The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “Railia, I deceived Lorna. She knows nothing. There is no reason to judge her so. If there is nothing you can do for her, I’ll take her somewhere else and neither of you can stop me.”

  Theralin’s sword swept up to his throat. “I could kill you right now and take the chains and your head back to the queen. Then she would release my men from the dungeons.”

  Morgan laughed. “I don’t have the chains. Lorna, tell them I don’t have the queen’s play toys.”

  “He doesn’t. We rode here with Fredrik, Jarol’s father. If he were still alive, he would tell you the same. Morgan doesn’t have the chains.”

  “But you know where they are, don’t you?”

  “He threw them in the river before we left Kor’Tarnaeil. I heard him tell the guards that.”

  “What happened to the guards that the queen sent with Fredrik?” Theralin asked suspiciously.

  “Dragon killed them.” Morgan’s answer was calm and uncaring. Theralin studied his face and Morgan smiled at her. “Put your sword away.” He pushed it away from his throat in a swift movement that Theralin didn’t see coming.

  “Railia, let’s camp here for the night. I have many questions needing answers. I don’t care about the woman. If you want to help her, the queen won’t hear it from me.”

  “Let’s go, Lorna. It’s just past midday and I see no reason to camp with so much light left in the day.”

  “Morgan. Don’t antagonize them anymore, please.” Morgan studied her face. She looked worried. He didn’t know if it was for him or her losing a chance to work for Railia. Maybe it was both.

  “Fine.”

  “At least he listens to someone!” Railia exclaimed.

  Theralin sighed. “He is just like Jarol was at that age. His father brought him on every visit and he terrorized the staff with his mouthy wit, and the pretty servants with more. Jarol, though, was at least trained to back up his mouth, unlike the farm boy here.”

  “I will lie back down in that soft grass over there and enjoy my freedom because I am free. If anyone here thinks otherwise, just know this idiot might surprise you.” Morgan didn’t want to continue talking with the new arrivals, so he didn’t wait for an answer. He walked over to Blackstar, rubbed his neck and whispered kind sentiments to him about his previous owner and how much the horse was loved. He really didn’t know what to say to the horse, but he wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t talk back.

  The horse stood in the shade of a copse of trees and Morgan found the largest to lie under. Squirrels ran along the branches, stopping to sit up and chew on nuts that were still green and wouldn’t drop till the fall. He heard the women talking in hushed voices. If he wanted to, he could listen in, but he had no fear that Lorna could tell them anything worthwhile. He had to come to grips with Dra and the magic he offered. The day would come when he would need use it and, like as not, have to kill again. No one would put chains on him, ever.

  He woke from the nap in the evening happy he hadn’t been bothered. Lorna and Railia sat around a blazing fire. Theralin was gone. Blackstar was not far away, nibbling on the leaves of a bush. Morgan stood up, stretched and noticed the other horses were barebacked and the saddles provided a back rest for the women to lean on. He cursed his stupidity, took his horse by the reins and brought him closer to the camp. He was happy he knew how to handle a saddle and placed his on the other side of the fire, away from his three companions.

  “I hope you’re feeling better. You were a little rude earlier,” Railia said, letting Morgan know he wasn’t forgiven. He ignored her jibe.

  “Did you two find any common ground?”

  “Lorna is welcome in Rohans Town, but I must let the steward talk to her before I’ll offer her a position at the mansion. With the war on, there are jobs for someone willing to work. Farms and merchants are short-handed with the able-bodied men being called on to fight.”

  “That’s good. Are you heading back tomorrow?”

  “We are. For your information, we were headed to find Jarol’s camp and see if the reports we received were true. We wanted to find you. I thought you were my friend.”

  “I thought the same, but things have changed for both of us. I can’t afford your friendship, Railia. It would end with me in a dungeon in chains or dead. If we were friends, you wouldn’t go along with Theralin’s plans.”

  “If you would just return the queen’s property, we, or at least I, could’ve tried to help you. As it stands, Theralin and I don’t believe your story about throwing the chains in the river.”

  “Let me put it to you this way. The chains are no more. They will never be seen again,” Morgan said, staring Railia down.

  “What did you do?”

  “What I needed to do, Railia. Just like you should do what you need to do. Go home tomorrow and govern your people. Where is Theralin?”

  “Hunting for something fresh for our dinner.”

  “I will brush Blackstar,” Morgan said, but it wasn’t what he would do.

  The two women watched him for a moment, like he thought they would, as he picked up his saddle bags and rummaged through them while walking to the horse. “We’re going for ride, my friend,” he whispered in the horse’s ear. He walked back and picked up his saddle. “I think I’ll sleep over here,” he said just to be heard. They watched him until he set the saddle down by the horse. For the next part, he had to be quick so there was no way they would catch him.

  He watched them while pretending to be fussing over the horse. When they were deep in conversation, he put the saddle on Blackstar and quickly cinched the strap. Throwing the saddle bags on behind, he jumped on the horse and slapped his rear flank. Blackstar galloped toward the north road and away from friendships he didn’t understand. Morgan felt the horse might be his only friend in the world who was happy with him. The horse must have been longing to run and Morgan let Blackstar do just that.

  Morgan recognized the scenery as he passed and realized that at this pace, he would make the north road in half the time. It would be dark, but there would be no missing the fork in the road. He would travel north at a slower pace and keep an eye out for a trail that led to the stream in the wood. There were more than a few trails, but they were unmarked, and he wasn’t sure he would find any of them in the dark. He couldn’t remember, but hoped the stream ran close enough to the road to be heard.

  Under the starshine, Blackstar galloped at a slower gait. It was a pace the horse chose and Morgan let him have it. His nap had refreshed him enough he could ride all night if need be, but he didn’t think it would be necessary. He had a good lead on Theraline and eventually Blackstar would tire. For a moment, he thought he heard an echo. Then the horse left the road and entered the wood. A small branch switched him on the forehead and he knew it would leave a welt. He lay forward on the horse, which would save his head from further punishment, but it would be hard to rein the horse in and slow him down.

  He was about to confer with Dra about using his magic so he could see in the blackness, as the starlight barely shown through the forest above, when Blackstar came to a halt and Morgan almost tumbled off. The sound of water running over rocks was only a few steps away. He stepped down and stretched like he had earlier in the day. He imagined his stiffness was more from his lack of riding experience than anything else. He knew by the soreness of his bottom he wasn’t always moving properly with the horse.

  He let the horse drink and walked away to relieve himself. They would have to move on because the stream would draw other travelers and he couldn’t chance it might be soldiers or more of the queen’s guards. He listened to the sounds of the night that, having quieted on their arrival, continued their serenade with increasing volume. Blackstar finished drinking his fill, raised his head and snorted. He shook his head from side to side and turned to look at Morgan.

  “How about we walk for a while,” he said to the horse, grabbing the reins and pulling. The horse followed as Morgan cut a path toward the road. They had been wal
king for some time when Blackstar stopped and snorted. Morgan, lost in thought, didn’t realize it until the reins drew taunt. “What’s wrong?” he asked the horse.

  “That be a mighty fine animal ya have there,” a voice called somewhere ahead of them. Morgan turned and looked behind them. There was no one on the road. “There is nowhere to run. Give us the horse, your coin and your weapons and I’ll think about letting ya walk on.”

  Morgan let loose the reins. Blackstar could take care of himself. They would stand and fight. If there was ever a time for magic, now was it. It was always there waiting for him to will it to his bidding. He didn’t need to speak to Dra, although he knew there would be conversation, most of which would comprise of what he was doing or had done wrong. He didn’t care; the dragon would say it was training and good for him. Reaching back, he eased the sword slowly out and down in front of him.

  “Now you’ve done gone and complicated things, boy.” Six assailants surrounded him, three along each side of the road. Had Morgan accepted and practiced with the dragon magic, he would have known they were there long before arriving and could have gone around, thus avoiding whatever was about to happen.

  Thanks for warning me, he thought. Dra didn’t answer and that was just as well.

  “I know. Is there someone I should pass on the news of your passing to?” Morgan asked. The speaker was a tall man wearing dark garb. They all were wearing dark garb. Morgan didn’t take the time to really examine them except to know where they were. He hoped to kill them and be on his way, so what did it matter? He wouldn’t know a swordsman from huntsman on a dark, northbound road.

  “Kill him and drag the body off the road,” the leader ordered. Blackstar snorted again and stomped. Morgan turned slightly and saw the first attacker aiming for his back. He stepped forward to ensure there was room to swing without endangering his horse. The man yelled and swung in a downward chop. Morgan sidestepped and swung horizontally through the man’s arm and into his chest. It was a half swing because the attacker was so close. He had only thought to take his man’s arm off. Not that the result bothered him.

  Blackstar stomped and shuffled behind him and Morgan heard a grunt and bones breaking, then a body hitting the ground. The horse had kicked the attacker who had thought to walk close to him. Blackstar was a war horse and even Morgan knew you didn’t walk up behind a war horse. The attacker didn’t get up. He choked and wheezed, and Morgan knew bone had punctured a lung. In a matter of breaths, two of the assailants were down and never getting up. The tall man screamed for the others to rush him.

  Morgan willed the dragon’s eyes and the night faded away. He felt the magic wash over him and the world slowed as his vision cleared. Two came from one direction, so Morgan charged the third, single attacker on the other side. Then he could face the other two with no one at his back. The man saw the attack coming and, instead of meeting it head on, he dropped to a knee, avoiding Morgan’s slice through air above his head. The kneeling man eagerly thrust upward at his exposed side, the blade tip biting his flesh.

  Grimacing at the burning pain, Morgan lashed out before the man could smile or move his outstretched arms. A downward diagonal stroke removed the arms of the man he faced, both cleaved off at the elbow. Morgan, angry at his lack of skill, picked up the sword and its attached arm and threw it at the two attackers bearing down on him. It was a wild throw designed to make one or both flinch at the flying steel and body part. He followed the throw and caught the sword arm of the attacker to his left, holding the man’s arm up high. The man on the right swung in an arch from the waist, hoping to bury the edge across Morgan’s back.

  Morgan pointed his sword down and held it out, catching his attacker’s blade. There was loud ting as metal hit metal and the attacker’s sword snapped. The severed piece of the attacker’s blade hit the road ten paces away with a thud, bounced once and slid through the dirt. Morgan thrust his blade forward into the man’s stomach and yanked it out on an angle, opening the hole up wider. Clutching at the hole, the man backed away and dropped to his knees. The attacker he held by the wrist buffeted him with his fist. A solid punch to the chest pushed him back, forcing Morgan let go of his sword arm.

  The man didn’t attack right away. Instead, he looked around at his comrades dead or dying in the road. Morgan was aware the tall man had moved but not in his direction. He was easing away from the fight. Breathing deep and exhaling calmly, his chest felt fine. His side was warm and wet, the leather soaking and stained black with blood. He didn’t know what the last two bandits were thinking, but he knew he would kill them both. If he left them alive, they would find new friends and continue stalking the roads robbing and killing. It was not Dra telling him to kill this time; the thought was his and it felt right.

  The man took a step back, then another. Morgan could see the man’s eyes with his dragon sight. They darted in all directions in fear, looking for the chance to run anywhere as long as it was away from him. Taking another deep breath, Morgan held it and charged. He raised his sword, but it was a feint. The man put his sword up in anticipation, but Morgan twisted, lowered his sword and swung from the side. The blade took the man at the knees right before Morgan’s shoulder slammed into his chest. Screams echoed into the night, broken only when the man’s lungs emptied and gasped for more air. Dying, the bandit craned his neck looking at the bloody mess below his waist.

  Morgan thought back to the royal guard’s horse lying broken on the ground. Fredrik had said the right thing was to relieve its misery with a sword in the heart. This seemed another appropriate time. He thrust his blade into the man’s chest and the screaming stopped. The man he had stabbed in the stomach was still kneeling, holding the wound with both hands. Morgan ended his misery as well, putting his sword through the man’s back. He watched him fall forward face down in the road, then looked at the tall man. He was in the wood where the bandits had left their horses tied. Morgan saw him mount with his dragon vision and kick the horse hard, urging it to run. The bandit and his horse were at full gall0p when they cleared the trees, the horse’s hooves throwing clods of dirt in their wake. Morgan watched and vowed to find him. The man rode north; by chance, he would come across him sooner than later.

  During the fighting, Morgan had sensed a lone figure riding north toward him. At the time, the rider had been low on his list of priorities. The whoosh of a bow string from behind reminded him of the stranger’s arrival. Then in the distance a few breaths later, the bandit rider hit the ground. The horse kept running as if its tail were on fire; he would likely come across it later. The arrow had broken in the fall but could still be seen in the man’s back. The bandit twitched twice, then stilled. Turning, Morgan saw an elf with a bow. Her horse walked behind her as she moved toward him. She looked as beautiful as the first day he saw her at the edge of the elven wood at his homestead. Staring at him, she halted.

  “Your eyes! What’s happened to your eyes?” Alexis exclaimed. Concern and worry marred what just a breath ago he beheld as beautiful. He closed his eyes and opened them again.

  “Better?” he asked and stepped forward. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword and he stopped. “Must not be. I’m looking for a dragon. I’m surprised she hasn’t shown herself already, so don’t be surprised if she does. Going to take whatever coin these men have and continue north. If you ride along, I’ll tell you what’s happened since I saw you last. The dragon eyes and all. But Theralin will be along and I want to avoid her, so no time to stand around talking. Thanks for shooting that last one. I didn’t relish chasing him down.” Realizing he was rambling, he snapped his mouth shut and stepped back.

  Walking to the closest body, he wiped the blood from his sword on the dead man’s trousers and jerkin, then slid it into his scabbard. Dagger in hand, he was ready to cut purses, pockets or throats, if he found any of the men played dead. He doubted the latter; even the bandit Blackstar kicked in the chest hadn’t moved since the body stopped rolling.

  “It’s good
to see you,” Morgan said over his shoulder as he patted down the next man. He found nothing of value and went on.

  “You’re bleeding,” Alexis said evenly.

  “Right. You wouldn’t have any clean rags, would you? I don’t, and anything these men are wearing isn’t clean. Likely as not to get an infection if I make a bandage from their clothes.”

  “Finish your pilfering and follow me to the stream. I’ll clean and stitch it. I have a salve and clean bandages, not rags. For anything else, we’ll need a healer.”

  Morgan had a memory of his brothers pinching him when he was younger. “They didn’t hit nothing important—just the baby fat.”

  Alexis snorted and put a hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh.

  Thirty-Nine

  “Our dwarves are tough, but they’re outnumbered. I sent word to Trobar to send a hundred of his orcs. Massey, take your horse soldiers and flank that column of Southland foot.” Jarol pointed to an area where about fifty dwarves were in danger of being surrounded. “Harass them until the orcs arrive. I warrant those soldiers will break and run when the odds change.”

  “For Fredrick!” Massey yelled what had now become a battle cry, acknowledged the order and spurred her horse soldiers to action. Jarol watched from his vantage point atop a hill along with General Arlen, who made comments and suggestions.

  “What do you make of our progress?” Jarol asked Arlen.

  “We’ve pushed the line two thousand paces and their command is set up another two thousand beyond that. Already they grow cautious,” the elder elf said.

  “So little? I had hoped for more.”

  “Be patient. Your battle plan was sound, though optimistic. Then you changed it and attacked instead of drawing them in and it worked for us. Losing the two hundred men in the Black Mountain wood was no hinderance.”

  “Arlen,” Jarol said and paused. “I can’t sit here and watch. I need to be out there with the soldiers. You’re in command until I return.” Jarol didn’t wait for Arlen to answer and commanded his large, black war horse whose sire was Blackstar into the fray of dwarves and men across the field. Fifty paces from the battle, he looped the reins on the saddle and drew both swords. Ten paces away, he slowed his horse to a walk and yelled.