “I am Systhania, captain of Lord Ellitholm’s household guard.”

  “Wonderful. Two captains,” Jarol drawled. “Theralin, what are your orders?”

  “My orders come directly from the queen. If she didn’t tell you, then you have no need to know.”

  “I see. Take your soldiers and return to the stronghold. You’re not needed.”

  “You cannot—”

  “I can. I am in charge and speak for the queen, so I will decide who comes and who stays. Not to mention I am her general and above all but her. Tell her I miss her already and there will be no secret agendas.”

  “Captain Systhania, I hope you understand your place in this party. Like the rest, I will seek your council and wisdom, but you will not speak out of turn or in private to the rulers of the Black Mountains. Our only agenda is furthering the queen’s plans, not those of Lord Ellitholm.”

  “My lord’s plan and the queen’s are the same. She has his support.”

  “Good.”

  “He just doesn’t support you,” Systhania said with an evil grin.

  “Theralin, why are you still here? If you haven’t surmised this already, I have enough problems. Return to your post.”

  “No,” Theralin said. “I follow the queen’s order given directly to me. If I tell you that our purpose and yours are the same, does that ease your mind?”

  “Not very much. Both of you, I pray you’re not lying to me.” Jarol turned to the others waiting behind him. “Let’s move out.”

  Theralin sent three riders ahead at a gallop. They were within their own lands, but that didn’t mean bandits, the not very intelligent type, wouldn’t try something... not very intelligent. The Kingdom of the Northern Wastes was not just a collection of the castoffs from the lower kingdoms. Under the leadership of Verlainia and her ancestors, it was organized and, for the most part, as peaceful as so many races living together in one area could be. The queen didn’t tolerate any person or group causing chaos within her realm.

  Theralin rode along beside Jarol after giving her soldiers their orders. Jarol turned in his saddle, surveying everyone’s position behind him. A wagon filled with tents and supplies was last in line. A staff lay across his horse’s back, secured in a wood block attached to his saddle. Two large hawks sat on either side of the staff. A bonded pair—female and male—they were bred from a long line of exceptional hawking stock belonging to his great grandfathers. Satisfied that everyone was moving, he turned back and found Theralin staring at him.

  “What happened to Chief Stonehead? I don’t remember all the purple on his face last night at the feast.”

  “He tripped. Hung over, most likely, after a barrel of ale. His face and the steps in front of the throne became intimately involved with each other.”

  “Is that the tale he will tell when he wakes?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.”

  “Stay here on the point. I am going back to check on him.”

  Jarol pulled the reins and turned his horse toward the rear. His birds shifted and steadied themselves. If Jarol had to take off in a burst of speed, a command whistle would put the birds in flight. Stonehead was tied upright in the saddle, which hadn’t been an easy thing to do. It would be better to lay him to straddle the horse but Jarol wasn’t adding more insult to injury. Stonehead’s horse walked next to Trobar’s, the big orc keeping him within arm’s reach. Even trussed up the way he was, the big orc was determined to keep the dwarf from tumbling out of the saddle. Neither would admit it, but they were friends. Traveling at an easy pace, it would take four days to reach the border, then a little more than a week to reach the capitol in the Black Mountains. The border at the Black Mountains would be the most dangerous part of their journey. The elven rangers and border patrols might not ask questions of a large band of Northerners before the arrows begin to fly.

  Stonehead woke up not long before they arrived at their campsite. He cursed his pain and cursed Jarol. Surprisingly, he kept his voice a low drone and wasn’t screaming and threatening. Maybe he was catching on.

  Jarol’s father had warned him before he left to meet with Queen Verlainia and the clan chieftains that if he was perceived to be a threat by any chieftains, they would probably attack him. Being named the queen’s general over all the others, especially with how young he was, had really set them off. They didn’t see a warrior, but in truth he had fought more and harder over his last fifteen summers than any of them. It was his father’s doing, forging him into what he hoped would be the greatest of all the clan chiefs. He practiced every day with no less than two of his weapons. Usually it was with all of them.

  “Stonehead, do we have peace between us and can I count on your council?” Jarol asked.

  “Aye, I have tested you enough and do not want it said that I am like sour milk.”

  “That is good to hear. I have salve in my bags. Would you like me to have your wound treated and get you something for the pain?”

  “The salve would be welcome, but nothing for the pain. I will endure it and remember.”

  Six

  They camped that night in a gulley near a stream. The ground was hard and unforgiving, and the water was freezing cold, but it was clean. The horses were watered, picketed and fed. Jarol let his hawks take to the sky while waiting for his tent to be set up. The hawks would return later to spend the night inside on their perch lashed between two tent poles. They were better than most guards. Things could go very bad for anyone who entered his tent without his permission.

  Jarol ordered a two-man watch starting at dinner. With ten soldiers, it wouldn’t keep any of them on duty more than two hours out in the cold night. To say it was warming up in the far north meant that only thin ice formed in a water bucket overnight. There were two campfires. The elves sat at one and everyone else, including the two servants from the wagon, sat with Jarol. He got up and smiled to himself, walking to his horse. He pulled a leather drawstring bag containing the healing salve out of his saddlebag.

  Berhart sat staring at the fire while Tarin drank constantly from a waterskin that Jarol knew contained something other than water. Railia was the most attentive of the three from the Southern clan, watching everyone and listening to the talk. He was glad they left the seer behind.

  “Catch!” Jarol said, tossing the bag to Railia. Tarin laughed; it was clear he was drunk. Berhart eyed Jarol and the bag. “Apply that to Stonehead’s face.”

  “Why don’t you do it yourself?” Railia challenged.

  “Because I am asking you to do it. Please don’t make me change it to an order.”

  Berhart caught her eye and nodded. Railia slowly got up and moved toward the wide-eyed dwarf.

  “Make her kiss him, too,” Tarin said. Spittle flew out with his words. “That would be a great story to tell everyone. Railia, kiss the ugly little bastard for us.”

  Railia knelt in front of the sitting dwarf and scooped a small glob of salve on her finger. Then she gently ran her finger across his stitches in circular motions. It was a foul-smelling concoction, but the worse they smelled, the better they worked at keeping infection away.

  “Aye, thanks girl. If you like, when I feel better I’ll kiss you
r brother and then you’ll have something to tell everyone,” Stonehead said.

  Tarin got angry and stood up. He lost his balance and stumbled, almost falling over Berhart, who put up an arm to steady him. “You think that funny, dwarf?” he muttered.

  “Aye, I do, but don’t worry. No one would believe I would kiss someone as ugly as you, boy.”

  Tarin took another step forward and Railia stood and punched him, giving him a bloody nose. “Go sit down, you drunken fool,” Railia said, cocking her arm back to punch him again. Thank the gods she punched his face, or he would have heaved all the wine he had been drinking. She didn’t sober him up, but she got his attention.

  Jarol smiled. It was as he thought. Railia could be relied on but Tarin would be unreliable, preferring to let his mind drift away in drink. That had been his conclusion in the great hall meeting and it had just been validated.

  “Sit down before you fall and hurt yourself,” Railia ordered.

  “You bitch, you broke my nose,” Tarin yelled.

  “I’ll do more than that if you call me a bitch again.”

  Jarol slipped on one of his dragon-mail gloves, stood up and walked around the fire to pick up Tarin’s waterskin. He sniffed the spout and before anyone could ask he dragged his dagger across the bag and threw it into the dark.

  Tarin screamed and charged Jarol, who hit him a lot harder than Railia had. The crack made Jarol think he had broken Tarin’s jaw. The drunken man collapsed in a heap on the ground. Berhart smirked but said nothing. Railia walked over and pulled Tarin by the arm, dragging him to his sleeping mat.

  “Berhart, Railia, tomorrow Tarin sobers up and stays that way. I’ll leave it to you both to make sure he does.”

  Railia gave him a look, but it was Berhart who spoke up. “We can try.”

  “We stop at the Three Dragons Inn tomorrow evening. If he gets drunk, we leave him behind in his room. If I see him drunk in the saddle, we’ll leave him lying in the road. It’s for his own good. In three days, we’ll be at the border and everyone will need to have a clear head.”

  “Aye, General, are you planning to keep us all from the drink?” Stonehead asked.

  “I wouldn’t dare try to keep a dwarf from his drink, and you are not Tarin,” Jarol said. “But I think I will have the innkeeper put you and Tarin in the same room, so you can give that kiss you owe him.”

  “Girl, you better sit your brother up ‘fore he chokes on his own blood,” Stonehead advised, ignoring Jarol.

  “I am not a girl. Would you like me to call you goblin?” Railia asked.

  “Now, now, no need to get your small clothes in a bunch.”

  “They are not in a bunch. You can call me Lady Railia.”

  Jarol snorted, Stonehead laughed and some of the others smiled. “Aye, your ladyship, I’m an old dwarf. To me, you are a child just like our general here. It took some blood and bruises to get it through me hard head that he is a man full grown.”

  Berhart walked over and came back with a saddle. He pulled Tarin into a sitting position and leaned him back against the saddle. “Railia, you bloodied his face. You clean him up and stop the bleeding,” he said.

  “Yes, Lady Railia,” Jarol teased. “Punch his stomach next time. If you prefer vomit to blood.”

  “Tease all you want. In the Southlands, my father would be a duke or baron and I, as his blood daughter, would be a lady.”

  “If we are successful in the upcoming months, you may be just that... My Lady.” Jarol bowed his head. He was enjoying teasing Railia. Looking past her, he could see Theralin walking toward their fire.

  “General, may I speak to you in private?” Theralin asked.

  “I was hoping to see you tonight, in private, somewhere warm,” he said. She frowned at his innuendo, then turned and walked away without another word. “I suppose I should see what she wants.”

  “She isn’t one to be trifled with,” Stonehead said. Berhart nodded his agreement.

  “I’m sure you are right. I’ll hear her out first.”

  “I hope she punches you in the nose,” Railia said.

  “Of course, you do,” Jarol said, weaving around Tarin, who was still unconscious, with small bloody rags hanging out his nose. Jarol walked toward the wood in the direction he saw Theralin go. When he reached the wood line, she spoke.

  “The queen has tasked me with watching over you—giving my life for yours if needed. I will follow her orders, but know this: I will bleed you if you make any more remarks like the last. I would die before you could soil me with your seed and sweat.”

  Jarol smiled. “That’s a little harsh. Captain Systhania, why don’t you join us? I know you are there, so please come closer, so you can hear us better. Theralin, you will come closer also.”

  “What are you talking about? There is no one here but me,” Theralin said.

  “If there is more you have to tell me, I believe you should wait until Systhania joins us. You’re essentially side by side, from where I am downwind. I have to say, she smells much better than you.”

  He could see Theralin walking in the shadows, but not Systhania. The firelight from the campfires provided only slightly more light than the night sky. He inhaled and knew she was getting closer because the scent on the breeze grew stronger.

  “You see, it is just me,” Theralin said, facing the general. Beyond her, another shadow moved almost silently until the crack of a dry branch announced her. Theralin turned, her hand going to her dagger.

  Jarol was sure Systhania stepped on the dry branch purposely. She hadn’t made a sound until then. She was wary as she approached and stopped well out of arm’s reach.

  “Theralin, do you have more to tell me?” Jarol asked, smiling at Systhania.

  “It can wait, General. I will seek you out another time.”

  “I see. Now let me tell you what the queen told me in private before leaving. If I’m threatened, I have her permission to remove heads from shoulders and leave the corpses where they fall. I believe, Theralin, that you just threatened me.”

  “She did. I heard her,” Systhania said.

  “There you see, the spy confirms I am correct. Isn’t that nice.” Theralin was frowning while her mind worked. What she was giving so much thought to, Jarol didn’t know. “The good thing is I can kill you and still have an elf captain to lead the soldiers.” Glancing at Systhania, he saw her smiling at Theralin’s discomfort. He reached up over his shoulder for the sword he knew wasn’t there. Both elves were watching him. “Looks like it’s your lucky night. I left my sword in my tent.”

  Systhania found it humorous, but Jarol knew that was about to change. Theralin didn’t look convinced he was jesting. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her so she faced Systhania. “Now, what to do with the spy.” Both elves tensed immediately. “I may have to deal with a drunk on this journey, but spies aren’t afforded the same considerations.”

  “I wasn’t spying, I swear it. I was just out for a walk. I had no idea Theralin would pick this spot to have a private conversation with you.”

  “Arrest her and tie her up until we can get to the bottom of this,” Jarol ordered. Theralin charged and in seconds the two elves were wrestling, trying to get an advantage over the other.

  The soldiers heard the ruckus and came running. Jarol stood back and let them help Theralin subdue Systhania and tie her hands. “Take her to camp, take her weapons and tie her ankles and just above her knees. She had better not escape.”

  “She will not. My men are thorough, and one will guard her at all times,” she said as the soldiers pulled Systhania back to camp.

  “Now that we are alone, let me speak plainly to you. Some people are born fools like Tarin. Some make foolish mistakes throughout their lives, but are not fools. Sometimes you’ll find someone acting the fool who is far from it. There is purpose in what they do. Sometimes it is to make others more comfortable and other times it is to deceive those around them. Do you understand?”

  “I think
so. It is not the elven way to act a fool in order to deceive.”

  “Good. Now, don’t get me wrong, if you wanted to crawl under my furs with me I would welcome it. I imagine it would be, if nothing else, warmer.”

  “You wish to bed an elf. Am I to be a conquest of the queen’s young general?”

  “No, that challenge lies with another,” Jarol said, thinking of Queen Verlainia.

  “There is a human woman traveling with you. Have you made her the same offer?”

  “Um, no. That would become too complicated. She is young and impressionable. I don’t want her following on my heels.”

  “Why the queen would choose such a rogue from the north I will never understand.”

  “I’ve been called that recently, only she didn’t threaten to bleed me with a dagger.”

  “Who, this female conquest you have your heart set on?”

  “Yes, actually. She is also the one who told you to protect me with your life,” Jarol said and laughed as he walked away.

  *****

  Theralin walked toward her campfire, thinking about the strange conversation and if any of it was really true. Her general might actually fall into the “born a fool” category. The queen was not someone you teased and taunted unless you liked being chained to her throne and having your life essence drained away. Verlainia also ended those who displeased her—quickly, at times. It all depended on why she was displeased. The twins who stood guard over her had dragged many a body out of the great hall, yet here he was bragging about trying to bed her. Yet he said asking Railia would be complicated. What could be more complicated than a northern rogue trying to bed both an elven queen and one of her captains? It made no sense unless he was crazy, rather than a fool... or all of it was just a foolish game.