The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “My brother and I are stronger and better than Morgan at everything. And I mean everything,” Jordi said, wagging his eyebrows.

  Warren didn’t have to see Jordi’s face to understand his meaning. A glance at the elf ranger’s frown only reinforced his assumption. He leaned over the tree trunk and slapped Jordi in the back of the head.

  “You need to apologize. Now.” Jordi knew the tone and that trouble followed it if he didn’t hurry.

  “I apologize, Ranger, for my careless eyebrows,” he quipped. Mikkel chuckled next to him.

  “Accepted, although I know your brother is quite good at many things.” Alexis smiled for them and walked passed the men, resuming her journey home.

  The brothers looked shocked and Warren was confused. He watched her walk off into the woods, barely making a sound.

  “What did she mean by that?” Jordi asked Mikkel. “How would she know Morgan was good at anything?”

  “Back to work, you two.”

  Forty-five minutes later, they broke for the midday meal. Jordi stoked the fire while Mikkel added more wood. Warren went through their stores, getting everyone some dried meat and bread.

  “Mikkel, it’s on my mind. Do you think our little brother and that elf ranger...”

  “Nah, I think she was pulling your leg.”

  “I don’t know. Elves aren’t much for humor and don’t lie.”

  “I wouldn’t say they don’t lie, boys,” Warren added, walking up with the food. “They are just harder to catch at it.”

  *****

  Deep in the wood, eighteen goblins stood waiting. They were offered a huge sum of gold and directed to move north through the wood in a message that arrived on an elven arrow. They would be contacted with further details during their journey. In the distance, they could smell a fire burning and they occasionally heard some conversation. They knew it was three, or no more than four, men and, while not warriors, they could be considered armed with axes.

  “Why are you just standing around?” a voice asked from nearby. The goblins startled, turning around and looking in all directions.

  “Are you the one who sent the message?” Narlack, the goblin leader, asked.

  “I am.”

  “Show yourself and the gold. Then we will hear you out.”

  A figure in a green cloak stepped out from behind a tree fifteen paces away. A large leather bag hung in one hand and a sword rested in the other.

  “I need you to kill a ranger. Can you do that?”

  “You look like a ranger. We could start with you and find out.”

  “You could try. You might even succeed. But once it is known that you killed me, the rangers will hunt you down, kill you all and take this gold back.”

  “We are not scared.”

  “It won’t be one or two rangers—it will be fifty. Fifty of the best will cut you all up into little pieces. You see, I am somewhat of an important person. Now if you kill who I ask you to, then you get to go on about your business and keep the gold.”

  “Where is this ranger you wish dead?”

  “Well, she was very close, but I fear you’ve given her larger lead now.”

  “What about the camp? Who are they and why are they there?”

  “The camp is of no concern to me. Go through it or go around. Whatever you do, hurry. Find the ranger and kill her. Do we have a deal?”

  “We have a deal,” Narlack said, catching the leather bag seconds later. He took off at a run and the rest of his band followed. They headed straight for the lumber camp.

  “Do you think they will succeed, Commander?” a second elf asked, one who had remained silent through the whole deal.

  “They have numbers; she is just one. Let’s go back to your new post. I will leave tomorrow so I can find the body and bring it home to the king and queen. Your post overlooks the homestead of those men about to die in the camp. Stay out of sight for a while.”

  *****

  There was no warning when the arrows began falling around the men. Warren saw Jordi fall over, an arrow through the neck. Looking past Mikkel, he could see goblins rushing their way. “Mikkel, climb over now,” he yelled, waiting on his side of the tree they were working on. Mikkel heard nothing, his thoughts focused only where his brother bled out on the ground.

  “Mikkel!” Warren screamed as arrows thudded into the tree trunk they had labored on for two days. Warren leaped across, grabbing his son’s arm and pulling him against the log. Mikkel jerked his arm free and gave his dad an angry look.

  “No, son, don’t!” he said, but his words were lost as Mikkel raised his axe and ran toward the goblins, screaming his one and only battle cry. Warren’s mind couldn’t process everything that had happened in a mere few breaths. Mikkel hit the ground on his side and rolled onto his back. Three arrows pointing to the sky stuck in his chest. Warren should have taken cover—dove for the ground—but he stood looking from son to son.

  He felt the arrow bite his shoulder and dig in, spinning his body and knocking him down to land on his back looking up at the clear blue sky. The goblins were almost on top of him now. The first of them ran past, then more. Two pairs of running feet slowed to a walk and stopped next to him.

  “The North will soon own all of this land. If you live, be sure to tell all you meet that the clans of the North are coming,” the goblin told Warren, then nodded to the bowman who stood next to him. He drew and pointed the arrow right at Warren’s face, then laughed and changed his target. The arrow ripped through Warren’s guts and embedded itself into the ground.

  Warren screamed over and over, clutching the arrow shaft with neither the strength nor courage to pull. It was a cruel way to make a messenger of him, but the goblins were ignorant that no one would come to the land grant until after he was long dead. The clouds drifted by and a bird or two would enter his vision, then depart. Pain racked and jerked him until the blue sky turned black.

  Nine

  Crystal walked the forest, as she had most days since her awakening. Morgan’s homestead was quiet, and she decided she would not cause any mischief on this day. Alexis had come and gone, and Morgan seemed sullen after her departure. It was that way with the young ones, all emotions and hormones. She walked north along the small creek where she had introduced herself to Alexis and planned to follow it until it joined the river. However, the absence of sound in one direction drew her toward the silence. For the forest to lose its voice was always a portent to danger, if not evil. Two elves made their way past—failing to notice her—going in the direction of Morgan’s homestead. She paused to listen.

  “While gold is always good, and I don’t care what happens to her, I dislike the peacocks who think they can buy their way into nobility.”

  “You are young. Think of them like doves who fly with hawks. They can get away with it for only so long. Then one day they feel the talons bite into their flesh.”

  “Still, she is a ranger...”

  Crystal wasn’t sure who they spoke of, but she only knew one ranger. Alexis. She hurried on along the path until the creek came to a narrow road, which it flowed across between two rises. This road led to the logging camp where Morgan’s father and brothers worked. It also led in the direction that had made her curious. She took the road and had walked no more than twenty steps when movement above her caught her eye. Carrion birds circled in the sky and what had been curiosity turned to fear. While she didn’t hate the birds—or any creature of the forest—she knew they were never wrong and nothing good awaited. She feared the worst for Morgan’s family and quickened her pace. The forest would not be so still to mourn a single dead animal. Arrows were the first thing she noticed upon arriving at the camp. They littered the ground, and were stuck in trees, but where the men worked had the largest collection.

  Walking closer to the work site, she could see Morgan’s father Warren on his back with two arrows in his body. She crept closer and saw Mikkel in the distance, three arrows in his chest. Warren was her first stop.
She bent over and touched his cheek. His skin was cold and his lips were tinted blue. He was alive, but there was nothing Crystal could do. He didn’t open his eyes when she touched him, so she knew he stood at the abyss. Standing back up, she looked for Jordi and finally saw him on the other side of a tree trunk, an arrow through his neck. A cold hand gripped her ankle and she shuddered.

  “Goblins—army attack—frontier.” Warren the lumber merchant then exhaled his last breath and died.

  Crystal knelt and stroked his face, smoothing out some of the lines left from his pain and death. She stood and studied her surroundings, trying to decide what to do next. She saw goblin footprints running north, deeper into elven lands. Could Alexis be the one the rangers were talking about? Most likely, since she was moving in that same direction. Could the goblins know? The men were dead, and the threat moved away from Morgan and his remaining family, so her choice was clear. Crystal would try to find Alexis before the goblins did.

  Crystal ran till she came to the river, then dove in. This was her element. Her magic would move her many miles in the time it took a raindrop to hit the ground. If the princess moved toward her family, she would follow the road to the river bridge, where she would cross just miles from the heart of the elven city of Thor’Dunae. Alexis could still be hours from reaching the bridge and help, and the goblins were probably closing in behind her. Crystal’s dilemma was how to find her. She decided to exit the river and call for her—reach out to her mind—then move on. Once she found her, she would provide whatever aid she could short of killing the goblins herself.

  *****

  Alexis tried to figure out why Milandro—her betrothed—had been assigned to the councilors to greet the delegation from the north. Politics, yes, but to what end she couldn’t understand. He had gained status with their engagement, though he had nothing more to gain unless something happened to one or both of her sisters.

  The sound of running feet in the distance interrupted her thoughts. It was a large party and coming her way. She could think of no large hunting parties or military patrols that would be in the area. No one was to escort her. Then an answer crept into her mind. Goblins. But the commander had said the goblins weren’t this close and they just used the elven wood for a hasty retreat after a raid, then departed just as quickly.

  By the sound of it, there were at least twenty in their group. If worse came to worst, she didn’t think she could survive a battle with so many. She had to run. Get help and then take them on. Make them pay for invading her land. She would leave the road, cross the river and continue deeper into the wood and see if they would follow. I’m so glad I found you, Alexis. Hurry. I will help you. She knew only one being who could call to her. Crystal.

  Before she could think of a way to get to Crystal, arrows flew, but they were still out of range. She had left the road and could not run at full speed for fear of stepping in a foxhole or falling down an unknown ravine. Even elves, the most graceful of all races, could break a leg running full speed through the forest. She changed direction often, and then changed back to stay her course for the river and Crystal. Run straight for the river. Do not slow down. I will see you safely across. She didn’t doubt Crystal’s advice. The goblins were gaining due to her caution and their lack thereof, and she hoped some of them paid for their lack of wood sense.

  The Talon River flowed rapidly, fueled by melting snow from the mountains. Crystal rose from the water to her waist and spread her arms as if waiting to embrace her. At once, the water began to rise on either side of the goddess, forming two columns like waterfalls falling toward the sky. Alexis never slowed until she slipped on the rocks of the riverbed. Hurry. Catching herself, she ran the forty-plus steps, leaping like a deer instead of running like a mountain cat. Reaching the other side, she ducked behind an ancient oak to catch her breath. Taking care to look around the tree, she saw Crystal raise her arms straight above her head, the walls of water climbing higher. The goblins were unsure what to do. Then one of them shot an arrow at Crystal, slicing through just under her arm.

  How dare you, Crystal raged, then swung her arms down and clapped her hands together in front of her. Two giant walls of water followed and slammed into the band of goblins with such force that some were thrown far back into the wood while others landed closer, their broken bodies sprawled in the water pooled at the base of the trees they had collided with. Crystal turned and moved toward Alexis, first gliding through the water then walking up the bank.

  You must run now, child. Hurry and get to the safety of the wood closer to your home.

  “Thank you for what you’ve done.”

  It was nothing compared to the task I must go back and perform. The goblins killed Morgan’s father and brothers at the camp. I must tell him, so he can retrieve them and bury them in the earth, as is the way of his people.

  “Tell Morgan, Gabriella and his mother I am sorry.”

  I will. Go now. Those that live will recover. They will follow you. Their hate will drive them.

  Alexis looked up at the tall goddess. “Goodbye and thank you again,” she said, then ran in the direction of a trail she knew would take her to the capitol road and home.

  *****

  Jarol saddled his horse while the servants finished taking down his tent and stowing everything in the wagon. His hawks were out hunting for their own breakfasts and his party was ready to move on. Captain Systhania was helped onto her horse, her hands still tied behind her back. Theralin was lecturing her about what would happen if she tried to run away.

  “Captain Theralin, cut her loose,” Jarol called out as he rode toward them.

  “She is a spy for her lord. You know that,” Theralin snapped back.

  “And you are a spy for the queen. Even those two servants driving our wagon are probably spies. Cut her loose.”

  “She claims she was just going for a walk. In the cold, dark woods, mind you,” Theralin argued.

  “You are a soldier. She is a noblewoman serving as captain of a household guard. Do you think she announces when she needs to relieve herself? Do you, Captain? Or do you try to keep it a private matter?”

  “But you ordered her to take me prisoner and tie me up,” Systhania said. “If you believed I had reason to be there, then why?”

  “Maybe I just wanted to watch the two of you rolling on the ground wrestling. I would have rather it had been in my tent where it was warmer and there was refreshment, but out in a field worked just as well.”

  Both elven captains were red in the face and looked as if they would murder him. Stonehead was laughing at them, making the captains angrier.

  “Boy, I don’t know what the queen sees in you, but I can’t fault your entertainment value,” Stonehead roared, slapping his leg. “I can’t wait to see which one of them is first to slit your throat in your sleep.”

  “You have no redeeming qualities as a man or a leader,” Theralin said. “Yet the queen has rewarded you with the highest military honor and you have never even served her in any capacity.”

  “Past service wasn’t required, and remember I did not ask, but was chosen. Your quarrel on that point is not with me. Last night, did you think Systhania was a spy?”

  “I am sure her Lord Ellitholm has instructed her to spy.”

  “I agree, but I don’t think that was her purpose last night. I let you act on it, thinking there is a chance I was wrong.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Theralin. Let’s move on. Tonight we will be at the inn enjoying food and ale and we will clear some tables so you and Systhania can wrestle where it’s warm and drinks are abundant.”

  Theralin kicked her horse’s flanks in anger and raced down the road. Systhania was lost in thought and everyone else was quiet. “I do not believe the queen knows the distain you have for the elven people or she would not have made such an unfavorable selection,” Systhania said, riding away.

  “Or maybe she judged and found her own people... wanting,” Jarol answered.
>
  “Lock your door tonight, General Jarol!” Berhart called from behind.

  “Sound advice, Berhart, sound advice,” Jarol replied.

  The inn was clean and taken care of. Not what you would expect in the cold, almost lawless, north. The innkeeper, Jarol found out, was a deserter from the Southlands and King Michael’s army. He had fallen in love with a whore at his last posting and when he received his orders to be reassigned, they ran. The soldier’s father had been an innkeeper and he had spent his younger summers working for him before joining the army, so running an inn made sense.

  The Three Dragons Inn had belonged to an unhappy old man who would rather spend his profits—when there were any—getting drunk instead of making repairs to his establishment. One night, a fall from the second-floor landing broke his neck. So they say. The broken neck was true, but the fall was not likely. Repairs wasn’t the only thing the innkeeper was remiss in taking care of. Paying the money lender was another. The deserting soldier paid off the man’s markers with the local money lender and became the new owner. One of his first acts was hiring two large orcs to protect his investment from angry drunks who liked to break heads and furniture.

  His next hire was a dwarf with some experience as a cook and his wife, an orc who assisted him and served the guests. They were an odd couple, but they worked well as a team and no one played grab-ass with her for fear of the butcher knife she carried in her belt. Their son was a simple, kindhearted lad. Ugly, as a dwarf/orc mix would be, but good with horses and people. In the beginning, he took abuse from customers like it was candy, smiling and going about his work. If his parents found out about his mistreatment, they would add a little extra something to the abuser’s meal who then would suffer the purge, unable to stop their bowels from what felt like turning inside out.

  While the inn would have been at home in any law-abiding place, it wasn’t. The innkeeper knew his customers, and bandit or noble alike was welcome so long as they had coin and would respect the inn. There were good beds with clean linens and baths.