The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “Wait!” the leader yelled, then looked to the rider on his left. “Go. Inform the king the general wishes to speak with him. And hurry.”

  “I suggest we return to the cooler temperatures of the shade. We will ride out to this same spot upon their arrival,” Jarol said and rode toward a large tree standing alone at the edge of the field.

  Jarol had expected to have to wait, and wait they did. He was sure making him wait was more than just so they could discuss a plan. It was their move in the game and they would play it. He tried to get his officers to wager if they might be called northern dogs or some other equally ignorant name, but they declined, knowing words would be exchanged. They cared little what slurs would be thrown their way. The Southland army would find out soon enough it was not dogs but northern wolves who would descend on them.

  The king rode at the head of the column, front and center. There were five officers on either side, keeping pace. “Massey, send riders out to make sure we’re not being surrounded. I’m sure they will try something. Have them sound the horn if the Southland army moves beyond where we parley in the field.” Massey went to give the order while Jarol and Conrad rode slowly to meet the enemy. Massey caught up to them and took her place riding alongside Conrad.

  Jarol stopped them and dismounted, a sign he was riding no further than where he stood. “They will come to us. With their superior numbers, they will feel safe.”

  “How long would it take you to kill the king and his officers?” Massey asked.

  “Not long, but I doubt I could kill them all. Some would run before I could get to them. Besides, today is not the day for killing kings,” Jarol answered. “I want the king taken alive when the time comes. He has no wife or heirs of his own. I am going suggest a resolution to this war once we’ve captured him.”

  “What if he has no desire to go along with this resolution you propose?”

  “In that case, I’ll let the queen decide his fate. He is not a warrior or even trained as a soldier. I’ll not kill him for the sake of killing. He is a king and we will treat him as such. Mostly. As for his officers, we will take the higher ranks for information. After that, they serve no purpose.”

  Massey nodded in understanding. The Southlanders were almost upon them.

  “One more thing, dear cousin. My studies tell me the south enlists no women or females of other races in their army. They rarely enlist the males of the other races. It is likely we shall witness their prejudice and disdain in this regard. Hold your tongue and do nothing but smile. Here they are. Let’s see what they are made of.”

  The king and his entourage stopped ten paces away. What seemed like a long silence ensued until an officer’s horse stomped his foot, expressing its impatience with standing still. Jarol couldn’t blame it. He thought the king might start out with threats or ranting about the army camped at his border, but King Michael regarded him in a reserved silence. The older man on his right did the same. If Jarol remembered his studies, the man’s rank was general. The silence wasn’t unnerving, if that is what the king sought to do, but it was too quiet. Jarol felt it was time to begin.

  “I am Jarol, general of the armies of Queen Verlainia. I bid you greeting Michael, King of the Southlands.”

  “Is this a ruse? You are too young to be a general in any army,” the old general said.

  “It is not a ruse, General...?” Jarol inquired with a gesture of his hand.

  “Izing.”

  “General Izing, it isn’t a ruse. Time will tell if age means more than having a strong sword arm.”

  “Your Highness, this is surely a trap. We should leave at once,” a man wearing the rank of major said.

  “There is no trap here unless it is one you’ve set,” Jarol answered, watching the king and ignoring the major. “I’ve brought two hundred men as an escort, no more. I’m sure you have more than that accompanying you.”

  “We’ve brought a thousand. More than enough to thwart any treachery you have in mind.”

  “That is good,” Jarol acknowledged. “The fight would be about even if one were to happen.” Conrad chuckled at his remark.

  It seemed the major didn’t like being teased. “Take your dogs and camp whores and leave before you feel the might of our army,” he said, looking directly at Massey.

  Jarol looked from the major to the king. “Enjoy your insults. They mean nothing to us. To be clear, we are wolves, not dogs, and our camp whores—as you so eloquently called my female soldiers—are three times the man you are, Major. Would you like to challenge her?”

  Jarol was certain more of the king’s officers felt the way the major did. He had thought more of them would make a display of themselves, but decided they were better trained and would not speak out in front of the king. The major bristled at the question and dismounted.

  “No!” Michael said forcefully, his first word of the meeting. “Major, you will remain silent and stay on your horse.” The general glanced at his subordinate and shook his head.

  “It’s a shame, Your Highness, you do not let my lieutenant have the chance to defend her honor. What is your name, Major?”

  “Garmin.”

  “Massey, remember that and let all the females know his name—especially the orcs.” Jarol enjoyed the look on the major’s face. “When the fighting starts, I wouldn’t want to be you, Major, that’s for sure.”

  “Major Garmin, you and the others return to the ranks. General Izing and I will stay a few moments more.”

  “But, Your Highness—"

  “Now, Major, or suffer the consequences for insubordination.” Jarol watched as the officers turned their mounts and rode back to picket line the thousand-man escort set up. Michael, Izing and the king’s guards remained.

  “Why are you here? No, I know why you are here. You’ve taken the measure of my officers. Is there anything else?”

  “Not just your officers. Your silence didn’t fool me. You’ve watched me this whole time and you still think I’m just someone’s welp sent here to fool you.”

  “We can’t rule it out,” Izing said.

  Jarol’s features changed from relaxed to hard. “You are both weak. You are a king and general who’ve fought no wars, no skirmishes, and in sword practice no one wished to hurt either of you. I’m sure it’s true. Your officers speak out of turn and have no real knowledge or respect for what they face. Your spies have informed you of our army, but did you really listen? Had either of my officers spoke to you as yours did, their tongue would hang about their neck from a leather thong for all to see. The only wise thing you did was stop the idiot from stepping down off his horse. My dear cousin would have gutted him in front of your men, which is what I hoped for. You see, we have trained with steel since our eighth summer, along with many of our clan brothers and sisters. Your men will die, most of them quickly, but some like the major will take a long time to perish.”

  The king and general both turned red with anger. Now Jarol would have them fuming back at their camp. He had little more to say, but it might be the most important part of his plan.

  “You and your army should fall back to Torfellon so you have a place to cower. Maybe prepare for a siege, if you know how. I am returning to my camp. I will see you both soon.” With that, Jarol turned his horse and walked it back toward his men. He didn’t look back and instructed the other two not to either. He hoped Michael would have him followed to be sure of his exact whereabouts and be angry enough to attack first. Then he would close his trap. If they didn’t, then he would take his army and hit them head on. They would lose many more lives on both sides of the war.

  Thirty-Three

  Drae’Anallese pumped her mighty wings one last time, determined to land as near as she could to her prey without making a sound. Gliding in lazy circles, she descended on the field and landed. She felt the top of a tree rub along her belly, tickling her as she cleared the wood and stretched her legs, reaching for the grass below. A claw scraped the earth as she glided lower. Her
legs pumped as she landed on the run. She ran a short way until she stopped herself without falling face first into the earth. She was proud of herself; she had never had to land in such a stealthy manner.

  The white dragon had put much thought into how she would take the sword from the man. While he feared her, he was brave—or dropped on his head as a hatchling—attacking her the way he had. Whatever it was, she couldn’t afford to let him slip away from her again. After departing from the encounter with him on the road, she had returned in hopes to speak with the elves. She knew she had injured a guard and his horse, but the last she saw, the other was still alive and unharmed. She wanted to know more, but found she would get no answers from either.

  One elf succumbed to his injuries and, after studying the dead horse, she saw it had been relieved of its misery. She also saw no reason to let it go to waste and devoured it after cutting away the saddle. If she had been starving, she would have eaten it regardless if it smelled unappetizing. Finishing her meal, she walked into the wood, following the trail she had made earlier in her anger. This time she was not angry and searched for ways around the trees while still following the path the man had taken. She could still smell his spore and detected that of the second elf on the same path.

  She wondered how the man had been so lucky to be so near a small but dense growth of trees. The north had forests, but not with the dense, lush growth of the Alloran or Black Mountains. Finally, her nose brought her to the body of the elf. The smallest creatures of the forest had already dined on his remains. The body had a gaping wound, just one, that had almost cut the elf in half. The armor and rib bones, stained with dried blood, were shorn clean through.

  Drae’Anallese walked on through the wood in the direction of the road. She would follow it south, knowing it was the way the sword would travel. Still unsure about the man who carried it, she knew one thing: the sword could hurt her with its edge, and not just by magic alone. Had the man intended to hit her with the flat of the blade or was he unskilled? Either way, she was thankful she only had brief pain from the slap on the tip of her sensitive nose. There was another matter she did not know how to handle: Dra had laughed at her. Maybe she would let the man live, but the sword might slip from her claws and fall into the depths of a lake. Then she would laugh and leave it until she felt like telling the Ancient One where it was. Crystal would pull it from the lake with a thought.

  Now to take it. Drae’Anallese looked up at the stars and sighed, hoping she would be successful. It had been so long since she had changed her form. She would change into one she had used last, for it was clearest in her mind. She recited the words of power over and over and felt the magic building. Her large, draconian figure shrank and took on the two-legged shape of one of the Dark Ones. A Dark One had tried to steal from her hoard many, many moons ago and she had distracted him with the nubile form of a dark she-elf. In a frenzy of non-stop mating, she wore him down until he couldn’t move or stay awake. It was also possible she had used some of her magic on him to discourage him from leaving her embrace. Then she stood over him, transformed back and killed him.

  The man who had the sword could not resist her if it came to more than just distracting him. He was male and her two-legged form was desirable. The magic completed its task and faded, leaving her standing in the tall grass. She wobbled at first on her unfamiliar legs, needing a few steps to establish her balance. She couldn’t see her face, but the body looked as it should. Long fine white hair hung down to the middle of her back. She ran her fingers through it, admiring its silky-smooth texture. She felt her nose and ears, and while the nose felt right, her ears seemed longer, jutting up through her hair and coming to a well-defined point.

  Satisfied, she walked barefoot and naked, stealing silently closer and closer. The magic of the sword felt stronger with each step. Flickers of light shone through the trees as she closed on the silent camp. She could see two lying near the fire while one sat cross-legged on the ground. It was him and the sword lay across his lap. His back was to her as he stared at the fire, engrossed in its flames.

  *****

  She is here, Dra said to Morgan.

  I’ve heard nothing but the crackle of the fire and the forest at night.

  She has changed. Her form is more suited for stealth and... I think you will appreciate this change.

  Appreciate? How so?

  The teeth are much smaller. Morgan detected the dragon god’s amusement.

  “That’s far enough,” he said out loud.

  “Give me the sword and I will let you live,” a voice cooed and startled him. He thought she would speak directly into her mind, as she had before.

  “Sometimes I would love to give it away. But I think there is more to his choosing me than I’ve been able to grasp. You should go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Turn and face me.” Morgan did and felt blood rushing to his face. “You are so young and can’t know what you carry.”

  “You don’t know everything,” Morgan said, staring for only the second time at a naked female. He did well at first, keeping his eyes on her face, but then they drifted over her white hair, appreciating the way it lay over her shoulders and splayed across her chest. Closing his eyes, he didn’t dare look any lower.

  “I know more than you think,” he stammered. “I don’t know about other gods, but this dragon god likes to talk—when he wants to. How do you think he escaped the chains and became a sword?” He opened his eyes, staring into the dark above her head.

  “You like this female form,” she cooed again, sauntering closer. “If it pleases you, I could stay this way and you could enjoy it for a time.”

  “I—” Morgan felt the sword ripped from his hands right before his back hit the ground. He took a deep breath and sprung back to his feet, seeing the backside of her naked form vanish into the trees.

  “Morgan, was that a naked woman running from our camp?” Morgan turned to see Fredrik sitting up, wide-eyed.

  “Dragon,” Morgan said, tearing into the woods after her. Running straight ahead, he found an open field and saw her standing still, holding the sword. She looked at him and smiled. Her body shimmered in the moonlight. Morgan had learned that the shimmering was the working of magic and ran toward her with open arms, tackling her. The sword fell from her grasp and he held it back to keep it out of her reach. Only there was no need. Too late, he realized his mistake. She was no longer lying under him in her elvish form. His body soared into the air on a bed of hard scales and it was all he could do to hang on as she thrashed, trying to dislodge him.

  He felt himself lifted higher and higher, and then the movement stopped. He sat behind the dragon’s head on her long neck. Squeezing hard with his legs, he hoped she would stop her thrashing long enough for him to slip the sword onto his back. He got his chance when she ran and beat her wings to take to the sky and take him with her. Then she leaped into the sky and the sound her wings made changed as they grabbed more air, pushing them closer to the stars. Quickly he pulled the strap of his scabbard over his head and arm then grabbed hold of her neck with both hands. The dragon continued to fly higher and the air grew colder. Then she turned.

  “Aieeeee!” he screamed. The fall was much faster than the climb into the sky. His eyes watered and he thought his clothes would be ripped from his body. His fingers slipped and his legs could no longer maintain their hold. He slid down her neck toward her shoulders. He knew if he slid too far, she could turn her head and snap him up. His fingers ached from the cold, but it didn’t stop him from reaching for a new handhold. He felt a ridge of curved bone and grabbed, then tried to look through squinted eyes for another. He found one on the other side, just within his reach.

  Morgan’s arms stretched across the back of the dragon’s head. His head and the side of his face rested against her crown. He pulled, trying to move even farther forward, but the air buffeted him, pushing him back. His hands slid from the top to the back of the curved bone around her ear.


  Stop that or I will eat you, echoed in his head. He was hanging on for his life; why would he stop that? He tried to dig his toes in and push forward, but she turned skyward again. He looked down toward the ground then pulled himself up higher on her head. Then he remembered. He pushed farther and then dragged his hand along the edge of her ear. His body shook as she rumbled inside. He repeated it on the other side and she shook her head, trying to dislodge him.

  “Does that feel good?” Morgan yelled instead of answering with his thoughts.

  I will kill you for that.

  “Take me down to the field so I may rejoin my friends. Then be on your way, dragon, or I’ll keep rubbing your ears.”

  Do not think you have power over me. She descended much slower than last time. The forces pushing against him eased and he pushed up to the top of her head and stroked one side while holding on to the other, his hand following the ridges in long strokes. Instead of an angry rumble in her chest, now it felt like the purr of a cat. He thought he saw movement in the wood near the field. She had returned to the same place they departed. His friends had maybe come to look for him. Distracted, it was too late. She hit the ground and halted, dipping her head and throwing him into the tall grass.

  Morgan landed, his breath exploding, while his sword dug painfully into his back. He rolled twice and came to a stop. Trying to get up was a mistake as she sent him tumbling through the grass. Pain shot through his shoulder and arm as he sucked in a gulp of air. He lay still, bathing in the moonlight and staring at the stars. It would have been memorable except for the pain. Then the view was gone, blocked from his sight by a huge head.

  You should not have done that. Her anger rumbled through the ground as the words entered his head.

  “Put it on the list of things I should have never done. Become infatuated with an elf princess. Talk back to a queen. Listen to the spirit of a dragon god—that was a bad one. Stroke a female dragon’s ears on the advice of said dragon god. Again with the dragon god.” Her nose hung just above his chest. The heat of her breath blowing across him was like lying too close to a fire. He dearly wanted to move, but didn’t want to make her any angrier.