The Dragon God Saga
The Woodcutter’s Son
Written by Thomas A. Wright
Edited by Rochelle Deans
Illustrations by Adriana Musetti Dávila
Copyright © 2018 Thomas A. Wright
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Epilogue
Prologue
Dra’Extaral lay in his dark cavern home high in the Black Mountains. He was alone; one of the last of his kind. He rolled to his side then back to his belly in a fitful, unnatural sleep. His body, once a deep, glistening black, was now the color of a thunderstorm, mottled in dark and light grays. Time slipped away from him in dreams, as he preferred to sleep more than anything else. Each season he slept longer and hunted less; therefore, he ate less, and it showed. His skin and scales lay draped across each bone like a worn tapestry.
It was during the dark years—as they now were called by the remaining dragons—and many things had changed. Before this age, the dragon’s were plentiful. The clans did not seek mates outside the clan for one simple reason. No matter the clan, offspring favored the mothers, so it was not advantageous for a male to seek a female from a different clan. In Dra politics, he would be strengthening a rival clan if the union produced a pregnancy. But that was then. Now they were few and scattered. Clans were reduced to a few mated pairs. Females without mates within a clan were vulnerable to any male. Base needs drove the lone males to mate with any clan female, but if she bore young, infanticide often followed. Dra’Extaral was one such hatchling.
His dream was still as vivid as the day he had watched the large black dragon—his mother—battling with a larger crimson dragon—his father. She had kept him hidden for two seasons and then one day, as he lay against her, basking in her love, it all ended. His mother placed him behind her and fought with the unbridled protective savagery of a mother dragon, protecting him from a sire who would kill him on sight. It was a blessing the union produced offspring and yet it was a curse, as the sire could not stand the birth of a male offspring of a different color. Dra’Extaral groaned as he shifted his body again and the fight raged on in his dreams. Then, almost as quickly, it ended. A moan escaped and he lay still.
The cave was again quiet except for the rhythmic sound of water drops hitting the underground lake that occupied most of the cavern. Then a soft churning of the water started out in the middle and grew louder. A bluish glow emanated rose from the depths to the surface, and a form emerged in the swirling water. The form took on the shape of a female. Her skin was pale blue, like new snow in the moonlight, and she was tall with long green hair. She walked across the top of the lake and up onto the stone floor, moving gracefully around and over anything in her way; she stopped in front of the beast, put her hands on her hips and waited. When there was no response to her presence, she held out one arm and water shot forth in a mighty spray, washing over the dragon’s face.
“Are you trying to drown me, then? Am I to be attacked while I slumber?” The massive head raised and reared back to the safety of a dryer place. The stream of water ceased; the female’s posture remained fearless.
“If I had wished to drown you, you would dead. Besides, it is time for you to wake.”
“I have earned the right to sleep as long as I choose, when I choose,” he rumbled.
“Bah, you are lazy. Admit it.”
“I do. I am lazy. This suits me and I find peace in my solitude. Now tell me why you woke me before I eat you.”
Laughter rippled like the soft chorus of water over the stones in a creek and echoed through the cave. “Dragon, I woke you because I have awoken. I came to seek your wise council, but if you would prefer to battle, I would find that just as enjoyable. But, since the battle would end with you dead, my friend, I would have to find another dragon to befriend and hope it is as knowledgeable as you.”
“I see your dilemma. But that is only if you win.” He struck like a snake, mouth open wide, then snapped it shut, closing on nothing but air. The power behind his jaws snapping closed echoed like a thunder clap. She had moved with fluidity and perfect timing, leaving only inches between her and the dragon’s maw. She raised her hand and slapped him like an impolite lover, but it was so much more. His head bounced off the cave wall, sending stone and debris falling to the floor. He paused, slightly dazed, and shook the broken stone off his head before turning his attention back to her.
“Do you always wake in such an ill-tempered fashion?” she asked.
“Yes. I am dragon,” he answered as if that was all the explanation needed. “But if you came to visit me more often, like you used to, it would help ease my ill temper.”
“I cannot deny it has been a very long time. How many seasons?”
“Thousands. Why do you choose that form? I would enjoy your visits so much more if you were to arrive as a female dragon.”
“Why should I spoil you, when you are so lazy by your own admission?”
“It would help me remember all the wisdom you seek.”
“Has it been so long since I entered the mountain?” she asked, then sighed. “Will you come with me, my old friend?”
“I do not believe that would be wise. I am not well-received when I visit. There is the matter of the missing cattle, sheep, children and young maidens usually discovered during or after my stay.”
“I sense a jest in the telling.”
“Yes. I hate the taste of cattle and sheep, but children and young maidens are so very tender and sweet.” His chest rumbled as he threw his head back and laughed. “The world has changed much since you left us. They will not even remember your name.”
“Then I will wander the land and make new, younger friends.” She laughed. “And bring love, happiness and a little mischief to them all.” Dra’Extaral saw the twinkle in her gold and silver eyes with his dragon sight. He wasn’t sure about the first two but the latter he was sure of. She excelled at mischief. It was good he was staying behind. “Do you remember my name?” she asked, testing him.
“You have slept a long time but not so long as I would forget your name Queen Crystal, Ruler of Spirits of River and Sea. Maker of mischief
and trouble.”
“Thank you Dra’Extaral,” she said solemnly then grinned. Raising her hand, she blasted the dragon in the face again but this time it was with water. She ran toward the lake and leaped to the top of a large boulder, then looked back over her shoulder. Dra’Extaral breathed in deep as Crystal jumped. Flames engulfed where she had been standing, but she had already submerged into the lake, her laughter echoing through the cavern behind her.
One
The elven ranger watched the homestead from the shelter of the rustling trees. Her long green cloak covered her leathers to the tops of the doeskin boots on her feet. The light spring rain made everything smell fresh and alive. She pulled her cowl back and looked up, letting the cool rain fall against her skin. In the distance, the sound of a door pulled her from her reverie. The young man she often watched work—Morgan; she liked his name—was interrupted by his father, Warren. She knew all their names: father, mother, brothers, and the youngest, Gabriella, the only girl. Morgan was the youngest son and a full summer older than his sister, but three and four summers younger than his two brothers, Mikkel and Jordi, who was the oldest. It was clear the talk with his father distressed Morgan. Voices raised, she could hear every word of their conversation, and she recognized it for what it was: a promise broken between father and son.
Morgan must have heard enough of what his father had to say. He turned his back to the man and went back to work, caring little that his father was still explaining. A decision just made that went contrary to something else Morgan had expected to happen was at the root of his actions. The anger she saw was diluted with disappointment, a feeling she was familiar with before leaving home. His father walked back into their home and Morgan wasted no time taking out his frustration on the next piece of wood he placed on the chopping block. He was just now considered a grown man of sixteen summers by Southland measure. His last four summers of laboring with his family had chiseled the shape of a man out of the boy. His axe, aided by his anger and frustration, split the log in two swings. She wondered, if he was truly angry, could he have split the log in one?
He stepped back from the chopping block, his labors littering the ground. She knew from her time watching he would have to stack it next; it was what always followed. To her surprise, instead, he walked out into the field and straight toward her. His face tightened and the way he carried the axe made her heart race. Don’t do it. Whatever you’re thinking, do not do it, she repeated in her head.
Morgan carried the axe like a weapon: one hand under the head, the other on the grip. She nocked an arrow in her bow and drew. The rain ran down her face as she lined up the arrowhead with his chest. Her breathing slowed, and the world around became more focused. Water hitting the leaves made soft, lulling sounds while the drops hitting the small pool in the stream behind her would sometimes plop as a large drop collided with the still water. She held her breath, ready to release the arrow as she breathed out. Anger filled his face as he lifted the axe to swing. She couldn’t wait until he damaged the tree—her tree—in her wood, not his. She had to stop him before he buried the axe into it. Her fingers began to open to let the arrow fly. Her emotions were a tangled mess, but she was under oath to protect the kingdom, including every tree, sapling to ancient oak.
Wait, a voice whispered. She jerked her head around, then turned a full circle to see who it could have been, but no one was there. No one could have gotten so close to whisper without her knowing it. She heard the axe head hit something with a thump. It wasn’t the same sound as an axe hitting a tree. She moved a few paces along the tree branch for a better view. He was right there in front of her ─ so close ─ still holding the axe handle, the head buried in the ground a step from the tree. He sighed and she could see the anger flowing out of him. He had needed to walk away from his work to purge his remaining turmoil and had walked as far away as he could. The property edge. She would have killed him and he would have been innocent. It wouldn’t have mattered what she thought he was going to do; he hadn’t done it. Still, the whisper worried her more than the man, so she watched and listened to the forest for any clue that her eyes might have missed. Dropping to the ground, she pulled her cowl over her head and waited.
“She said you were beautiful,” he commented before she could say anything. “But I would never know unless I spoke to you. Are you a ranger? She told me you were here.”
The elf stepped out of the shadows, bow in hand, and walked to the edge of the wood. “You came very close to getting yourself shot,” she said and pulled the cowl down onto her shoulders.
“The voice spoke true, my lady elf.” He took in her long brown hair and gray eyes. Her sharp features must have made her look exotic to him, in his world of round faces.
That was not what the ranger expected, so she ignored it. “Are you going to take another step? If you do, I will be forced to shoot you.” It was an empty threat.
“I won’t be the one to break the treaty, my lady. The king, my father and many others would skin me alive. Nor do I want die by your arrow.”
“It is not permitted to speak of an elf maiden’s beauty without her permission.”
He frowned at her. “I apologize.”
“I accept your apology.”
“It was the shadows playing tricks with my eyes. I can see now you're an ugly old hag, my lady,” he said, grinning.
She grew angry, at his words, his trickery, his smile. “I am a ranger and that is how you should address me. Not lady elf or my lady, just ranger.”
Turning away, he grabbed the axe handle, pulled it from the ground and started walking toward his home. The elf moved into the shadows to watch his departure and counted his steps, wondering if he would look back at her. His head turned upon reaching ten, face cast in a mischievous smile.
“Morgan, I won’t forget this,” she said before he got too far away.
“Good,” was all he said, continuing on his walk. At the doorway, he turned his head toward her again, then went inside.
She would forgive him, but she wouldn’t forget. One good turn of mischief deserved another, and it was her turn. A frown creased her face. There was still a mystery, and it felt dangerous. Who had spoken to her from afar—that was the only explanation for what she heard—and was it the same voice who spoke to Morgan about her? He had said she told him, but who was she? Only deep magic allowed the user to speak over distances to the mind of another. Dragons and very powerful mages could speak directly to one another without sound, but there were so few of either it hadn’t been mentioned for generations. The greater the distance, the stronger the user and the magic. She had not sensed anyone—let alone a magic user—anywhere nearby. The old gods were said to speak without sound, too, but they had been gone for millennia.
What game was being played? No matter what Morgan was told about her or her beauty, she could never have more than the fondness she felt for him from afar. She wouldn’t allow it, nor was she in charge of her own destiny. Her parents had already promised her to a young lord of a noble merchant family. Neither family would appreciate her friendship with a man. Still, she had a few more summers of freedom until she would be relieved of her current duty as a ranger and a new ─ unpleasant─ duty placed on her. Elven politics were no different from those of the other courts and clans. Children were traded as easy favors as the noble families all tried to get ahead of each other. She told herself she would not allow any strong feelings for Morgan, but hadn’t she already allowed them to begin to burrow into her heart?
Everything changes, my child, the voice said, gently touching her mind. The way the unspoken words caressed her thoughts reminded her of the nursemaid who had loved her so and was sent away once she was too old. It had broken her heart and so would this.
*****
Morgan walked back to his woodpile, his mind reviewing all the events of the past few days. First was the appearance of the tall, beautiful goddess, who he thought was an orc at first because of her blue skin. He had neve
r seen an orc up close and he couldn’t remember if they had green hair and red eyes, which it didn’t matter in the end because he was wrong. She was Crystal, a goddess recently awakened from a long sleep who was now walking the land, observing all the changes that had taken place while she slept.
It was all very confusing and he found himself smiling and nodding at everything she said. He wasn’t sure after her story what she was. Words like goddess, elemental, water nymph daughters and so on all came together in his mind to tell him she was someone important and magical. She had told him about the ranger, and her eyes gleamed as she tried to convince of too many things. He accepted there could be a ranger in the wood bordering their land because it was elven land and he did know of the elven rangers. The revelation that the ranger had some feelings for him he seriously doubted. This goddess must still have sleep fogging her brain if she thought an elf had any feeling other than superiority toward his people.
Crystal was right about the elf being beautiful, but even that was no revelation. Elves were known for their beauty and beautiful kingdoms. Morgan didn’t know how close he had come to death at the hands of the beautiful elf, but it wouldn’t likely have changed his mind about approaching her in the future. He was enamored by her and would look for any opportunity for just a glimpse of her again. It all seemed exciting until the sight of his wood pile shifted him back to reality.
*****
Princess Alexis, the elven ranger, walked silently back to her camp deeper in woods. The camp wasn’t much: a lean-to made of heavy limbs, vines and canvas covered in smaller branches to break up its unnatural outline. She took dry wood from the middle of a small stack, a handful of kindling and placed them in the fire pit a few paces outside the entrance. Retrieving her striker and a handful of dry grass from inside the lean-to, she soon had a fire blazing. A small pot and pan aided in making a quick supper of elven flatbread and beans, followed by a few berries she had picked on the way back from her patrol. They were still a little tart. A few more weeks of warm weather would see them ripen into sweeter morsels that she would then pick by the handful. Food in her stomach, the warmth of the fire and the sound of the wood at night put her in a trancelike state as she stared at the flames dancing in front of her. She was the third princess and had the distinction of being the biggest disappointment. It was nothing she had done; it was her parents, the king and queen, and their driving desire to produce a male heir. They stopped trying after her birth, which somehow had become her fault. She joined the rangers and asked to be put exactly where she was. Well, not here exactly, but far from her parents.
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