The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  Morgan woke like he had every morning. The room was barely lit, though the servants hurried to get all the torches burning. The fire had already been stoked and fresh logs added onto last night’s coals. The stone floor was cool but not cold. He lay on his back between the throne and the hearth, having stretched his chain as far as it would go to get closer at night. Though he was awake, he kept his eyes closed. The door behind him—the door the queen used—opened and closed and the footsteps of the queen and her two orc bodyguards approached. He knew he should get up and move next to the throne, but instead he pretended to sleep.

  “I know you’re awake,” Verlainia said, stepping on his chest. The hem of her gown brushed across his face as she walked on and over him.

  Morgan grunted but otherwise said nothing. He stood and stretched his arms, voicing an over-exaggerated yawn, then walked over and knelt beside the throne. His knees on the floor, he sat on his heels. He felt it was very much the same way a loyal hound would sit next to his master’s chair. A thought crossed his mind and he chuckled, then coughed to hide it.

  “You find humor so early.”

  “Just, you felt heavier than past mornings when you’ve stepped on me.” The orcs shifted nervously behind her. “Your Highness,” he added for good measure.

  “Theralin told me you had lost your mind when you came across the charred bodies of the goblins. I didn’t believe her until now.” Morgan continued to smile. Verlainia wasn’t having it. “I will dance on your body tomorrow. For now, a long drink from your essence will suffice,” Verlainia spat.

  She was about to indulge when Tarin entered the hall, dragging Railia behind him. It was too early for an audience with the queen. Even Morgan knew that.

  “Queen Verlainia, I come on my father’s behalf,” Tarin bellowed, speaking from halfway across the hall. “He wishes to buy your slave. He will pay ten gold to take him off your hands.” Tarin halted and bowed. Railia bowed and straightened but continued to stare at the floor. She looked like she had been beaten. Her face was bruised and tear-streaked. Two men about Tarin’s age followed them. They had bowed and remained quiet.

  “Cheap bastard,” Morgan mumbled under his breath.

  “Why does your father wish to purchase this slave?” Verlainia asked. Morgan felt her mood grow dark. “He knows I have laid claim to him.”

  “During our journey from the elven kingdom in the south, this slave took liberties with my sister.”

  Anger simmered inside of Morgan, his mood turning sour much like the queen’s had. It was the same lie they had told the queen on the first day he arrived. He hadn’t liked Tarin from the moment he first heard him speak. He especially didn’t like the way he had treated Railia. He had learned something within moments of meeting Queen Verlainia—thanks to Lord Ellitholm—settling a grievance didn’t require a lot of talk. Just get to it.

  “I can understand why Raile would be angry. His daughter sullied by a slave like a common whore. . .”

  “I’m glad you agree, Your Highness.”

  “But I am fond of this slave—”

  “Twenty gold,” Tarin offered, anticipating the queen about to balk. More people began to enter the hall. Morgan could see Jarol, Stonehead and Theralin along with some of the others. Trobar entered last, a head and a half taller than the rest and easy to see. Morgan forgot about Tarin and the queen for a minute. Friends or not, he was happy to see the others for the first time in what seemed forever.

  “Your father must be very angry to pay twenty gold,” Verlainia said. “Morgan, tell me. I will know if your words are false. Did you take liberties with Railia?”

  Morgan smiled at the queen. “I rode her well every day of the journey here, Your Highness,” he said in a husky tone. “She was warm between my legs and felt good on those cold mornings.” There was a moment that no one spoke. Railia looked up in shock. Jarol and the others standing nearby looked confused, although some were smirking. Tarin made another of many mistakes that morning and stood on the first step below the throne.

  “There! You see, he admits it,” he yelled, facing Morgan and pointing his finger.

  He was close enough now that Morgan could reach him. He sprang off the balls of his feet. Tarin had no time to react. Morgan brought his fist around to connect with the side of his head. There was no precision in the strike, just anger and momentum. Tarin staggered two steps then fell over and Morgan landed in a heap on the floor, choking on his collar. Tarin’s two friends moved toward him, but stopped. Morgan tilted his head back to look behind him and saw the orc twins, weapons drawn, standing in front of the queen.

  His hand hurt, his back hurt where he landed on the edge of the stone stair and his head hurt, but it was worth all of that and whatever the queen would do to him. Tarin’s friends began to help him up. Morgan spared a glance at Railia and smiled, then crawled up the steps back to his place beside the throne.

  “Morgan, I do not detect a falsehood, but somehow I don’t believe you.” Queen Verlainia’s eyes were hard. She hadn’t said a word about his actions, but he knew from the look some punishment awaited him.

  “I rode her horse. Did I forget to mention that? I’m sorry.”

  “Is this true, Railia?”

  “Aye, it is true that he rode with Railia some and the boy did nothing to harm her,” Stonehead said before Railia could answer.

  “Yes, in fact Railia knocked him out on one occasion to keep him from getting tangled up with Theralin... again,” Jarol added. Morgan looked askingly at Railia. She shrugged and looked embarrassed. “We think the good captain here was looking to get ridden, too.” Jarol smiled at Theralin’s scowl.

  “Qan, bring Tarin before me,” Verlainia ordered. The big orc must have been happy with the order because he leaped off the dais and grabbed Tarin by the collar with one arm and pushed his friends away with the other. Jerking him into motion, Qan forced Tarin to kneel in front of the queen.

  “Did your father send you to buy my slave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mobar, bring one of Tarin’s companions forward.” Unlike his brother, Mobar walked slowly down the steps. His head moved slightly back and forth, deciding between the two. They both backed away until one felt a guard’s sword between his shoulder blades and the other was grabbed by the arms from behind. Mobar grabbed the closest to him and pulled him forward until Verlainia motioned him to stop.

  Verlainia stood looking over everyone present in the hall. She moved deliberately down the steps. Morgan found he liked watching her walk. She had an athletic build, like Alexis, but was more endowed. She moved gracefully, with purpose. He was reminded of a wildcat stalking a rabbit. She walked past Tarin and addressed his companion.

  “Did his father send him to buy my slave?”

  “I... I do not know, Your Highness.”

  “You do not know or you do not want to tell me?”

  The unfortunate man hesitated to answer. Verlainia reached forward and then stepped back. She yanked the man’s sword from its scabbard and ran it through his stomach.

  “Your friends are loyal, Tarin. Too bad they are not as loyal to their queen.” Tarin twisted around in time to see his friend crumple.

  “How about you? Where does your loyalty lie?” she asked Tarin’s remaining friend.

  “With you, My Queen,” the man said and fell to his knees in reverence. “His father knows nothing of this. Tarin is angry over words he had with the boy.”

  “It is as I thought.” Verlainia turned as if to walk away, then spun on her heel and buried the sword in the kneeling man’s neck. His body dropped to the stone, head hanging askew. She threw down the sword and walked up behind Tarin, who still knelt facing her empty throne. Queen Verlainia then grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back. A knife appeared in her hand from somewhere and rested against Tarin’s throat. Mobar and Qan returned to stand by the arms of the throne, Mobar closest to Morgan.

  “Forgive me, please. I lied. Please don’t kill me, Your Highne
ss,” Tarin cried. A puddle formed around his knees.

  “Twenty gold, that was your offer. Give it to me,” Verlainia spat, her anger now compounded by a puddle of piss in front of her throne.

  “I... I only brought ten, I thought it much more than enough. But I will get the rest.”

  Morgan wasn’t sure how he felt about what was just said. The queen could kill him, but he didn’t think she would, not for a while at least. If she sold him to Tarin, he would find replacements for his friends and they would surely kill him.

  “Jarol, bring his friends’ purses. Let us see if in death they still protect you.” Tarin removed his purse from his belt and held it up to Verlainia. She tossed it to Railia. “Give the purses to her, Jarol. Railia, count the coins. If it’s less than twenty gold, you’ll become your father’s heir.”

  There was a moment of relief for Morgan when he realized he wasn’t being sold, before he was caught up in listening to Railia count coins. The hall was silent except for the sound of Railia’s voice.

  “... eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one,” Railia’s voice echoed.

  “That is enough. Put all the coins in one bag and hold them for me,” Verlainia ordered. “Tarin, today your life is worth twenty gold to you, but no more than the puddle of piss on the stone to me. Guards, take him, put him on his horse and make sure he leaves the city. Listen to me carefully, Tarin. If you ever set foot in my hall again, your head will decorate the city wall.”

  Morgan watched the guards hurry in and take Tarin by the arms, dragging him to his feet. They wasted no time hauling him out of the hall. Servants rushed to the throne and cleaned up after Tarin. Jarol and those who had come with him stepped close to the throne. Railia looked uncomfortable holding the money purse, like she wanted to be anywhere other than directly in front of the queen.

  “He may be a clan chieftain someday,” Jarol said of Tarin and smirked.

  “He will be worm food. Railia will be chieftess,” Verlainia said, brooking no argument.

  The tension in the air eased and Morgan sat back on his heels in his spot next to her throne. He half-expected to feel her hand in his hair, scratching his head like a dog, any minute. Jarol didn’t seem surprised by the queen’s comment about Tarin. She hadn’t said it in so many words, but Verlainia was eliminating any potential problems that could interfere with the building of her new kingdom.

  The crowd began to come alive, seeing the morning’s excitement coming to an end. Morgan readied himself for a long morning of reports, requests and complaints by everyone who thought they were anyone in her kingdom.

  “My Queen, the armies—” A wave from the throne cut Jarol’s report short. Morgan watched as all eyes turned to him. He turned slowly to find Verlainia staring at him. “Troll shit,” he swore. The excitement might not be over.

  “So you think I forgot about you and your insult.” Morgan tried to beat her to the punch by falling over and catching himself before she drained him and his head hit the floor. Evidence of his falls adorned his head like a bumpy crown. He closed his eyes, waiting for it, but it never came. Raising his head up, he looked around to see those closest to him smiling. Then everything went black. He would wake up later to find a new bump on top of an older one.

  “Are you going to tell us what he said?” Jarol asked.

  “He insinuated I felt heavier this morning when I walked on him,” Verlainia replied, sounding hurt.

  “You walk on him in the morning?”

  “He lies in the way, so I step on him.”

  “I see,” Jarol replied, giving the queen a look from head to toe.

  “What are you looking at? Choose your words very carefully, General.”

  “Beauty beyond compare, My Queen.”

  Twenty-Two

  Verlainia looked down at Morgan and shook her head. Jarol’s voice droned on in the background, making his reports. Her plaything was still unconscious; he reminded her of Jarol when he was younger, pushing all the court’s limits. Playing on Tarin’s anger, Morgan risked her wrath just to get revenge for Railia’s sake. He had a good heart, but he was naïve. He charged in boldly when he should step lightly, with stealth. Still, she knew well enough his options were strictly limited and he took advantage of the one presented. A thought crossed her mind. Would he fight for the north against his homeland if the girl Railia asked him to? She could tell he was fonder of the elf princess, Alexis—like Jarol, he aimed high—but the princess wouldn’t aid in turning Morgan into a fierce warrior, nor would her customs allow them to mate.

  Theralin had petitioned for Morgan’s return to her, but Verlainia was content to keep him right where he was at the end of her chain. He needed to be exposed to the machinations of court and the everyday affairs of her kingdom. The knowledge would serve him well later, after she bent him to her will. Jarol would need a captain to guard his back, and he liked the young man. He would trust him. The other clan chiefs had bonded with the boy as well. She could sense nothing special or magical about him. He had touched them, but she didn’t understand how.

  Verlainia thought that later, if he lived through the war and proved to be loyal to her, she would pair him with Railia and eventually give him the power to assume leadership of the Southern Clan with his wife. Until then, Verlainia would keep the girl safe and happy. She would provide her with Morgan as her husband and Verlainia would have the total loyalty of both Northern and Southern Clans. It would take time, but so would a war and setting up a new kingdom. Until then, she had an immediate problem to address with the leadership of the Elf Clan.

  “Railia, keep the gold,” she said, interrupting Jarol. “You will be staying here as my guest. I will notify your father.”

  “Thank you,” Railia replied, obviously stunned she had been addressed so suddenly. Jarol frowned at the interruption and change of topic.

  “Come, girl. It’s not every day your queen invites someone to stay with her... as a guest,” Verlainia said and glanced at the elf chained to her throne. “It’s for your own safety. Your brother will take revenge on you if you go back. I’ll arrange a room for you and have your things delivered there.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. I had wanted to be near my father for protection, but I think you are right about Tarin. He will do something the minute my father isn’t nearby.”

  “Of course I am, dear. I’ll find you work to keep you busy. You are essentially a noble, a duchess perhaps if we used such titles. It will be good experience for you. Now, we’ve kept the general waiting long enough. Jarol, continue your report.”

  “My Queen, the muster has netted us only three-quarters of our estimated numbers. Many of our people in the south near Rohans Town—” Jarol stopped and gave a slight bow to Railia. “Duchess.” He smirked and continued. “—are trying to get a crop sown so that their families will have food when they are gone.”

  “How do they expect to get crops sown when the ground is still part frozen?”

  “I sent someone and had it checked, and the ground has thawed enough to turn. They could, given time, get it done. Also, we have a number of elven families who are known to have sons and daughters of age, but they are missing and the families are tight-lipped, offering no explanation. I believe they hide in the foothills of the mountains.”

  Verlainia paused to think, tapping her lip with her finger. “Take the army south. Put Trobar in command. I want you to pick a contingent of loyal soldiers and ride ahead with this message for Raile’s people. ‘The queen will open the granaries and send food south to the families, but the men and women of age must answer the call.’”

  “And if they don’t... answer the call?” Jarol asked.

  Verlainia left no room for interpretation. “Then they die as traitors to the crown. I will handle the elven families while you are gone and what is left of them when I’m through will join you. Their fate will be the same as anyone who defies my order.”

  “Duchess, you may want to send a bird ahead of my arrival and encour
age your father to rally your people to the cause,” Jarol whispered to Railia.

  “Ow. What time is it?” Morgan groaned, interrupting.

  “Be silent, slave,” Verlainia ordered.

  “Shit from a thousand trolls, my head hurts.”

  Verlainia looked at Morgan and began tapping her finger. Everyone knew what would come next. “Your Highness, I will keep him quiet,” Railia said, running up the stairs. She knelt next to Morgan and put her hand over his mouth. Verlainia smiled. Her plan could work.

  “Be silent, you fool,” Railia whispered. “Court is in session.”

  “What, why? She is the one who keeps hitting my head on the floor.”

  “I still hear you,” Verlainia said. “Listen to the girl.”

  “I heard what the queen just told you,” Morgan said softly. “Since you’re staying, you should find Alexis. She has no friends here and you two know each other. It will give you both someone trustworthy to watch your back.”

  “It is a good idea, Railia. Most things that cross his lips are foolish, but that has merit. There are fools, even here, who would harm you for the right sum. It is possible your brother could hire someone to kill you or Morgan or both.”

  “You see she is always listening... and talking,” he whispered. “It’s hard to get any sleep.”

  Verlainia sighed and shook her head. “Jarol, we are falling behind schedule. King Michael is likely aware of our army gathering at our southern border and already rallying his troops.”

  “I am sure he is. Raile has not been subtle with what little he has done. I will need to send scouts across the frontier to be sure. I will—as you have instructed—have Trobar take the goblins and his orcs from Jhahtor into the Alloran Forest. The forest will support their needs for food and water and, if they are careful, they can remain hidden until we are ready to march.”