The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  She smiled when she felt the sun’s rays. Its warmth would make her feel better soon. Hooves sounded in the distance. Two soldiers rode past her a little while later, scouting the road ahead of a larger party. She turned her attention to the south and focused, seeing the larger party topping a hill on the horizon. An orc rode beside a dwarf, followed by a mixture of elves and men. It had to be them. Crawling for a few strides into the thicker wood, she stood up and hurried to her horse. Saddled and packed, she eased her way through the wood to the road, stopping sideways in the middle, blocking it.

  Once she was spotted, soldiers raced ahead of the party and began to surround her. She sat in silence while they waited for the rest of the party to catch up. She was sure the soldiers recognized her ranger cloak, just as she recognized the members of the main party. The leader, Jarol, was in front with the dwarf and orc clan leaders. Morgan sat behind the elf captain, while the elf female who had been struck down in court rode beside them. A wagon rolled along behind them, close enough to be considered part of their group.

  “You’re on the wrong side of the border, ranger,” Jarol pointed out, as if she didn’t know. “That is a beautiful horse. I think I’ll take it from you.”

  “You’re welcome to try, General. If you do, that treaty you’re so proud of will be null and void,” Alexis said, dropping her cowl so they could see her face.

  “Princess, why are you out here?”

  “And waiting for us,” Theralin pointed out.

  “The king has appointed me ambassador to Queen Verlainia’s court. It is a temporary placement until both sides are sure of the treaty. I have documents for the queen endorsing the appointment. It only requires her signature of approval.”

  “This must have happened suddenly. We had no discussion with your king about appointing ambassadors.”

  “You are right. This was put together after your meeting. I was hoping to join you for the rest of the journey north.”

  “Of course. We couldn’t let a princess ambassador ranger travel alone. That would be guaranteed to start a war before our treaty could ever be utilized.”

  “Just Alexis, please, if you would,” she asked. “I am no longer a ranger and your queen hasn’t accepted me as ambassador. Being the third princess is being no princess at all. So there is no need to be formal.”

  “Very good, Alexis.” Jarol smiled slyly. “You already know my companions, so we won’t waste time with introductions or the fact that I’m the general of all the armies of the Northern Wastes and not currently obligated to take any man’s daughter off his hands. So you can feel free to pursue me any time your heart desires.”

  Alexis laughed and watched all their reactions. “Why do I feel that even if you had obligations you would have made such a declaration?”

  “Because he is a rogue and a scoundrel,” Stonehead answered. “Don’t pay him any mind.”

  “What?” Jarol said feigning verbal injury. “She isn’t a ranger or ambassador and doesn’t acknowledge her royal birth. Sounds like she’s just a woman to me, and therefore fair game.”

  “How about you lead with something other than your manhood? We still have a long way to go today,” Theralin grumbled.

  Alexis turned her horse and fell in next to Stonehead. She couldn’t help looking back once at Morgan. His hands were tied in front of him, his eyes locked on the elf captain’s back. Something was very wrong.

  *****

  Why did she have to show up? He didn’t believe in any gods, but he had think that one must have taken a disliking to him. He concluded earlier that if he had to forget about his mother and sister, he had to forget Alexis, too. Before, he thought it would never work out because he was the son of a lumber merchant. Now he was less than that—a slave to the elf captain sitting in front of him, and it could only get worse. To be with her, he would have to run. A runaway slave and a princess. Ha. If her family sent soldiers after her, the first thing they would do would be kill him. But that would be better than what they would do to her.

  The sound of men shouting and the unease of the horses brought a rider out of the mists, approaching full speed as the party reined in their spooked horses.

  “Dragon! Dragon! There is a dragon in the road ahead,” the soldier shouted.

  “Recall all the men, Sergeant, and form a skirmish line,” Theralin ordered.

  They topped the hill and Theralin ordered them to stop. Morgan smiled for the first time in days. Crystal sat atop a large dragon, the road totally blocked. She stood, walked on the dragon’s shoulder and jumped, landing with the grace of a mountain cat. Tall and beautiful, her light blue skin reflected the sun. Her hair looked caught in a summer wind storm.

  Leaning forward, he spoke softly. “You should let me go talk to her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I know her.”

  “How do you know her?” Theralin turned in the saddle to look at him.

  “She visited our homestead a few times.”

  “Morgan, are you well?” Crystal called out, her voice calm and even. Morgan gave Theralin a “told you so” look while everyone turned to look at him. “Alexis, it is good you are here with Morgan.”

  Now he really wanted to convince Theralin to let him go talk to her. He hadn’t wanted the Northerners to know they knew each other, and now they did. He had to stop her from saying anything else about it. “What is she talking about? Why is it good the princess is here with you?”

  “Just let me go talk to her so she doesn’t start to worry.” He didn’t know if Crystal would worry or not. The dragon would see that she was protected. “Please, before she gets any ideas and lets the dragon try to get her answers.”

  “You will tell me everything later.”

  “Sure.” Morgan saw Alexis watching and frowning. Instead of untying his wrists, Theralin untied the rope from her saddle and handed it to him. Was she making a statement? He slid off the side of the horse and worked his way past the others, ignoring their stares. He hurried at a pace just shy of running, but slowed when the dragon yawned and belched a little fire and smoke.

  “Stop that,” Crystal told the dragon. “It’s ok, Morgan. He is teasing.”

  “That’s what I thought, teasing,” he lied. Who would think dragons like to tease before they burned someone to ash?

  “Your father and brothers have been avenged. Dra’Extaral judged the offenders and punished them accordingly.”

  “I heard something about that. You saved Alexis.”

  “Are you going to tell me why your hands are tied?”

  “I was taken just after I buried my father and brothers. I am a slave now to the elven captain,” he explained. Do you think you can take me away? I am worried about mother and Gabriella and need to get them somewhere safe before our countries go to war. Morgan kept eye contact with Crystal, making sure she heard his thoughts. He was smiling and already thinking of flying away on the dragon with Crystal and the reunion with family when she replied.

  Crystal had a far-away look in her eye. Morgan couldn’t tell if she was thinking or speaking silently with someone else. Her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment and then she locked eyes with his. She held him in her gaze then spoke into his mind. No, I think you should continue this journey.

  “NO? What do you mean no?” he yelled and moved forward, closing the gap between them. Anger rose up inside him. How could she abandon him?

  “I cannot tell you why,” she said softly. “But I will go to your mother and sister and convince them to travel somewhere safe. I promise you it will be done.” He felt her hand on his cheek, cool and comforting. The anger began to fade as she stroked his cheek gently, speaking strange words. He leaned forward, resting his head on her breast, and felt her arms wrap around him.

  The dragon turned his head stopping a few paces from Morgan’s back. Alexis and Theralin moved at a wary pace toward him and Crystal. Soldiers and clan leaders had pulled weapons from their scabbards.

&nbs
p; I’m going to leave you now. It seams we’ve irritated your companions and my friend. I will see you again. Morgan looked over Crystal’s shoulder to see what was happening.

  Not we, me. Everything has been taken from me and they think I should be happy with my circumstances.

  I see the anger inside you, but you must let it go and find peace. This war will be harder to bear than anything you have faced so far. To make it through, you will have put the past behind you. There are other paths in your future and you will find allies along the way. Be kind to the elf captain and Alexis. They are already your allies.

  She broke their embrace. He stepped back and felt the rope fall away. She had somehow untied it. He felt heat on his back like a roaring hearth. Turning, he was an arm’s length from the dragon’s head which was a large as a horse. It snorted, expressing some opinion of its own, and... smiled. Morgan got the brunt of foul-smelling gas in his face, burning his eyes and nose. He coughed and looked up to see Crystal seated atop the dragon, looking down at him and smiling. He made a fist and punched the dragon between the nostrils. “Your breath stinks, you flying ash pile.” The dragon raised its head and roared, shooting a flame high into the sky. All of the horses bolted in fear, their riders pulling hard on the reins, trying to get them under control. Crystal was laughing when the dragon reared back on its hind legs and leaped from the ground, beating his wings with enough force to bend the trees and knocking him to the ground.

  Alexis, Theralin and the others used an arm to cover their faces from the dirt and debris stirred up as the dragon took flight. Resting on his knees Morgan watched as it flew high enough to catch the wind, then felt awed and amazed that something so big could float in the sky. He watched the dragon until it became a speck in the distance, then looked around to find everyone staring at him. He didn’t stare back. Instead he picked up the rope he had been tied with and walked to where Theralin waited, holding it out to her.

  “I have many, many, questions,” she said, taking the rope he offered. Instead of binding him, she turned and walked toward her horse. “Come, Morgan. We need to get moving.”

  Alexis walked up beside him. “What did Crystal say to you?” she asked softly.

  “More riddles. Nothing for you to worry about,” he answered. She frowned, hurt in her eyes. “She had nothing to say about us or you. Riddles and slavery: that’s what she gave me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Morgan slowed his pace. “I’m a slave, Alexis. I asked her to take me with her,” he whispered so the others wouldn’t hear. “She said no.”

  “I’m here for you. It’s the only reason I agreed to my uncle’s plan. When I’m done, we will leave together.”

  “I’m sorry, Alexis, but that is part of the riddle. She said I had to stay here in the north. I don’t know why. Something about paths and allies and being nice to you and the captain. In return, she is going to take care of mother and Gabby. Be this ambassador person, Alexis, then go find somewhere safe until the war is over.”

  “Morgan—”

  “I have to go. The captain is waiting and I don’t want to make her mad... again.” He grinned at Alexis, who forced a little smile, and he hurried to his ride.

  Twenty

  Michael, King of the Southlands, smelled the sea on the wind that blew through his window. It was late, and the oil lamp flickered, teased by the ocean breeze. He sat in his private office adjacent to the throne room reading through the dispatches from all four corners of the kingdom. He found a recurring theme and began to set those dispatches aside to review again as a group. The rest found their way to various stacks depending on their nature. Finance, agriculture and military were the three most common. Judiciary was the fourth.

  The separate stack was a military concern first and, depending on events, would affect the other two main categories. The dispatches all—whether as a primary topic or in passing—spoke of much more activity in the north and, in some areas, a clear build-up of soldiers. He needed spies in the frontier lands, Frostbyte and even Rohans Town. Soldiers disguised as mercenaries would blend in without too much suspicion. If his advisors agreed, they would send at least ten soldiers upriver to Talons Station and from there they would split up, making their way to Frostbyte and beyond.

  He had to verify the reports and rumors and find out who the north was going to attack. Was it a civil war? It was possible they were going to war with the elves of the Black Mountains, but they could also head south. For that reason, he couldn’t wait till news that the frontier and his northern border was burning reached him.

  He had to leave his coastal retreat and return to Torfellon tomorrow. He would be home by evening and would dine with his advisors, then set his plan in motion. Many of the reports were old and possibly no longer accurate. If it so, then there was no need for spies and no time to waste. The Southlands had to mobilize immediately.

  Michael decided to read a few of the dispatches he had deemed less important, considering their source, when he heard sounds that reminded him of sails snapped taut by the wind. He turned to look out his window into the darkness when the same sound happened just outside his window. Parchment flew around the room and he barely saved the lamp from turning over. Hurrying to the window, he saw nothing, but thought he heard someone laughing far off in the night.

  Shutting the window, he walked to a one-person bed in the corner and lay down. He had slept many a night on it after working long hours. He saw no need to wake anyone and the servants knew they could find him there.

  He woke the next morning to the smell of the sea and breakfast sitting on a table next to his desk.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” the house steward said, giving a slight bow. “The men are assembled and have your carriage ready. Do you wish to bathe and change before you depart?”

  “No, Godfried, I should have time for that when I get home.”

  “Even if you are late, My Lord, I’m sure everyone will wait for you.” Godfried flashed the king a grin. Then his neutral demeanor returned.

  “Yes, I suppose they would, wouldn’t they.”

  “No matter what time you arrive, it would not be befitting a king to dine with guests unwashed and in wrinkled clothes.”

  “Godfried, are you sure you’re not possessed by my late mother’s spirit? You nag almost as well as she.”

  “I believe she held classes in nagging for all your servants. She was a woman of vision, sire. I so miss her instruction.”

  “Me too, Godfried. I know you won’t shut up about it, so I’ll go ahead and promise not to disgrace myself and will be clean and properly dressed.”

  “Very good, sir. It’s all I ask.”

  “You know I am forty summers and King of Torfellon, do you not?”

  “And your point, sire? Your breakfast is getting cold and your men are waiting. I’ll return for the dishes later. Be safe, My King.”

  Michael opened his mouth to say something to the old man as he walked away. He closed his mouth instead; the old man always got the last word. Besides, Godfried was always right. He did push the limits of proper decorum at times when he was busy. When he lost his wife and child in childbirth ten summers ago, then his mother, the former queen, just two summers ago—his father having been gone since his twentieth summer—some things just didn’t matter as much to him.

  He finished his breakfast and walked downstairs to the main level. The captain of his guard was waiting at the door, guarding the king’s bag. It was packed with important papers and the dispatches he had been reading last night. The captain reported all was ready and picked up the bag. The king followed him out. Opening the door for the king, the captain waited till he entered, then put the bag on the floor next to him. Once the captain of the guard walked away and mounted his horse, he gave the order for them to proceed. Michael looked around the enclosed carriage as if hoping to spot something he had never seen before, but there was nothing. Riding in it alone would be stifling. It was too quiet, too dark, too l
onely.

  He bounced along, trying to read, but the terrain worked against his tired eyes. Putting the papers back in his bag, he lay across the seat and soon fell asleep. He woke, startled, to shouting and frightened horses. In that moment, he thought they had been attacked, but who would be stupid enough to attack a full patrol of armed soldiers?

  “Is the one you call king with you?” a voice called. It was questioning, not threatening. He opened the door to the carriage and got out.

  “My Lord, get back inside the carriage,” the captain ordered. Michael looked up at him and saw him staring up the road. He turned, trying to make sense of the vision before him. A dragon sat in the road. Standing under it was an orc and two women. The longer he stared, the more he realized it wasn’t an orc. He wasn’t sure what she was. It was a she, though, taller than an orc and beautiful.

  “Do not be afraid. My friend has no desire to fight unless provoked. Would you be the king?” she asked. Michael heard her speak but also felt strange, like he was still waking up.

  We are going to approach. Please tell your soldiers not to attack. Even from a distance, her smile was apparent. “Captain, order your men to stand down. I believe they would like to talk to me.”

  “But Your Highness—”

  “Captain, stand down,” Michael ordered. “If they wanted us dead, we would be smoldering ash on the road. Let me hear them out.” In an instant, he decided to walk to them, afraid the dragon would frighten the horses beyond the soldiers’ control. The closer he came, the more he felt he knew the Southlands woman. He was still trying to place her when he realized he had walked within a few paces of them. Both women curtsied and chorused “Your Highness.”