The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “That’s quite a list of conquests. If you can woo them, the dragon will be no match against your abilities,” Fredrik responded, then roared with laughter.

  “Um, I have to admit all three kicked my ass.”

  “And yet here you are, healthy and a little wiser.”

  “I have to rub her ears. How do I rub an angry dragon’s ears?”

  “I’ll write your next of kin,” Fredrik solemnly replied. All traces of joviality vanished and were replaced with a sad frown.

  “You and the dragon god should get together so you can take turns bringing me down.”

  “Morgan, Queen Verlainia will be even more angry—if that’s possible—when she finds out about her guards.”

  “She won’t know I had anything to do with it unless you tell her.”

  Fredrik was slow to answer. “We have to hurry and reach the northern army. Then I will be beyond her grasp and there will be only you to answer for your actions.”

  Both men heard a horse neigh and looked to see the woman emerging from the woods, leading Morgan’s horse. “I think we should ride for as long as possible to make up for lost time,” Morgan said, walking away.

  “You’re alive,” the woman said. “I’m sorry, but I had thought the dragon or the guards would have killed you.”

  “I’m unharmed. Even I can scarcely believe it.”

  “Have to say you’re brave to attack the dragon like you did. I thought we would all be killed.”

  Morgan took his horse’s reins, mounted and settled into the saddle. Looking over to her, he said, “I’m not so sure brave is what that was.”

  “Even so, it was something. Do you know you’ve never asked my name?”

  “Things have been... hectic. Thank you for aiding me with everything... ?”

  “Lorna.”

  “Thank you for aiding me with everything, Lorna.”

  Morgan encouraged his horse with the heel of his boot and headed down the road at a gallop. He stayed close to the edge and the others followed his lead, not wanting to be any farther than necessary from the wood. All three turned their heads, looking in all directions, high and low, for the dragon’s inevitable return.

  *****

  Drae’Anallese wanted time to think before trying to take the Dra as the Ancient One had commanded. Her anger had cooled and her mind filled with many questions. Only one would have the answers she sought. She pondered what she knew. The dragon god was no longer bound by chains but by a sword, and that sword was bound by dragon magic to the man who carried it. Even in the unskilled hands of the young man, the sword was impossibly dangerous. Striking her with the flat of the blade was a clumsy mistake—or it was not a mistake. The blow was only meant to stun and distract her, she reasoned, but why? It was clear he feared her—she could smell it. Why would he not want to kill her, his enemy?

  There was something else that happened when the she was struck that weighed on her. Laughter. It rang loud and clear in her mind. The sword—no, her god—laughed at her. Well, there had better be a good answer for that. The dragon gods had all but been forgotten.

  The sword was moving. She could feel the magic ebb. She made a slow, graceful turn and followed, staying far enough away her prey wouldn’t see her. She planned to visit them in the dark of night, swoop down and take both the sword and the young man. Then she would get her answers.

  Thirty-Two

  Jarol walked the through the manor, lost in wistful thought. His evening and early morn had been memorable and sure to invade his thoughts the whole day. Much earlier in the previous evening, he had asked a servant—one who seemed to always be nearby—to wake him very early, before the moon gave way to the gray dawn. He remembered her smile when she answered, “Yes, My Lord.” He noted then she didn’t fear him like many of the others. The steward may have assigned her to stay near. Regardless, he wasn’t surprised to later find her working as a server during dinner.

  It was a fine evening, and the first chance he had to relax. He had dinner with Stonehead, Railia, Theralin and the Princess Alexis, along with his officers General Arlen and Captains Stahl and Tema. The wine and ale had continued to flow long after the food was cleared away and everyone was in good spirits. The servant gave every guest a smile as she tended their needs. He gauged her ten summers his senior, pretty and still full of life. He had noticed it before, but tonight, with the war not constantly plaguing his thoughts, he appreciated her and what her good nature brought to the room. Later, Jarol was the last to leave. He sat stretched out in his chair, holding a cup of wine against his chest as the two servants cleared cups and plates.

  “My Lord, can I help you to your room?” she’d asked, anchoring his drifting thoughts. It is what he had hoped for and, evidently, her, too. He didn’t remember the walk. The wine and her skilled hands massaging his body furthered the most relaxed evening he had in recent memory. Had she been fully dressed while administering to his knotted muscles, he would’ve fallen to sleep straight away, but when he saw the dress slip from her shoulders and all her womanly curves... sleep became secondary to his other needs. Needs she fulfilled skillfully many times. Later, panting and sweaty in the dark of early morning, he pulled a thin linen blanket over them and fell asleep.

  He woke to being pleasured again, knowing he had only slept for a short while and wondering if the woman had slept at all. Her deft manipulations commanded his full attention with a sense of urgency, yet he felt it was more than her completing a task. Awake and satisfied, he knew she was finished, yet he pretended to still be groggy with sleep, hoping for more. He sighed when he felt her ease off him and get out of bed, listening while she dressed in the dark. Eyes closed, enjoying the darkness, he felt her lips kiss him softly on the forehead. “Good morning,” she said.

  The flicker of soft candlelight snaked between his eyelids, invading his peace. She poured his wash bowl full of fresh water, then walked across the room to light another candle. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, listening to the fabric of her skirt rustle as she moved about his room. “Get up, My Lord General, and let me dress you,” she’d ordered in a brusque tone, standing next to his bed. He took her hand and gave a gentle pull. “There be no time for any more of that, at least not till you come back this way.” He looked up at her and stared, saying nothing. The candlelight hinted at the red in her cheeks. She turned away from his stare and he noticed the freckles across her chest. Had it been too dark, or was too much wine to blame for him failing to notice them earlier? He wondered if it was coincidence she hadn’t buttoned her blouse up as high as it was when she served at dinner last night.

  He climbed out of bed, cupped water in his hands and splashed his face. She handed him a large clean rag to dry with while she took a smaller one, wetted it, then washed him. “You know, as a general I’ve mastered the art of water and rag.” She didn’t reply as the rag played across his chest and down over his muscled stomach. He flinched when the cold rag slid lower between his legs under his manhood. She laughed then spent a few breaths wiping his nethers.

  “Maybe you have mastered water and rag, General, but you’ve had a long night with little sleep. You’d be in a hurry and I’m sure there are places you’d miss.” She dipped the rag in the cool water and went right back to the same spot. He knew she was teasing him, a little revenge for making her look away with his stare.

  Jarol shuddered at the chill. “I could get used to this, and some warm water,” he said to her as he dried himself. She took his leather pants and knelt, holding them open and giving him a distracting view thanks to the buttons she’d left undone. He smiled, appreciating her teasing and her efforts to make sure she wouldn’t be forgotten. And she wouldn’t be. The rest went quickly. She finished dressing him with just bit of teasing here and there, then aided in buckling on his armor.

  She stood in front of him, looking him over. “Thank you... for everything,” he said, cupping her cheek. Again the candlelight couldn’t hide her blush, let alone her smile. S
he hurried over and opened the door to his room then clasped her hands together in front of her. He adjusted his armor, checked his weapons then walked to the door and stopped. Leaning in, he kissed her softly on the lips then left without a word. He heard the door close behind him but no other footsteps in the hall. He hoped she went to bed and wished her a peaceful sleep.

  The pre-dawn air held a slight chill when he reached the courtyard. His horse and packs had been prepared. Both of his hawks sat on the perch across the horse’s back behind his saddle. A cloaked figure sat on a horse next to his, Stonehead on the other side and his officers lined up behind. The figure spoke. “General, do you mind if I ride along? I will return home, report to my parents and take care of another matter.” Princess Alexis awaited his answer, and there was no one who would object to where she rode. Not even him.

  “Does that matter have anything to do with hired assassins?” Jarol and his officers had heard the whole tale of Railia’s abduction by a second pair of assassins and how they were meant for Alexis, and he heard of their deaths. An elven princess with the skills of an elven ranger and an angry fire burning inside her was not someone he wished to argue with.

  “Yes, and I have to say your barbaric northern ways have influenced me to bring matters to a quick resolution.” An edge tainted the sound of her voice.

  “You going kill someone, Princess?”

  “How did you guess? Can I ask you a favor?”

  “For you, Princess, anything,” he said and gave her a slight bow.

  “You’re in a good mood. You had a good evening, Jarol,” Alexis said. “But then we all saw the way you looked at the servant last night.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Like a dragon to a flock of sheep,” Alexis said, laughing. “If you find out anything or hear from Morgan, would you send word?”

  “I will, but I make no promises about anything else. My queen will want him back.”

  “I understand. But please understand I won’t let him go through that again. He didn’t deserve to be chained like a dog and suffer Verlainia’s whims.”

  “Why am I not surprised. We all saw the way you two looked at each other on the journey north,” he answered right back and changed the subject. “Where is Theralin? Is she not coming with you?”

  “She is staying with Railia for now to help protect her. She already sent messages to your queen advising her of all the events leading up to today.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Berhart had the sense to stay quiet and stayed out of sight after what I did to Raile and the others. If he is smart, he will continue his role as clan second to Railia. If not... he will be dealt with.”

  “Can’t ya two be talkin and ridin at the same time?” Stonehead said gruffly, then spurred his horse forward.

  They rode till midday where Jarol, Alexis and the mercenary company went on ahead. Two days earlier, he had sent a third of the army—mostly the soldiers recruited from Rohans Town along with Raile and Tarin and a handpicked escort—to make camp near the territory border of the Black Mountain elves. The escort for Raile and Tarin had orders to deal with the father and son if they caused any problems whatsoever. The reports Jarol had received so far stated that the pair whined and complained but otherwise posed no problems. The injuries the father and son had received at Jarol’s hand plagued them, as did the shackles, but Jarol cared nothing about their discomfort.

  He sent riders with word of his pending arrival to Lieutenant Massey—who he had put in charge of the escort—and requested she send scouts out. She was to have reports ready for him by his arrival. Trobar’s small army of orcs and goblins had moved out of the Alloran Forest at dusk and traveled through the night across the plain. His contingent of elven archers and spearmen moved through the Black Mountain Forest. A hundred of each, they marched to a point in the forest to await their final orders.

  Stonehead and General Arlen would command the main army until his return. They would march in two days whether he returned or not. He hoped he could entice the Southlands army to come after him before Stonehead and Arlen engaged them out on the open plain.

  The afternoon had turned to evening when they rode into camp. He saw the flags in the distance that signified the command tent and he made his way after dismissing the four hundred mercenaries to set up their own camp and ordering their commander to supply two hundred men for an excursion tomorrow before dawn.

  “Princess, you should share Lieutenant Massey’s tent. Rest before you continue on your journey,” Jarol suggested.

  “I’ll do that once I have someone show me the way.”

  “Come with me to the command tent and I’ll get someone to show you where it’s at. If I don’t see you in the morning, good hunting, Princess.”

  “Good luck, Jarol. Verlainia made a wise choice appointing you general of her armies. It’s just a shame all of this couldn’t have been handled differently, with war as a last resort.”

  “The north is a hard land, Princess, and just as hard on the races who call it home. Not too far in our past, we all fought each other until Queen Verlainia banded us together, and our land is stronger for it. But being brought together as one kingdom did not make us peace-loving; fighting and war is what we are good at, not speaking in riddles to each other or putting words on paper that have no value.”

  “You played a crucial part in getting the first treaty signed between the North and the Black Mountains. Do you plan on breaking it?”

  “Not I, Princess. Right now, I pray it holds for a few more days. I’m sorry if it offends, but I fully expect your king and queen to be the first to break it.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Greed, my dear. Your parents had no interest in our proposals until I mentioned gold and silver. I offered them a percentage of the spoils, remember? That is when they became interested. Battles and the war have to be won in order to provide a share. There is an easier way, and that would be to have King Michael give it to them for nothing. He will ask for their aid or neutrality and they will ask to be paid for one or both. It will be that simple and Michael will agree.”

  “That would be dishonorable,” Alexis said.

  “Rest well, Princess,” Jarol offered instead of continuing with the conversation. He had been given a task by his queen to get a treaty and he did. Believing in the treaty—well, that was not part of the task.

  *****

  Jarol hadn’t seen Alexis since the she departed the command tent the day before. He wished her well and smiled to himself, knowing she was not cut from the same cloth as her family. Her betrothed would, without a doubt, be joining his ancestors in the afterlife. The scouts had little problem finding the Southland army; a blind man could have stumbled into it. The other details they reported—positions of foot, horse and supplies—that he studied last night helped form his plan for the day. There would be night raids and multiple small attacks—mostly feints to keep their camp restless. He rode with Lieutenant Massey, his cousin, and Captain Conrad, who commanded the mercenary force. Conrad was one of the two men who survived Jarol’s judgment at Raile’s Manor in Rohans Town. It was clear among the officers he favored the two and had taken them under his wing.

  Every man and woman in the escort rode a horse; it was not a mission for foot soldiers. Jarol’s purpose was to parley, fight if they must and retreat with all haste. Hence the horses. He had no intention of offering a resolution or terms. The parley would be meaningless talk. It wasn’t the meeting’s purpose, although if King Michael proposed anything of merit, he would forward it to the queen out of respect. What Jarol wanted was to gauge the measure of the men leading the Southland army. He wanted them lined up in front of him so he could read each one: every facial tick, emotional flare or fit of anger. To see which face remained featureless, who showed fear. Their eyes would not lie. He had to see them and so did Massey and Conrad. It would be their job to find these men on the battlefield, so he could adjust his plans according to who was where. They w
ould attack the coward harder than the courageous and break them down.

  They encountered a small patrol of Southland cavalry resting their horses in midday shade. Across the field, he could see them scurrying to mount. He signaled stop and dismounted, taking his horse by the reins and walking forward.

  “Massey, Conrad, dismount and follow me. The rest of you, spread out and remain mounted; archers, be ready.” His officers dismounted and followed, walking side by side behind him. One Southland rider left the patrol, riding hard to make a report. Jarol hoped the others would ride out and meet him. A sudden wind blew across the field, billowing his black cape and cooling the sweat on the back of his neck. He stopped less than halfway across the open field, judging the distance to be within bow range of his archers on horseback behind him.

  Three riders rode out to meet them, leaving two to escape and report. It was smarter than all five riding out in a show of intimidation. Which wouldn’t have worked. They rode within twenty paces and stopped.

  “I am Jarol, General of Queen Verlainia’s army. I wish to speak with King Michael.”

  “The king is a very busy man, you understand. He has little time for coddling northern dogs,” the rider in the center said.

  “I see. Well then, it is good your king has empowered you to speak for him.”

  “I didn’t say that,” the man stammered.

  “Then I do not understand. We have asked to speak to the king, yet you sit here and no one rides to inform him.”

  Jarol paused and turned his head to look at the other two riders. “To think war might have been averted if you had only informed your king. Good luck to you and your families when he finds out. Mount up. We are leaving,” Jarol ordered, mounting his horse.