The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  Jarol and his party rode into the town of Frostbyte and straight to the Three Dragons Inn. “Captain Theralin, have one of the men find a stable boy. I expect your soldiers to see to their own horses. As the captain, you can choose to see to your mount or have the stable boy do it.”

  Theralin chose not to answer him and rode around the building herself. He heard a whistle a minute later and her soldiers rode in the direction she had gone. Jarol figured he deserved the silent treatment and would let most insults go. Trobar and Jarol’s brethren from the Southern clan had been quiet for the past two days. Tarin was sober and in pain, but he was handling it better than Jarol thought he would. The elf captains he would leave alone after tonight. He had tormented them enough. His father wouldn’t approve, but it was hard not to poke at the haughty elves now that he could.

  “Welcome, welcome, I am Marlin, the owner of the Three Dragons Inn,” the innkeeper said, stepping out onto the porch. “Come inside, warm yourselves, eat, drink. Will you be staying the night?”

  “Can you accommodate 20 guests?” Jarol asked.

  “I have five rooms available and the rest can stay in the common room for a half rate per head, or the barn for no cost. Rooms come with two meals.”

  “A quarter rate for per head for the common room and two meals for all. We’ll require breakfast at first light.”

  “My Lord—”

  “Whatever you are about to say, Innkeeper, had better be yes. These are clan chieftains Trobar and Stonehead. Clan second Berhart of the Southern clan—your clan. I am Jarol, general of Queen Verlainia’s army. If I chose to, I could commandeer your inn for the night and throw all your guests in the street. You would feed and house us at your own cost.”

  Two very large orcs walked out of the inn to flank the innkeeper. Jarol heard a horse move and Trobar reined up beside him. He said something in the Orcish language instead of Common and they bowed their heads slightly and went back inside. The innkeeper watched his employees back away and came to a decision.

  “Five rooms at rate, and the common room and meals at no cost for our esteemed guests.”

  “Excellent,” Jarol said, stepping off his horse. The stable boy walked up, taking the reins to his horse. The lad was almost as tall as he was, but his mixed parentage had done him no favors. His eyes were set deep beneath a protruding forehead with big, bushy eyebrows. His nose was flat and wide above a mouth too large for his blocky head.

  “Damn, he is ugly.” Tarin guffawed. He grunted as Railia elbowed him.

  “Shut up, Tarin,” Railia hissed.

  “Yes, shut up, Tarin,” Jarol added. “Toss me your purse.”

  “What?”

  “I said toss me your purse or I’m gonna make sure you can’t speak for weeks.”

  “Better toss him your purse, lad,” Stonehead advised. Tarin grumbled and threw it. Jarol caught it, opened it up, and rifled through the contents. He took two coins and put them in the stable boy’s hand.

  “You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. Make sure the hay is fresh and give mine an apple later.” The stable boy looked from his hand to Jarol’s face then back to his hand. His eyes were as large as the two gold pieces he held. “Put them in your pocket and go about your business.” Jarol stepped past him and went up the stairs. The rest of the party began to dismount. The stable boy reached for the reins to Trobar’s horse as well and led them both back to the stable. “He’s a war horse, lad, with a disposition as black as his coat until you give him that apple.”

  The stable boy looked over his shoulder and smiled, then kept going. “The lad can handle any horse, I daresay. He has a way with them,” Marlin said, smiling, not at all upset about his employee’s good fortune. The boy wouldn’t earn that in two summers. Marlin followed Jarol in and headed straight for the woman behind the bar. She had curly red locks pulled back into a long tail, freckles and an hourglass figure that stretched the seams of her dress for everything they were worth. She was ample, pretty and the innkeeper’s wife.

  “Trista, dear, this is Jarol, general of Queen Verlainia’s army, and he has brought many esteemed guests. I’ll man the bar if you go freshen up the five rooms and ensure we have blankets for fifteen others who will be sleeping here in the common room.”

  “The queen chose a Northman to general the elven army?” Trista asked, looking at Jarol in surprise.

  “No, good lady, the queen chose me to general all the armies. Elven, orc, dwarf, goblin and man. General of generals, she calls it. A mixture of wet nurse and head cracker is what I think.”

  Trista laughed, patted her husband on the arm and went to check the rooms.

  Jarol leaned on the bar while the others found tables. “What’s the strongest concoction you have?” Jarol asked.

  “I got some elven brandy, but it’s expensive. Too good for the lot I normally serve.”

  “Gimme a bottle and three glasses. Take this purse to start covering expenses. We will settle the rest in the morning.” Jarol handed him Tarin’s purse with a smile.

  “Innkeeper, a bucket of ale for the table,” Stonehead yelled.

  “And wine, bring plenty of wine,” Tarin called.

  “We don’t have buckets. We have pitchers,” Marlin said, holding one up.

  “Best send us two, Innkeep. One for me and one for them.” Stonehead laughed, slapping the table in excitement. His companions looked on amused but not surprised. Dwarves loved their drink. “What?” he said. “It’s been a long, dry four days on the road.”

  The elves arrived a moment later, having seen to their horses. The stable boy informed them he would see to the feed, water and brushing, showing Theralin the two gold he received in payment. She smiled at the boy, informed the others and walked out. Systhania, Theralin, the soldiers and wagon drivers filled the common room to capacity plus some. Seniority dictated the seating outcome and some of the soldiers had to stand. There was grumbling by a few patrons who were at the inn before Jarol and company arrived; the queen’s soldiers’ appearance made them nervous. The innkeeper’s orcs would take care of anyone who did anything more than grumble.

  Theralin and Systhania took a table together across the room from the clan leaders, even though two chairs sat empty across from Jarol. He had planned on sharing the elven brandy with them; two empty glasses waited in front of each chair. Under different circumstances, he would have offered them up, but they gave him an unobstructed view of the two elven captains, and he planned on staring at them all evening. Or at least till he went to his room. Marlin waited on the captains and Jarol acknowledged a smart man when he saw one. He obviously was of aware of the symbols signifying elven military rank stitched into Theralin’s leathers. He set a bottle of wine and two glasses on their table as a courtesy. They hadn’t ordered it. The rest of her squad stood at the bar, waiting for him to return.

  Trista brought the ale and wine to Jarol’s table, smiling for everyone. Stonehead thanked her profusely when she set a whole pitcher down in front of him. “Yer very own, as requested,” she said, then set the other down along with two bottles of wine in the middle of the table. “The kitchen will bring your dinner shortly. Roast boar with onions, winter greens and fresh bread.”

  Ten

  Jarol saw Theralin looking at him and talking softly to Systhania, then felt Trista’s hips brush his back as she walked toward the bar. That was an accident, he thought. An orc female came from the back wearing an apron over her clothes. Her arm was lined with four plates of food. She served Trobar first and bowed her head in respect before handing out the rest. Trista returned with three plates on her arm and served Jarol, then walked over and served the captains. Some words were exchanged before she turned and walked away. She smiled and rolled her eyes for Jarol to see. A dwarf carrying three plates greeted Stonehead as he passed before hurrying back to the kitchen. Two more trips were made by the staff, ensuring all of the paying had food. Boisterous conversations were replaced by the sounds of eating and quiet talk. Jarol finish
ed his meal, stretched and pushed his plate back. Trista was making the rounds, picking plates up from those who were finished.

  “My lady, is there a bath to had in this fine establishment?” Jarol asked.

  “There’s one in yer room and a common bath at the other end of the hall. We put one in the biggest room just for special guests. We’ve never had so many at once, though. Would you like me to draw your bath?”

  “Yes, please. Make it very hot, without boiling me for tomorrow night’s dinner.” Jarol sat back and sipped his brandy as Trista went about making the bath ready in his room.

  “I’d stay away from that one if I was you,” Stonehead leaned over to say.

  “I’ve no intentions toward the innkeeper’s woman.”

  “It’s not your intentions you should worry about. It’s hers. He’ll sic his orcs on you if he catches you.”

  “Shut up, Stonehead. You’re drawing attention to something that isn’t going to happen,” Jarol said, noticing Railia watching them. “My lady Railia, I have them drawing me a bath, but I would be happy to wait. If you would like to bathe first, you can use my room.”

  Railia smiled. “I accept your offer and revise my opinion of you, General, if only slightly. It would be good to get the smell of horse out of my nose.”

  “Thank you. A slight change in your good opinion is better than no change at all.” Railia walked up to the room she saw the woman taking water to and went inside.

  “You should leave that one be, too. Raile will kill you if he hears you are humping his daughter. Keep trying to get the elf captains under you fur. It’s much more entertaining.”

  “Don’t make me regret not killing you, dwarf. The next time you or Raile come at me with a weapon, I will kill you. If for no other reason than to silence your advice on who I can take to my bed.”

  “Don’t get touchy; I’m sworn to ya now. The advice is sound whether you like it or not.”

  “I don’t remember you swearing an oath.”

  “Not in so many words, but we fought in front of the queen and you bested me.”

  “And you attacked me the next morning in front of the queen, after the matter had been settled. I should have taken your head.”

  “Aye and you were within your rights to do so, but you didn’t and you allowed me to come along despite my treachery.”

  “Verlainia manipulates us all,” Jarol said, taking a drink of his brandy. “You were angry, and I’m sure Raile and Ellitholm are still smoldering. It is the reason I am tormenting the captains.”

  “I have to say it is good Raile and Ellitholm are not here. This journey would be one of bickering and death and nowhere near as entertaining.”

  “Trobar, what of you? Have you an opinion on anything to do with our mission?”

  Trobar studied Jarol, looking him in the eyes. The others at the table became quiet in anticipation of the orc chieftain speaking. “The ale is very good,” Trobar said.

  “Thank you, Trobar. I’ll be sure to let the innkeeper know.”

  Trobar smiled at Jarol’s sarcasm. “The orc race is bereft of humor, young general. Even the elven have some little thread of humor woven into their souls. It is possible my people have never found anything in our lives... to be humorous. I will tell you why I raise no hand against you. It is one of the rarest happenings for an orc to give birth to two identical babes. It has happened, though, and is looked on as an omen of power. As clan chief, it only strengthened my position—”

  “Aye, it is the same among my people,” Stonehead interrupted. Trobar shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “Maybe I could continue without interruption. Then the queen discovered the nature of their birth. She ordered that I bring them during their sixth summer to her. She would have them trained—much like you were—to be her personal body guards. It was about that same time your father brought you with him to court for the first time and shortly after she aided your father in your training. Over the summers you never treated them with any indifference or fear, and as they grew in skill and strength, so did you. My sons believe—and so do I—that she chose you then for something and it has turned out to be her general of generals. I believe I would call that foresight and planning, not manipulation. My sons respect you for many reasons, but one was that you were always able to tell them apart, even when they tried to deceive you by wearing each other’s clothing. I would say there are those who attend court every day who wouldn’t be able to do that.”

  Jarol, lost in thought, nodded to Trobar. He had never considered that Verlainia had picked him for something. He always thought it was his father wanting to make him a strong clan chief. He looked at the others at the table. Berhart was expressionless and Railia just smiled at him; he hadn’t realized she had returned from her bath. Tarin stared into his cup of wine. Jarol remembered Verlainia scolding Raile for never bringing Tarin and Railia to see her. Would things have been different for Tarin if he had? Maybe he would have been her choice.

  “Thank you, Trobar. Railia, you did not need to hurry. I thought I would have enough time to finish my bottle.”

  “I thought I would leave you with some warm water. Although, you may smell a little flowery once you’re through, my lord.”

  “Well then, I think I will take my bottle and trade the smell of horse for one of flowers.” Jarol left them to their wine and ale. He paused on the second floor to look over the common room and found Theralin looking up at him. Maybe he would sleep with his door locked tonight. The look wasn’t threatening, but he had done nothing to garner any forgiveness, either.

  His room was large, and in addition to the bath a fire burned low in the fireplace. He stripped off his armor and underclothes. Each layer removed brought a sigh and when the last layer, his silks, was removed, he rolled them up and took them in the bath with him. Only the queen and the wealthy could afford anything other than wool and leather. In the Southlands, there were many fabrics made and traded. Most fabric in the Northern Wastes was obtained through raids, whether it was bulk fabric or clothing taken from the person wearing it. A clan chieftain’s wife would not shun a dress previously worn by a noble lady of the Southlands. Most would come to them undamaged, but it wasn’t always the case with a man’s shirt or pants. Holes and blood usually dotted the shirt in one or multiple places. He sat his bottle and glass down on the floor next to the tub.

  Sinking down into the warm water, he smelled the scented oils. Railia had used them conservatively, he thought. The scent wasn’t strong at all. Either she wasn’t one for excessive perfume or she was being considerate of him. He would hang his silks by the fire, where they would dry quickly and have a faint aroma of wood smoke. Reaching down, he poured a drink, then leaned back again and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.

  He soon woke with a start. The water hadn’t grown cold, so he hadn’t been asleep long. Nevertheless, it was time to get out before he got chilled. Downing the brandy in two swallows, he dunked his head underwater, wetting it well, then began rubbing down with a block of soap. Dunking again, he rinsed clean and climbed out to dry off.

  Standing naked by the fire, he dried, then arranged a chair to hang his silks on. There was split wood nearby, so he added it to the fire, which would gradually burn down during the night. Wringing his silks out thoroughly, he laid them over the back of the chair, placed his sword on the bed and lay down. Crawling under the blankets in a warm bed, he positioned his sword across his body, one hand on the hilt and one on the scabbard. In no time, he was falling asleep to the muted sounds coming from the common room below.

  *****

  Theralin and Systhania shared a table, drank their wine and discussed Jarol. They agreed he had singled them out and they didn’t care why. They would exact some form of revenge on him, general or not. He wasn’t acting like a general, so they saw no reason not to retaliate. Ordering another bottle of wine and an extra glass, they took it up to the room they would share with Railia for the night. Railia lay on the only b
ed, tossing a coin up then catching it.

  “Captains, I thought we could flip and the winner gets the bed,” Railia suggested. She produced a coin with a crown on one side and dragon on the other.

  “Sounds fair,” Theralin agreed, shutting the door.

  “Choose,” Railia said, looking at Theralin then sending the coin upward end over end.

  “The crown,” Theralin called before it hit the floor. The coin spun on the floor then finally lay down.

  “The dragon. I win,” Railia cheered. “Captain Systhania, would you like to flip or call?”

  “I’ll flip,” Systhania said, taking the coin and sending it almost to the ceiling.

  “The dragon. It proved lucky for me the first time.” Railia said. The coin hit hard and bounced, then rolled across the floor. They moved out of its way and followed it as it bounced off the bed post and the wall before falling over.

  “The crown. I win!” Systhania cheered and all three laughed.

  “Railia, as runner-up in our contest I would be happy to share the bed with you. There is enough room for the two of us and Theralin can combine both sleeping mats on the floor for more comfort. Tomorrow we will be on the cold ground again.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course. Theralin and I discussed it. Sleeping on the combined mats would be more comfort than she is used to back at the palace. We will all get a comfortable night’s sleep.”

  They talked until the wine was gone. Railia was asleep. The lampshade, almost closed, gave off a slight yellow haze. With Theralin’s ear to the door, she could hear the cacophony of men snoring and making other uncouth sounds in the common room. She looked back at Systhania and opened the door.

  *****

  Morgan mucked the stalls, watered and fed the horses and started sharpening the extra axes. His father and brothers would be back in three days and would most likely take the two fresh horses to go into Talons Station to buy more. They sold off all but four to keep expenses down in the winter months, then bought six more in the spring. There was only half a coil of rope, which would last them three weeks before it became unserviceable. Grain for the horses—a bag would do for now. Axe handles—none, better get two. His brothers would try to start something when they saw them. It was a matter of pride to use the same axe without ever breaking the shaft. But if it happened, they would need a replacement. He had enough of a list to warrant a trip to Talons Station and went to find his mother.