The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “I agree.” Verlainia fumed, knowing without proof that Raile had shown their hand on purpose. First the goblin imbeciles raided and murdered instead of scouting. Now Raile had not been trying to prepare his clan or conscript additional men and women for the army as he was ordered to do. He had misled her in his messages and made no attempt at stealth when he finally did begin to organize. Jarol was going to have to kill both him and Tarin soon, but not until she was certain about Morgan’s loyalty.

  *****

  Morgan watched Railia leave a short while later. The day droned on after Jarol and the others left. He fell asleep after eating his midday meal and only woke when he felt a foot nudging his side. Verlainia stood over him with arms crossed. The twins stood behind her smiling. Morgan hated when they smiled. It was eerie, especially if he saw them both smile at exactly the same time.

  “Stay awake tomorrow. You need to listen and learn.” Her foot nudged harder.

  “Why?”

  “Because your queen commands it.” Verlainia kicked him this time.

  “You’re using Railia, aren’t you. I hope you don’t hurt her. She isn’t like her brother.”

  “She is mine to use just as you are.”

  “Whatever you say. Good night, My Queen.”

  “It’s fortunate for you that I have plans for your future, or you wouldn’t see the light of the new day,” Verlainia said as she walked away. He had kept his eyes closed after seeing the twins smile, thinking it didn’t matter what he saw coming. He couldn’t run or protect himself with the chain at his neck. If he wasn’t returning to Theralin, maybe he would try to escape. In whatever northern kindness Jarol and the others had shown, they tried to lessen the blow of his captivity by saying he would be better off with the captain. After weeks enslaved to the queen, he was beginning to think they were right, but now that wouldn’t happen.

  In all the time he had worn the collar, he never tried to take it off. It was too tight for his fingers to fit between the collar and his neck. There was a turnbuckle he had watched them tighten when they put the collar on him. He tried to turn it, but found it had sharp edges that cut deep into his fingers. Lying on his back, he raised his hand to catch enough light to see the damage. Blood ran down his arm and dripped off his elbow.

  The wounds hurt, but not enough to penetrate the anger he felt toward the queen. She could have warned him, but then maybe she didn’t on purpose. Now she would know what he had tried to do. She valued loyalty over anything else and he may have just failed that test. He grabbed the chain and pulled, thinking maybe the link at the collar might be weaker than the rest. His first try, his grip was too close, the chain too short.

  Getting up on his knees, he grabbed the chain farther down and checked to see if it would snap when he pulled to take up the slack. He pulled down hard, only to whack his neck with the chain. It didn’t help that his bloody hand would not maintain its grip. Lying back down, he pulled his knees up over his chest and wrapped the chain around his feet, allowing again for enough slack it would snap and tug at the link on his neck. He kicked out and the collar tore into his neck, yanking his head forward. His bones popped.

  Self-preservation had kept him from doing it with all his strength and he was happy that it had. Now his fingers throbbed and his neck and the bottom of his feet felt raw. With his good hand, he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. He didn’t have the strength to rip it, so he wrapped the whole thing around his fingers and hand and did his best to tie it tight. Scooting across the floor to his spot closest to the hearth, he stretched out. He squeezed his damaged hand, keeping pressure on the fingers until he fell asleep.

  Strange dreams plagued his sleep. Mountains and forests spread out beneath him as he soared high in the sky. A voice screamed, “You are an abomination. There is no place for you here in our world.” Suddenly the world spiraled out of control. He was falling, then he righted himself, but was looking up at the sky. A black dragon was poised to strike with claw and fang, but wasn’t fast enough before he turned and met the attack, slipping under the attacker’s head and sinking his teeth into its neck. It shrieked in pain and anger.

  Claws ripped and tore the flesh on wings and bellies as they fought on, falling out of control toward the ground below. “I will die here today with honor, knowing that I took you with me,” his foe said. Morgan turned his body. His powerful neck twisted and pulled, leaving a fatal, gaping wound in the black dragon’s throat. He tried to break free of its hold, but the black dragon had dug its claws into both of his legs. His time ran out and they hit the ground. It collapsed under him. The pain was beyond anything he ever felt. He was broken from head to tail. He breathed in, choking on his own blood. His life ebbed away with each breath.

  Time meant nothing to him, for he had lived longer than any of his kin. As he lay, the pain faded, and he knew he was in his final moments. He could taste the blood that leaked between his teeth into the earth under his head. Movement in the distance barely registered on his brain. It took all his will to focus. An elf—one of the children of the gods—walked toward him. The furs of prey animals covered its body. Its hair was wild and unruly and it carried something unknown that resembled a serpent. To his credit, the elf showed no fear. He lost sight of him as he passed beyond his vision. Summoning his last vestige of energy, the dragon turned his head and saw it was wrapping the serpent just above his foot before his head dropped back to the ground.

  A moment later, he heard bellowing sounds that meant nothing until he could feel heat in his limbs where he hadn’t felt anything. It surged through his body, invading and devouring not meat and bone but his essence. He tried to open his mouth to bellow his rage at the theft of his magic and soul. It was his last thought in the body that had served him for eons.

  Morgan woke with a groan and forced his body to stand. The chain hanging from his neck sought to pull him down. Covered in sweat, disoriented and breathing heavily, he staggered a step or two, then, falling over, he caught himself and sat down. There was no forest or dead dragon, only a hearth full of glowing coals and small dancing flames courting the darkness. He had never felt so weak—even after the queen used her magic on him. His throbbing fingers reminded him who and where he was as he tried to understand what happened. A chill licked his wet body and soon turned into uncontrollable shivers as he crawled toward the hearth, seeking its warmth until his chain would let him go no farther.

  The few paces he had moved didn’t make a difference. The shivers turned to violent shaking, distorting his thoughts. He gripped the chain in anger and felt a new pain flare up in his fingers, giving him a little clarity. He pulled his bloody shirt free of his hand to look. The cuts had reopened, and his blood again flowed freely. He had to get closer to the warmth and to stop the bleeding. Using his chain, he pulled himself up. His anger didn’t warm him, but it did distract some from the spasms. He pulled on the chain with all his might, hoping to drag the throne across the floor. He screamed to strengthen his determination, his body so taut that, for a breath, the spasms didn’t shake him. Morgan hadn’t heard the story of the throne carved from a giant stone found at the foot of a mountain. Thirty orcs couldn’t move it, so the dwarves were ordered to carve where it sat.

  Blood flowed steadily once again, covering the chain where he held it. Soon his hands slipped as they had before. That simple act was the sign that what he wished to accomplish was futile. His weakness crushed him and he dropped where he stood. He didn’t feel the stone the side of his face collided with it like so many times before. Blood ran from a gash above his eye. The spasms regained their hold on him and he lay, his limbs thrashing out of his control. From the chain, a blackness swirled and covered Morgan’s blood. Its movements quickened and danced as if excited, lapping up every drop. As it fed, it grew until the blackness covered his head and arm down to his bloody hand.

  In moments, his blood was consumed from chain, flesh and floor and he ceased to bleed. The mist slowed its movements, collected around his
head, then began to flow into his mouth, nose and ears, leaving no trace of its existence. Morgan didn’t react. His mind and body had all but given up, though his subconscious felt a forceful presence. It was insistent, like a pounding on a door in his mind. Morgan pushed on it, trying to keep whatever was on the other side from getting in. The door shook from the blows it received, but it held and then the force stopped.

  You are strong. This is good. I need you. I need you to set me free and together we will punish our enemies. Long have I been trapped, my magic used to extend the lives of those unworthy to speak my name. I will teach you many things, but the knowledge will not come without a price. Your blood will pay the cost. It is the reason I am here with you now, and your blood will set us free.

  Go away! Leave me be. Whoever you are.

  Many have lived, bled and died at the end of these chains. But you look on with indifference and anger. You mock the queen daily. I feel your satisfaction in angering her. It is sweet to the taste. Open the door, Morgan, and let me in. Then I will show you who I am and who we will become.

  Morgan relented, reached out and unlocked the door, then backed away as it burst open. Darkness swirled around him. He screamed, but the voice that had spoken so loud became soft and soothing, lulling him into total darkness.

  *****

  King Michael dismissed his councilors after receiving overwhelming support to mobilize the entire army closer to their frontier border. The councilors were nobles, wealthy merchants and members of the military. The nobles and merchants who had holdings on the northern border of Torfellon at the frontier suffered from constant raids from the clans of the north. The idea of pushing the northern clans back and establishing a new border that captured a large part of the frontier appealed to them. They saw sacks of gold, their holdings and profits increased, as well as status among the other nobles farther south. The southern nobles were neutral on expansion. They supported the mobilization, but not a declaration of war until more facts came to light.

  The king reminded his northern nobles of their constant complaining about banditry and outlaws and that more land would mean an increase in the number of soldiers to protect it. More mouths to feed and bodies to clothe, as well as people to be provided with weaponry and armor. He made it clear that the crown would not increase the number of patrols it provided. The added bodies would mean a cost the nobles, would have to absorb before realizing any profit. Neither the king nor the military saw any benefit from expanding farther north, but if expansion got overwhelming approval and cost his government little, he held no issue with it.

  The only remaining members from the meeting were General Izing and Major Garmin. General Izing cleared his throat and took a drink of wine. “The riders left dressed as mercenaries and merchants. They each carry a pass signed by me to get them through any patrol of ours they may encounter. Here is the list of men I sent. The names are only known to the three of us. As I said earlier, stories are still making their way through the inns, merchant caravans and whore houses of the massing of soldiers between Rohans Town and the frontier border. It’s not clear when it started, but given the time for stories to circulate, best guess is no more than a month ago.”

  “I got the same idea from the reports I read,” Michael agreed. He was still in the same clothes and needed a bath, despite his earlier promise to Godfried, but the wine was good and things had gone well.

  “If that elf bitch of a queen wants to bring her ragtag scum to our lands, then I say we put them in their place and send them packing all the way into the Barren Wastes.”

  Michael sighed. “Major Garmin, your enthusiasm is appreciated but your language is unbecoming of an officer serving in my army.”

  “Apologies, Highness. I am angry they would even try to challenge us. We have a trained army that is far superior than any army made up of bandits and cutthroats.”

  “Your family is from our northern holdings, is that correct, Major?”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “I imagine that your family fought these bandits and ragtag scum?”

  “We have and still do. We have lost family,” Garmin said solemnly. “Uncles and cousins. A sister.”

  “It is true many of the undesirables of Queen Verlainia’s kingdom live in the southern half. Rohans Town was formed from that type of people. While Verlainia doesn’t ride herd over them, she has monitored their development and they have sworn allegiance to her. Now tell me, what do you know of the other races she governs?”

  “The orcs and goblins are no more than savages. The elves and dwarves aren’t much better, and the men are descendants from the wildmen in the frozen north, also nothing more than savages.”

  “I see. General Izing, are all your officers so ignorant that they know nothing of the lands and people of the north? You will see them all educated or replaced. I find this meeting is no longer productive. You are both dismissed.”

  Michael wasn’t happy with his general or his aide. He could live with an officer being rough around the edges, but if there were many officers who thought the way the major did, his kingdom would be in grave danger. He leaned his head onto his hands and rubbed his temples. Having accomplished all he set out to do, he would bathe and get some sleep. The meeting was adjourned and the two women were turned over his steward, his promise to Crystal fulfilled. They would be working somewhere within the castle tomorrow. He would be able to keep them safe.

  Twenty-Three

  Two figures in black crept in the shadows beyond the torchlight toward the guard at the lower entrance to the guest quarters. Neither made a sound as they moved to within a few paces of him. The shorter of the two tossed a small stone, hitting the guard in the shoulder. The guard flinched, but not enough to draw attention to himself. He backed up to the door and took his keys from his belt, but didn’t turn toward the door.

  “Do you know if the princess is in her room?” the short one asked in a hushed, masculine tone. A black scarf wrapped around his face muffled his voice and the black woolen hood of his coat covered all but his eyes.

  “That was not the deal,” the guard said. “You pay me and I open the door, then lock it again behind you.”

  “It was just a question.”

  “Give me the gold or go away. This isn’t the Black Mountains, assassin. You have to the count of three before I start yelling.”

  “Calm down,” the assassin hissed. “Here, take it.”

  The assassin took a leather drawstring bag from inside his coat and held it out to the guard. Putting it in his coat, the guard reached back with the key, inserted and turned it, then pulled the door open a quarter of the way. The shorter stepped past but the other was too large. The tall assassin grunted, then pushed the door and the guard just enough to gain entrance.

  The guard was right. This wasn’t the Black Mountains. This job was costing their client a fortune. Something had happened within the last day. All of their local contacts were scared and wanted little or no contact with them, therefore they could expect no help if things turned sour. He didn’t know anyone from the local guild, but knew they wouldn’t touch the job when it had been offered. Their decision didn’t stop them from demanding a percentage just so a message didn’t find its way into Queen Verlainia’s hand.

  Word around the inn was that the queen herself had killed two men and sent another riding for his life just that morning. And the elf lord challenged the new general and was killed. It would not pay to be anything less than polite with their contacts. They had no desire of being double-crossed and having their heads on a pole on the wall outside the gate. The hallway was quiet. The lower-level guards were making their rounds and should be on the other side of the fortress, if their information was correct.

  Lockpicks in hand, the assassin first tried to open the door without them. Finding it locked as expected, he went to work while the other kept watch. The lock was like many others. Once he had three picks in place, he pulled the handle down without a sound. Easing the doo
r open, he pocketed his tools and he and his accomplice stepped quietly inside, eyes and ears alert. So far everything was proceeding as planned. Neither could understand how three of their best had been defeated trying to complete the last contract on the princess. They wouldn’t make the same mistake; she’d be lying across a horse headed south before anyone discovered her missing.

  Across the room in the bed, a figure stirred, rolling over. It stilled and began breathing evenly again. Long hair lay across her shoulders, falling over her face and back. The short assassin removed a piece of cloth from inside his coat along with a vial. He poured the liquid onto the cloth and crept next to the bed. The tall assassin moved in beside him and rolled the woman onto her back, holding her down by her arms.

  A struggle began, then ended abruptly as the assassin covered the princess’s mouth and nose with the cloth, which kept her from calling out as well. The elixir worked as promised and the princess lay still once again, only this time she would not wake up any time soon. The tall assassin rolled her in the blanket, picked her up and laid her over a shoulder.

  “I bet you like having her lying over your shoulder, don’t you, Harmia.”

  “I like my lovers a little more lively and willing, Danfer. She is neither,” a deep but feminine voice replied.

  “I am lively and willing,” Danfer replied.

  “We are not having this conversation, now or ever. This is why I like to work alone.”

  “Once we are safely on the road, maybe I will see if the princess is willing. Not that it matters. Our client is going to kill her anyway.”

  “Are you really that bad off? Wait till we reach Frostbyte. There is no shortage of companionship there.”

  “Yes, but it comes with a cost whereas this will be free.”