It was all happening fast and in close quarters. Alexis tried to kick him on the other side of his head, but his free arm took the brunt. One good result was he had to let go of the servant’s dress and catch himself with his other hand. The kick might not have struck its target, but that didn’t lessen its force. The servant grabbed the bottom of the dress and jumped up on the seat. Pulling down on the shoulder, she shimmied out it with the aid of the rip down the front and stood in a simple linen shift with a knife belted around her thigh.
Alexis slid her dagger out of its sheath and moved over a step to put herself between Milandro and the servant. Milandro was on his knees, using the seat behind him to push himself into a standing position. There had been things Alexis wanted to say to Milandro and had gone over them in her mind while she waited, but now that she faced him, she wanted it all to end.
Milandro hacked and spit a gob of blood and saliva at Alexis’s face, then roared something unintelligible, reaching for her throat with both hands. She stood focused and let it hit her cheek. His hands closed around her neck and he roared again in triumph. Her left fist came up between his arms, driving his broken jaw into the roof of his mouth. Her right buried her dagger into his gut to the hilt.
The servant who watched it all in the few breaths it took stepped past Alexis and swung her arm in a wide arc, burying her dagger into his back. Milandro arched and dropped his hands from Alexis’s throat. Pulling her dagger straight back, Alexis drove it home again, only higher this time and at an angle under his rib bones. She withdrew it, ready to drive it home again, when Milandro’s knees buckled and he fell forward. The servant’s hand darted forward and grabbed Milandro’s collar and jerked him back so he landed on the floor of the carriage instead of the finely upholstered seat cushion.
Gasping, the sound of death rose from the floor where Milandro lay, his blood filling his throat and choking him while his three other wounds flowed blood into large pools at their feet. Alexis opened the door and stepped out into the night. She took a deep breath and held it, then released it in a long, slow sigh. The clean night air washed the stench of blood and death from her nose while the sounds of the dying elf washed away her rage. She felt the touch of the servant and the shiver that shook her newfound cousin. She reached her arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
“Here, take my cloak,” Alexis said, pulling it from her shoulders and wrapping her cousin in it. It was her ranger’s cloak and would at least keep the chill of the night air at bay. It wouldn’t help with the shivers that would come when her cousin thought about what they had done tonight. The sounds coming from within the carriage had ceased. The driver made his way from his place by the tree in the wood.
“Princess,” he said offering a slight bow. “Desiree and I can take care of this if you wish to depart.”
“Desiree,” Alexis said, looking at her cousin.
“Yes, Princess.”
“I’ll help you. Is there water and wine in the carriage?”
“Yes. It is one of the royal carriages, although not one used often,” the driver answered.
“Let us rid ourselves of the body and then pour water and red wine on the floor.”
“Princess?” Desiree said, not understanding.
“We need to rinse the blood completely, but for now we’ll wet it with water skins so it doesn’t dry. If there is a stream, we can use the bucket and give it a good rinsing, but it still might stain the wood, so we pour red wine on the floor and leave it. That will help mask any smell and stain over the blood.”
“I’ll break the bottle on the floor too. The messier the better,” said the driver, understanding Alexis’s plan.
The driver and Desiree picked up Milandro’s dead body and carried it into the wood. Alexis wondered what they were doing. Hopefully they wouldn’t just dump it. She didn’t care if the forest and its creatures feasted on it, but she didn’t want it found. They followed a game trail two hundred paces from the carriage and then left it to walk another fifteen paces. It was dark, and she was surprised the two could follow anything but then she saw a pile of dirt and the grave they had prepared in advance.
She didn’t know who, but she was thankful someone had thought this far ahead. Then she changed her mind and thought it was Desiree, following the instructions of her father, Alexis’s uncle. This was his plan and now it all made sense. They lay Milandro’s body next to the grave and Desiree searched him and stripped his body. It was not something that Alexis would have done, but she wouldn’t judge or begrudge them the spoils. They only took his rings and money purse. Alexis had mentioned that it wouldn’t do to have his weapons, boots, or clothes. Those things would be recognized by his family and friends.
The driver rolled Milandro into the grave. She noticed it wasn’t shallow, likely due to another bit of instruction from her uncle. The two servants filled the hole and covered it with leaves and tree limbs. All three stared at the spot when they were done, until Alexis turned and walked back to the game trail.
“We will take care of the rest, Princess,” said the driver, bowing again and taking his seat up on the driver’s bench. Desiree took a seat next to him.
“Desiree, tell my uncle thank you, first off, then tell him he owes me some explanations the next time I see him.”
“I can tell him to come to the inn, Princess, and if you would allow I will come with him. I will keep the reason a secret and would love to see him squirm while you pry him with questions.”
“Not this time, dear cousin. I had thought I would stay a day after the deeds of this night, but I’ve decided to leave now. There is someone I must find and tell that I am free; my betrothal is over. He is young and often finds himself in one form of trouble or another. I need to be there to guide him around such pitfalls.”
“I’ve never heard an elf use so many words to say they love another,” said Desiree with a smile that lit up the dark.
Alexis frowned. “I never said I loved him.”
“Yes you did, in an overabundance of words.” Desiree looked at the driver, who nodded. With a shake of the reins and a kind word to the horses, the driver moved them forward and turned to leave the way they came in. Alexis sat on her horse looking at her cousin, who was still smiling at her. She sat there as they drove back to the road. Her future lay in the other direction.
Looking over her shoulders, she checked to see she had everything she needed to start her journey. Checking everything off on her mental list, she patted her horse’s neck and urged her on. Her first stop would be the camp of the Northland army, then on to Rohans Town. She hoped by now they had word of Morgan’s whereabouts. She felt no remorse over Milandro’s death nor did she feel it unjustified. She smiled and thought about the last exchange she had with Desiree and knew without a doubt that... troll shit, Desiree was right.
Thirty-Six
Early the next morning, soldiers came and took Raile and Tarin away. Morgan woke to Jarol and Fredrik in another argument. Groaning, he sat up, then stood and stretched. Jarol was doing his best to change his father’s mind but Morgan saw Fredrik’s calm demeanor could only mean he wasn’t heeding anything Jarol said.
“Old man, if I see you on the battlefield I’ll kill you myself,” Jarol shouted and grimaced at his own words. Fredrik let his fur coat drop to the floor waited for his son to examine him. Morgan was looking at Fredrik just as Jarol was, with a face contorted in pain and sadness. The man was bones and hanging flesh. Morgan understood Jarol knew about Fredrik’s condition, but he had not, and while it hurt to look on him, Morgan understood Fredrik’s decision even more.
“I might have half a moon, Son. I can only keep small amounts of food down, just a few bites, or it all comes back up. Let me die with a sword in my hand and your blessing. Let me die as the Chieftain of the Northern Clan, and not some shriveled-up husk of man. Our queen would want her chieftain to die in the manner that befits his position.”
“Stop. Just stop talking, Father,” Jarol said
and looked at Morgan. “Will you fight your own people?”
“Only if they attack me.”
“To protect my father?”
“I have thought about it and have an idea. But I do it for Fredrik, not you, Jarol. I know you and the others could have treated me different when you took me north. Even the queen showed me some small favor. All of that, though, is not enough to turn me against the Southlands.”
“You have to choose a side, Morgan. I would have you in my army.”
“I have chosen a side Jarol. My side. After I help Fredrik, I’m leaving this land.”
“I called you a fool before and I meant it.”
“I’m sure you did. Embrace your father and go lead the army. Fredrik will be here when you return, but not I. Say goodbye to Stonehead and Trobar for me. They were kind and I won’t forget it.”
“Queen Verlainia will have you hunted down and brought to kneel before her. Then she will take your head.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Don’t you have fifteen thousand men waiting on you?”
Jarol stepped nose to nose with Fredrik. The Chieftain of the Northern Clan was still taller than his son, even with a slight stoop. They threw their arms around each other and embraced. Fredrik held Jarol like he was twelve summers, patting and rubbing his back while speaking so soft in Jarol’s ear that Morgan couldn’t overhear. Jarol stepped back, breaking the hold his father had on him, and stalked out of the tent. Morgan saw the glint of moisture in his eyes that matched the eyes of his father.
“Don’t take Jarol’s harsh words to heart, Morgan. It’s clear he thinks of you as that little brother he never had. If you would get our horses ready, I’d like to write a brief letter to my son.”
“If I don’t come back to get you, you’ll find my body lying next to that ill-tempered beast you call a horse.”
“Do you know how I know you’re a good man, Morgan? Because that ill-tempered beast hasn’t tried to kill you.”
Morgan left Fredrik to his letter to saddle Blackstar and the horse that Lorna had secured for him.
“Morgan.” He heard his name and realized Lorna stood next to him.
“Lorna, what are you doing?”
“That’s what I came to ask you.”
“Fredrik and I are going for a ride to watch the army.” It was the shade of the truth. Not the tree, but the cooler gray area that resembled the tree.
“And I’m the queen of the Southlands,” replied Lorna, her tone cool and knowing.
“Well, Your Highness, wait here for our return. I’ll need your royal help, I think, before this morning is over.” He played to her offhand retort, refusing to say more. He had a duty to perform and it didn’t include her. If she rode out with them, a Southland soldier would strike her down with less thought than kicking a dog.
There was a great roar he swore Queen Verlainia could hear in her fortress in the north. The sound of horns blowing signals, the music of war, accompanied by another roar, thundering hooves that lasted until a mighty crash of metal on metal joined in the chorus of death. They both stopped and listened, along with everyone left in camp.
“You and Fredrik should stay here for a while. Like a good humping, that fighting will be a frenzy, then slow till the heat has left its loins and it stops. Just like a man, it won’t be long. You’ll see.” Lorna smiled weakly.
Morgan blushed in the gray light of dawn. He did not understand what Lorna was going on about. The men and woman on the battlefield were killing each other, not humping. Then he remembered how he met her and what she had been—or still was, he didn’t know. She said she was a whore and he called her a whore. It was just a word, no different to him than blacksmith or tinker. She had chastised his ignorance of her profession that same night in a dark alley standing over a dead man. He had blushed then, too.
“Lorna,” he said. “I wouldn’t know about that.” He bent over to cinch a strap on his saddle.
“Then stay for a while and I will teach you. The battlefield will still be there with its maimed and dead lying about—”
Morgan hugged Lorna. She stiffened at first, caught unaware, then squeezed him tight. “I know what you’re doing,” he next to her ear. “Thank you. I’m no coward and I tell you true I don’t want to be out there with my kinsmen on one side and friends on the other. But I ride out with a friend and bring him back. Then I am leaving. I think I’ll go to Rohans Town. I heard talk last night that Railia was the Chieftess now, but I think she’ll change her title to Baroness or Duchess or something equally southern. Queen Verlainia plans for her leaders to adopt southern titles when she wins the war.”
Morgan paused and Lorna said nothing. “I think it has been a moon—maybe longer, I’m not sure, my life has changed so much in so little time—since she announced she was the Lady Railia and Jarol teased her about it whenever they spoke.”
“Will you stay there? Where will you go after that? I have no family and no allegiance to any master. I can go with you,” she said hastily before he could answer her questions.
“Fredrik is waiting,” Morgan said, mounting his horse. “We’ll talk later and if you want to ride along to Rohans Town that’s fine. This is no place for you.” He took Blackstar’s reins and pulled him along behind. A glance back showed Lorna saddling her horse.
Fredrik was waiting in front of the command tent. “Were you waylaid by bandits? What took so long?”
“Lorna and I were speaking,” he said, leaving off why.
“I never asked why she rides with you.”
“No, I don’t think you did.”
“She isn’t a warrior. What did she do before deciding to ride with a runaway slave?”
“She was a teacher,” Morgan answered then urged his horse toward the battle.
*****
Fredrik smiled at Morgan’s back as the young man rode toward a battle of thirty thousand men and women. He thought Morgan would rather face a battle than listen to any more of his questions about the woman. Fredrik had lived too long not to recognize what type of woman Lorna was. He knew the young man who rode in front knew the same and didn’t care. Morgan didn’t seem to care who anyone was. A queen or a whore, chieftain or stable boy, he gave them all equal measure and treated them the same. Those around him were friend or foe. No more, no less.
Maybe that was what attracted those same people to him. Fredrik had only known him for a short while, but found himself amused, amazed and overall happy to know him. Aside from his son, who had the weight of the Northlands on his shoulders, there was no one Fredrik would rather have with him right now. Fredrik’s strength and body had abandoned him, but the will of a warrior still burned inside him. He had another reason for wanting Morgan along. Before he departed this life to join his ancestors, he wanted to see what the sword imbued with the spirit and magic of a dragon god would do to its wielder’s enemies.
He hadn’t voiced it to his son, but he thought the sword and the man would play a large part in the future of Torinth, larger than the war starting here today, and it pleased him to think he would glimpse the beginning of a new era. If Morgan remained the same man—and Fredrik hoped he did—then it would be a long time till Morgan realized how much he changed the world around him.
Fredrik regretted he wouldn’t see how it all turned out for Jarol. If there was a man alive in Torinth who had the skills and knowledge to lead an army, it was his son. The only thing Jarol lacked was experience, but so did his enemy. Finding raiders and bandits was not the same as fielding thousands of men and moving them on the field. Even Fredrik didn’t have that experience. The clash of swords rang nearer and, while Fredrik was sure he was the only man on the field wanting to die, he wouldn’t make it too easy on his foe. He left the scabbard hanging against Blackstar’s side as he pulled the broadsword and raised it, gritting his teeth to hold it up straight.
Morgan had reined his horse and waited for Fredrik to move alongside him. “Fredrik, I was thinking I would ride ahead and call out for one man, a
man of honor, to face the mighty Chief of the Northern Clan.”
Fredrik smirked. “Don’t lay it on too thick or the warrior might come after you in anger after finding his opponent old and weak.”
“Let him come. He will have to face Morgan, Dragon Thumper, Bane of Queen Verlainia, Woodcutter and Lover of an Elven Princess.” Fredrik laughed till his belly hurt. His thoughts of becoming serious in the face of death drifted away like fog in the morning sun. Once more, everything the young man said was true. Fredrik didn’t even doubt the part about the princess, which did not know of until now.
“Go fetch me a man of worth, Thumper of Dragons, and let’s be done with this business.”
*****
Marloy pulled his sword from the guts of the northern soldier and let the body fall to the ground. Bodies were scattered around him and the men in his command. Most were Northmen, but some where his soldiers. A tall man walked toward him, leading his horse as if he was out strolling in the country. He saw the sword hilt jutting above the man’s shoulder, but he made no move to use it. The man looked like a Southlander with his light brown hair and tanned skin. He stopped and picked up an axe and spent a moment looking at the dead dwarf lying a few paces from it.
“That’s far enough! What in the hells are you doing strolling around without a care? Are ya daft?” Marloy yelled.
“I’ve been called that before. I’m looking for a man of honor to fight Fredrik, the great Chieftain of the Northern Clan. It will be man against man with no outside aid. Are you the honorable man I seek, or do you need all those behind you to prop you up?”
“Where is this Fredrik? Take me to him. My men will accompany me, but will not interfere unless this is a trick. Then I’ll kill you first before I kill the great whoever he is.”
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