An officer on the wall called out, “Fire arrows!” Shields all around Verlainia raised up. Qan and Mobar looked at each other and, as if some unspoken communication passed between them, they grabbed the nearest soldier on either side of the queen and forced them to give up their shields. Moving back to her side, they held the shields up and braced for the onslaught of flaming death that would rain down at any moment. Her enemy wasted no time.
“Move, you dolts. I can’t see a thing,” Verlainia ordered. The words no sooner left her mouth when the thrum of bow strings sounded.
“They fired on the slum,” someone down the wall shouted. The slum of the poor that lay north of the fortress and across the river glowed at first, then blazed out of control. The night and fortress were alight as flames soared. A second wave of arrows flew in the same direction, apparently out of spite. Those watching from the walls knew the slum would be a smoldering pile of ashes and death in no time at all. Screams and cries for loved ones mingled with pops and crackles as the angry blaze gobbled up the slum with a ravenous appetite. The fire grew so bright it was easy to see the dark elves in the distance standing at the edge of the wood watching. Verlainia’s lips spread in a malignant smile.
The wind blew smoke across the ramparts and carried with it the sound and stench of death. Verlainia watched her enemy build campfires in the distant wood that sheltered the army of Dark Elves and wondered how the enemy could march so close before a rider brought word. The fortress was first to be alerted, but anyone outside the walls would not have been alerted or realized what the mobilization of the soldiers and guards might have meant. It was possible some folk had got inside the walls before the gates were shut and barred. The rest would have to fend for themselves.
Verlainia’s anger grew greater than anything she felt for Morgan. Her conquest of the Southlands had begun, as had her elevation to Empress. The Black Mountain elves would be next after the Southlands and then she would rule all of Torinth. Time passed while she pondered what the attack by her dark cousins would mean to her plans. The light from the hungry fire in the slum dimmed as the flames died and the glow on the wall of the fortress faded. She moved, startling her bodyguards after standing so long in a trace-like state, and walked along the wall to view the destruction.
Approaching the north wall, the noise coming from the slum had quieted down. She heard wailing and moaning; a woman called out to her family. There were no answers. Almost nothing was left standing, the sight of which had little effect on her. She wouldn’t have burned it to the ground herself, but she couldn’t say she was sad to see it destroyed. The enemy wanted to strike the first blow and did, claiming lives and causing destruction in the process, and Verlainia knew they felt as little as she over the loss. This might have demoralized good King Michael had it happened outside his walls, but Verlainia was a daughter of elven royalty. She would compose a letter of thanks and have an archer deliver it on an arrow to the enemy camp. She turned her thoughts to the fortress and its preparations.
The fortress of Kor’Tarnaeil was made from stone block cut and hauled from two mountains. Even the stables and outbuildings were stone except for their roofs and doors. All who were not soldiers would wet anything made of wood and place buckets of water in reserve nearby. She wouldn’t let anything in the fortress burn. It would be half a moon before she could expect to see any aid from Jarol, unless he somehow received word of their predicament before the rider found him. Riders to the dwarves and orcs might return with some aid, but it wouldn’t be enough—a few hundred total. She would take them; any able-bodied soul might have to fight before the fortress of Kor’Tarnaeil was safe from danger.
“Mobar, send word: soldiers not on the walls should sleep. Tomorrow and thereafter, sleep will be worth more than gold. Qan, come with me. There are many preparations to be made if we are to survive.”
Verlainia returned to her private chambers and took three old tomes off a shelf. She laid them out side by side. It would have cost the dark elves a lot of magic to move an army unseen to her doorstep. Magic and traveling at night without razing villages to the ground would have made it possible. She looked at her face in the bowl and knew she wouldn’t look the same the next time she was stood there. To save her kingdom, there would be a cost and she had not paid the cost in a long, long time.
*****
Alexis heard shouts in the distance; the sound of battle echoed through the forest. She reined her horse to a stop, got off and walked, angling away. This would slow her, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t risk being recognized. The third princess was not the most memorable and being away for two summers all but cast her into anonymity with the common folk. Her brief return home did nothing to restore her to the forefront of their minds, either.
She thought about the combatants and who was fighting whom. The treaty gave the north permissions and while the south shared a cordial relationship with her people, they weren’t allowed to cross the border in mass. Yet the south, for whatever reason, had crossed over in force. As she walked, she focused her skills on her immediate area. Walking into a sentry or patrol would be an embarrassment for someone of her talents. The sounds of battle soon quieted, but did not stop altogether. Alexis’s curiosity got the best of her and she tied her horse to a bush. It wouldn’t hurt to know what was happening on such a rare occasion as a fight in the Black Mountains. Not since the coup when Queen Verlainia’s family was exiled to the north had such a thing taken place.
Alexis had reached a point where she would go no further. She climbed a great oak that offered a view of the area ahead. She saw soldiers kneeling in a line along the road, hands behind their heads. Their helms were all removed, revealing them to be elves wearing the livery of the northern army. Soldiers from Thor’Dunae stood, weapons drawn, guarding their captives. The revelation was instant. The king and queen had betrayed the treaty. She wondered if her parents were arrogant enough to believe there would be no repercussions. The walk back to her horse gave her time to think about the ramifications of what she saw. Untying her horse, she concluded that she wouldn’t fight for any nation. Her idea of finding Morgan and leaving Torinth was still the best option in her mind.
Her detour had taken her farther north than she planned, so she doubled back toward Jarol’s camp. She hoped there would be word of Morgan, but if not, she felt the path to him lay to the north. It was where he was last seen alive. Someone had to have seen something of him. It was Morgan, after all—nothing stealthy or quiet about him. He couldn’t walk ten paces without getting into trouble.
The sun sat a hand’s width above Torinth when she rode into the patrol assigned to the northern camp. At first she thought there would be bloodshed, but the officer in charge decided—after she had mentioned Jarol’s name a dozen times—to escort her to him. He apologized for her treatment on the ride. Alexis wasn’t sure if he meant it or not, but gave him the benefit. If she was a friend of the general, Alexis was sure he wanted to clear up any misunderstandings before they arrived and they were brought to Jarol’s attention. She couldn’t fault him for that and her treatment hadn’t been physical, just harsh.
There were many soldiers in the camp. They were gathered in groups talking, drinking and watching the command tent. A familiar face stood just outside the tent flaps talking with a group of officers. Her escort led her to the dark-haired woman wearing the armor of an officer and part of Jarol’s chosen in command. Even in the waning light of day, she could see the woman’s eyes were red and she wore a long, sad face.
“What’s happened, Massey?” Alexis asked. “Is it Jarol?”
“No, Princess, it’s his father, my uncle. He journeyed from the north to end his life on the battlefield. He was a much-loved chief and will be sorely missed by all.”
“May I enter and pay my respects?”
“Yes. Come with me.”
“Massey, the elven archers and foot soldiers you sent into the Black Mountains have been captured,” Alexis said carefully.
“Many were still alive. I have no details beyond that.”
Massey sighed. “We thought as much. Your presence here may pose a problem because of it. I don’t think you’ll come to harm, but Jarol may send you away.”
Alexis nodded her understanding and followed Massey inside, where she found Jarol standing with some of his officers. He looked tired. The soft conversation in the tent hushed as those standing around saw Massey and her enter. Massey went to Jarol and spoke softly, but Alexis was drawn to the body of the man laid out on the ground. His face at one time had been strong, but now was drawn; thin skin spread across bone as if nothing lay between them. Still, she could see the resemblance to Jarol as she glanced over at him. Alexis knelt beside Fredrik, father of Jarol and Chieftain of the Northern Clan, lay a hand on his chest, then bowed her head and sang.
The song began at a whisper as Alexis found her voice, then grew louder until even those standing outside the tent could hear her. Only an elf would understand the words she sang; while most didn’t understand, they all felt something. Like many elvish songs of old, there was a bit of magic sown in to the song, but the singing had to be perfect for it to work. Listeners might see visions of things related to how the song made them feel. This song told of happiness in a sweet sing-song for a verse, and then the tempo changed and the soldiers felt the thrill of battle as her voice raced up and down a musical scale. Many present felt it told of a heroic charge when Alexis held an arm up, fist clenched tight. Some were certain they saw a sword in her hand but later thought it was their eyes playing tricks on them. The song settled in a steady, light lilting tempo for a third verse and then a single word was repeated, sung louder each time. Alexis pumped her arm in time with the words. It was a victory proclaimed, the onlookers felt; many smiled. Then it slowed to a soft, mournful wail as the final words drifted off into silence. The cost of victory and mourning the fallen.
Alexis opened her eyes and stood up. She sensed someone behind her and felt a hand touch her arm. She turned and found Jarol. His eyes were misty and red; he looked to have willed the tears away. She almost spoke, but he found his voice first.
“Morgan rode out mid-morning with the woman who followed him and my father here.” Alexis couldn’t stop her frown like Jarol stopped his tears. “They were here for only the night. He... aided my father this morning against my wishes. I want to be angry with him, but my father would have found another or just went out on his own.”
“I’m sorry, Jarol. Your father is at peace.” Alexis said, avoiding speaking of Morgan… and a woman.
“I agree. He had been sick for a long time and I’m just being selfish. I saw you frown when I mentioned the woman with Morgan. Truthfully, I didn’t sense she was a lover.”
“I saw them before they rode out, Princess,” Massey said. “She seemed to be a traveling companion. I regret none of us asked about her. I don’t even remember her speaking.”
“She spoke up to defend Morgan. Her name is Lorna, but that’s all I know. No, come to think of it, I think I saw him look at her once with a lusty gleam in his eye.” Alexis’s head snapped back to Jarol to see a slight grin on his sad face.
“Don’t listen to him, Princess. Growing up, he teased me about everything. He still would if he thought he could get away with it.”
“But you are so easy to tease, Cousin. Keep an eye open for a black war horse. Blackstar was my father’s and he passed him on to Morgan. Massey tells me the evil beast tolerates your lover well enough.”
Alexis glared at Jarol’s choice of words.
“Come, Princess, let’s get you some food. You can stay in my tent again. The general is about to send night patrols out to harass the Southlanders. I believe I am to command one, so you can use my cot.”
“Alexis,” Jarol called as they walked away. “Were you able to take care of the business at home?”
“The situation has been resolved and put to rest permanently, you might say.”
“You didn’t, by chance, give Morgan a magic sword, did you?”
“What? No. Are you saying he has a magic sword?”
“He fought a dwarf who tried to interfere with my father and destroyed an ancient family war hammer with magic runes.”
“And a dragon flew over the camp as he was leaving. He rode off after it. Said it would follow him,” Massey added, as if Jarol’s magic sword question wasn’t strange enough.
What has Morgan been doing? Alexis thought. She had thought he might be dead; her heart ached with that thought and yet now there was a woman, a magic sword and a dragon. Last she knew, he didn’t even know how to use a sword.
Thirty-Eight
Morgan and Lorna came to the fork in the road. To continue straight took them north and the way Drae’Anallese had flown. The eastern fork would lead them past Frostbyte and on to Rohans Town. Lorna hadn’t said two words to him all day and he wasn’t sure why. Part of him was happy about it because had she asked him why this or that about anything he was thinking or doing, he couldn’t answer her. At Kor’Tarnaeil he decided—or she had asked, he couldn’t remember—to take her somewhere safer than the Kor’Tarnaeil. He gave Blackstar a bump with his knee and started down the road to Rohans Town. She could ask for Railia when she arrived and mention his name. If she didn’t get laughed out the door, maybe she would end up with a job. The dragon would have to wait.
At midday, they stopped to stretch and eat. They let the horses wander, feeding on the grass that grew along the side of road. Morgan had never owned a horse of his own or traveled, though part of his recent troubles had included involuntary travel. He had spent his all of his sixteen summers on the family homestead. Their meal was light, some dried meat and biscuits. He couldn’t remember if a stream or river crossed the road, but he hoped to find water for the horses somewhere ahead. The sun was hot and the sky was clear except for puffy white clouds moving on a blue background. He had been sitting cross-legged while he ate, but now it felt wonderful to lie stretched out on the grass and stare at nothing. It wasn’t long before staring at nothing turned into a nap.
“Morgan, wake up. There are two riders approaching.”
“Eh, don’t look at or speak to them and they should keep riding.”
“And if they decided they want to talk to us?”
“Point at your mouth like a mute. I’ll keep my eyes closed like I’m blind. Was I snoring?”
“Not really.”
“Ok, then blind and deaf are my afflictions. Wake me later if you would.”
“But what if they’re bandits or agents of Queen Verlainia come to take you back?”
“Lorna, do you think I can go back to sleep with you worrying?”
“Yes. You do dangerous things without thinking and lying there would be the same.”
“They’re getting close. Stop talking.”
“I thought you were deaf.”
No talking all day and now, she would not stop. For the first time since he was taken captive, he felt free. Lorna was right; it was foolish to be so lazy, but it was midday. Bandits didn’t rob travelers at midday and there were only two approaching. Morgan really believed if they ignored them they would ride on, going about their business. He believed it until he heard their horses stop.
“It’s a beautiful horse. Are you the owner?” Morgan recognized the voice. Lorna didn’t answer. “Did it throw him? Is he hurt?” Morgan almost smiled at the silence. He was surprised Railia hadn’t gotten down from her horse to check on him.
“He is still an idiot, Railia.” Morgan recognized the second rider’s voice, too. He heard boots hit the ground and a sword sliding from its scabbard.
“Don’t hurt him, Theralin,” Railia said. “He can’t help it.”
“I thought I smelled elf,” Morgan said.
“I changed my mind. Hurt him.”
“What would the elf princess say if she heard you?” Theralin asked. Morgan opened his eyes and smiled at her.
“What wouldn’t she say.”
“You know, elves find a comment like that very insulting, Morgan.”
“And women do, too,” Railia agreed.
“What about you, Lorna?” Morgan asked.
“I think you’d be better off facing the dragon.”
Morgan sat up and got to his feet. “Lorna, the good captain here thought she was doing me a favor by making me her slave. It will take quite a few more insults before I think we are even.”
“What are you doing here and where did you get the horse?” Barely controlled anger laced Theralin’s tone.
“The horse was given—not that it’s any of your business—and I was fulfilling my last promise by bringing Lorna to Rohans Town. She helped me and I’m returning the favor.”
Theralin growled. “Your mouth isn’t helping your cause.”
“Railia, are you in need of any help? Lorna is smart and great at finding things,” he said, smiling at the memory of his other horse and the hurry she had been in to leave. “She was a great help getting me out of Kor’Tarnaeil.”
“You realize we are subjects of Queen Verlainia and are bound by duty and office to uphold her laws,” Railia said. “Your friend is now a criminal and could be hanged for aiding you.”
“If Verlainia found out. But she won’t, will she, Railia? What are you two doing out here anyway?” Morgan asked.
“Looking for you, idiot,” Theralin said, scowling and getting in his face. “I have to take you back.”
Kill her, Dra suggested. No surprise to Morgan.
No, I think Drae’Anallese is trying to lead me back north, but I don’t know why yet. We can go along with it until we find out what is going on.
The Wood Cutter's Son Page 37