The Wood Cutter's Son

by Thomas Wright

  “Just hurry,” she said, going out the door.

  He could just make his way around by the soft light from the forge. When he found the scabbard, he slid the sword inside. It was a good fit, just tight enough that the sword wouldn’t rattle. He left three silvers on the anvil, knowing the smith would find them first thing. He picked up his bags and went outside.

  “Secure your sword to the side of your horse and lay your bag over it. It will hide it enough to not raise questions.”

  Following her instructions, he secured his belongings and mounted. His companion led the way at a brisk pace, in a bigger hurry to leave than he was. She had been right about the guards, who were busy organizing the crowd waiting to get into the city. They moved slowly, not wanting to do any more work than they had to before the watch was changed.

  The woman did not relinquish the lead to Morgan after leaving the city, but picked up the pace until they came to a large copse of trees. She slowed and left the road, walking her horse deep into the wood.

  “We will wait here for your friend. Stay quiet. We will hear him before he sees us.”

  The pair did not have long to wait. Morgan sat with his eyes closed, listening to the forest come alive in the gray light just before sunrise. He realized the soft thump of hooves he heard were from riders—not one rider. He opened his eyes to see the woman staring at him.

  “The man we are meeting should be alone,” he whispered and dismounted. “I will have a look.”

  “Not too close. Find a bush and lie on the ground behind it.”

  “I’ve played hide and seek a few times. I think I know what to do.”

  Morgan moved from tree to tree until he found a bush that would give him a view of the road and ample cover. There were three riders, and Fredrik was among them. On either side was an elf wearing the armor of the queen’s royal guard. Something must have happened, but it was beyond Morgan to figure out what. Fredrik didn’t look like a prisoner. He was relaxed and speaking casually to his companions. Well, this wouldn’t do. They would wait for Fredrick to pass, then he and the woman would leave mid-morn on their own.

  Laying his head on his arm, he waited for the riders to leave. Once he felt they were far enough, he would return and explain the change in plans to his companion.

  *****

  “My Lord, we are being watched,” the guard to Fredrik’s right murmured.

  “How many?” he asked casually, having an idea who it was.

  “One. Possibly more, deeper in the wood.”

  “Ride on. Bandits would not risk the wrath of the queen by attacking her royal guard.”

  “As you command, My Lord.”

  They rode till midday, when Fredrik asked to take a break and eat. He also requested a fire be built. When both elves went about getting the fire ready, Fredrik unrolled his blanket and stretched out on the ground. He knew his companions would be irritated and consider it time wasted. He hoped for a word or action of disapproval, so he could have a conversation about them going on with their business without him. One guard carried messages, while the other was along as protection, and they were both tasked with protecting him.

  When Verlainia found he was traveling alone to be with his son, Jarol, she arranged for them to travel together. Under different circumstances, it would have been a welcome arrangement. But he now knew who Morgan was and what the chains were he carried with him. It seemed the young man had left a few details from his story.

  The queen was kind to Fredrik during his two-day visit, but to others she was full of wrath. Her court had been in chaos since the young man escaped, taking her magical chains with him. He was glad to be on the road and looking forward to speaking with young Morgan again. He smiled to himself, knowing he, for the first time, was committing a traitorous act and could feel no blemish on his honor. Besides, he would be long dead before his queen would learn of it. It was why he rode south: to die by the sword and not the wasting sickness that gnawed at his insides.

  “My Lord Fredrik, we should be on our way,” the guard who had spoken to him earlier said. He held the higher rank of the two, so it fell on him to be the speaker. Fredrik had pushed the elves about as far as he could. He imagined Morgan was being cautious, but delayed longer than Fredrik would have thought. The elves put out the fire while Fredrik rolled his blanket and secured it to his horse. They had started down the road when he heard horses behind them. The elves turned their horses to face the riders. Fredrik just turned in the saddle and looked back. The riders paused and he wondered what they would do next. He saw Morgan shrug at his companion and kick his horse in the flanks.

  The elves’ hands rested on their weapons. Morgan rode slowly, his companion a few paces behind him. Fredrik didn’t think there would be bloodshed, but would intercede on the young man’s behalf against the elves. They wouldn’t dare attack a clan chieftain, especially one long favored by the Queen. Both parties noticed the shadow passing over them, blotting out the sun for a moment. The horses stamped and snorted, instantly skittish. Fredrik pulled Blackstar’s reins and spoke reassuringly to his war horse. All the horses tried to bolt when the ground shook and a great white dragon landed right in front of him and the elves. Its head darted in serpentine motions, focusing on each individual before settling on Morgan.

  A voice assaulted their minds. I seek Dra. You will give me the chains containing his great spirit or I will take them.

  “Troll shit,” Morgan muttered.

  Thirty-One

  Morgan eased off his horse and handed the reins to his companion, untying the ropes that secured his sword to the horse. He held it by the scabbard and grip and walked toward the dragon. The guards watched him approach and Morgan could tell one of them recognized him. It was no surprise after being chained for weeks to the queen’s throne. Of course the royal guard would know him by sight.

  Is that who you are—Dra?

  I am the father of dragon kind, the dragon responded.

  You’ve boasted , but you never came out and said you were the father of your kind.

  It mattered little. You feared magic and spurned my council. Knowing my place in the history of dragon kind would not have changed any outcome.

  Well, now I need your help. I have two royal elven guards and a dragon to defeat. Preferably disable and not kill.

  Kill the elves and woo the dragon. That is my advice.

  For a father of any kind, that is poor advice.

  Fool. You have no other choices.

  I can run.

  They will catch you or she will catch you.

  What should I tell the dragon—she has pretty eyes?

  You must nuzzle her ears. The ridges are sensitive. She will respond.

  You say... I should rub her ears. Dra, if you think about that, maybe you’ll understand why I don’t listen to you. She’ll be picking my bones out of her teeth.

  The guard was closing the distance to Morgan. Fredrik and the other guard sat still, trying not to make any sudden movement. The dragon was watching him. The bobbing and weaving of her head had slowed to a steady, cautious glare.

  You need training to become a warrior. That is knowledge that will aid you.

  The hell with training. Besides, there are safer ways to learn and train. Staying away from teeth longer than my forearm is one.

  The white dragon was now walking in his direction. Morgan drew his sword from the scabbard. The guard misread the action and flowed into a fighting stance. Morgan’s companion fled through the woods as the guards and dragon approached. His eyes lingered on the white dragon. She didn’t walk like a lumbering beast, but moved with the grace of a snowcat and he knew there would be no ear nuzzling.

  “I know we have talked little,” Morgan said to the approaching guard. “But... the dragon is walking up behind you.” He hoped the elf would turn and then he would... still have to decide to fight or run. That dragon had him overthinking everything.

  “Give me the chains and I might consider letting you go,�
�� the guard said, turning his head back and forth from Morgan to the dragon.

  “I don’t have them. I threw them in the river back in Kor’Tarnaeil.”

  “That is unfortunate,” the guard said, then smiled. “But I don’t believe you because the dragon doesn’t believe you either. It feels the magic. If not, it wouldn’t be stalking you. You should run—”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Morgan said quickly.

  The guard frowned at being interrupted. “I will catch you, but better me than the dragon.”

  Morgan took a deep breath and released it slowly. He saw the woman a safe distance away, leading his horse along the edge of the wood. The dragon didn’t seem to care about Fredrik or the other guard—and why would she? They had no weapon capable of inflicting any harm on her. He could use some help, but knew there was none to be had. Maybe he could get some involuntary help, though. The dragon was the key and he only had a few breaths to figure out how to use her. Just then, he realized how long she was from her head to the tip of her tail. He had a plan. He stepped to the right and the guard mirrored his movement. They repeated the steps until Morgan was closer to the dragon than the guard. The guard looked perplexed.

  “You are not a very—”

  Morgan ran. He didn’t need to hear what the guard’s last words were. Whatever it was, he probably agreed. He was running straight at death itself. The dragon’s lips had been drawn tight, exposing her many sharp teeth in a menacing way, but now her eyes were wide and her face relaxed... in confusion. Morgan held his sword over his shoulder, resting on the flat instead of the edge as he ran.

  This is your plan? Morgan didn’t understand how he could feel disapproval or any emotion from Dra. Yet, the words affected him as if they were spoken out loud, and made him angry all the same. He saw the white dragon raising her head and almost faltered, afraid his plan would fail, but she stopped and he took two more running steps and leaped. Morgan’s mind reeled, knowing how easily everything could go wrong. The whole confrontation from the time the dragon arrived had taken less than the count of a hundred and could end in another twenty-five. He swung the blade hard and brought the flat of the blade down right between her nostrils. Then he bounced off her head, rolled off her shoulder and fell to the ground.

  The road was hard and full of stones. Morgan felt like he knew them all intimately as he rolled for a safer distance and survival. He missed what happened immediately after striking her, but heard the roar and saw the aftermath when he stood on his feet to run. “Ride!” he yelled at Fredrik, who was still watching dumbfounded. Morgan risked a look back and saw the mounted guard was no longer mounted or standing, and neither was his horse. They lay sprawled and unmoving. There was no sign of the other guard, but the dragon had turned her body as she followed his progress and was not wide-eyed or confused anymore.

  Blackstar galloped down the road, taking Fredrik away from whatever would happen next, while Morgan ran toward the woods. He did not need to look back again. The heaving breaths and running feet of his angry pursuer proved she was gaining on him. She was much faster than he thought something so large could be, but then he remembered how she had walked so cat-like. Two more long strides carried him into the wood. Branches slapped him, but there was no slowing as the trees behind him crashed into the forest. Morgan had heard trees fall many times before, but never the sound of uprooting and breaking. He changed direction, heading deeper into the wood. The next roar he heard was different—a little further away, but no less frightening. He felt a little relief that the dragon was no longer right behind him. He heard a few more trees paying the price for his escape, and then it stopped. She was giving up the chase.

  I got away, didn’t I? Now what do you have to say about my plan? Morgan asked Dra.

  For now. You have only gained a little time. She will come for you, of that there is no doubt.

  Morgan calmed his thoughts and steadied his breathing. He heard mighty wings coming in his direction, so he moved to the largest tree nearby and sat on the ground behind it. A shadow fell over the forest as the dragon flew overhead and, to his relief, kept going.

  You should make yourself ready for the guard you left behind, the dragon said calmly.

  I would like to rest for a few more minutes.

  I wouldn’t.

  Morgan moved to get up just as a sword bit into the tree where his head had been. He regained his feet as the elven guard worked his blade out of the bark. He saw surprise on the guard’s face. The guard began a series of movements that to Morgan looked as if he were dancing with his sword. He was so mesmerized that he almost didn’t raise his sword in his own defense—almost. The guard’s smile blasted through the haze. Morgan raised his sword to catch a blow strong enough to force him to a knee. The next strike came at an angle. He turned at the waist, deflecting it, but the force of the blow knocked him over.

  “Get up,” the guard commanded. “It is embarrassing enough I have not killed you in one stroke, let alone three. I will not further dishonor myself by fighting an opponent on the ground. You will stand and face me and die as a man.”

  Morgan stood and dropped the scabbard on the ground. The guard meant to kill him and there would be no talking his way out. He gripped his sword with both hands and moved toward his foe. He knew nothing about sword fighting, other than what instinct forced upon him, but he knew how to swing an axe. His muscles were built on thousands of swings and sudden stops. The guard smirked at his approach and let him come. Morgan lunged; the sword arced and in a breath the guard’s sword was up to block the blow.

  It was the next breath that changed both fighters forever. The long, dark blade hummed as it split the air. It sliced through the elven blade and then the guard’s shoulder, stopping finally at his waist. The sheared half of the guard’s sword hit the ground, then unfeeling fingers relaxed and the rest slipped from his hand. The body leaned backward, sliding from Morgan’s blade and falling to the ground. The elf, a member of Queen Verlainia’s royal guard, lay dead. His open eyes stared blankly into the blue sky above the forest.

  Morgan felt numb. The guard who lay before him now was only doing his duty. He wiped the blood off his blade on the guard’s leg, sheathed the sword and walked back toward the road. His companions should be somewhere nearby; he didn’t think they had fled far. He wanted to check on the other guard, gather his things and move on.

  You are riding to war, Dra said. There will be many men doing their duty, and each one will try to kill you if you stand on the opposite side as them. You have much to learn. Do not let your thoughts linger on one death. Walk away and know there will be many more in your future.

  Remind me not to let you try to cheer me up ever again.

  I feel what you feel and I do not always understand you. Although, I have to admit I find your methods somewhat entertaining. I cannot wait to see you face the white dragon again.

  What else can a dragon god do besides listen to himself speak?

  There was a time when, if you had you spoken as you do now, before your next breath you would have been ash blowing in the wind. But that time has passed. It is good you do not want to abuse the power that has been placed in your hands. I have been used poorly, young one, but none of my former possessors could harness all of my magic. They did not have the knowledge, nor would I give it to them.

  If they were so weak, then how did you become trapped by them?

  The Dark Ones’ shaman was taught only one powerful spell by my mate—the spell to bind. Then, when the elf queen of the north took me from my previous owner, she put a spell on the chains to mask the magic from the dragons and other magic wielders.

  How did they not find you before that?

  The earth blocked all magic deep in the heart of the dark elves’ city. I do not know how Queen Verlainia found out, but she arranged the theft.

  If I only knew then what I know now, Morgan said, not wanting to hear any more. The road was in front of him and the second guard and his horse
were a hundred paces away. He heard hooves and looked south to see Fredrik coming back. There was no sign of his horse or his companion. He hoped she was ok. He looked to the sky and saw no sign of the dragon, so he ran across the road and hurried over to the guard. He had just arrived when Fredrik rode up. The elf guard was dead. His head lay at an odd angle, neck broken. The horse was alive, but had a broken leg and its breathing was labored.

  “Morgan, put the poor beast down. It suffers from its injuries. Use your sword there, just behind the front shoulder,” Fredrik said and pointed.

  Fredrik was right. He couldn’t let the horse lay there suffering. He placed his sword point and looked to Fredrick for confirmation. He nodded, then Morgan leaned on the blade. He had to catch himself, as there was almost no resistance at all.

  “Morgan, fetch me the satchel with the silver clasps. The contents still need to be delivered. Have you seen the other guard?”

  “I saw him. His journey ended here,” Morgan answered and handed off the satchel. “I think I’ll go look for my horse. Watch out for the dragon. She will be back, though it’s hard to know when.”

  “Do you still have the chains?” Fredrick asked. Morgan could see no deception in his eyes. Fredrik just seemed to be weary and tired.

  “No,” Morgan answered, drawing his sword. Fredrick’s eyes hardened. “I had a sword made from them.” Morgan smiled and turned the blade this way and that, showing it off.

  “You know they were magical?”

  “Fredrik, my friend, I know more than I want to, I assure you. According to my sword, it and I are bonded. He talks and I don’t listen, also according to him. Do you know the story of the chains?”

  “I have heard different tales.”

  “Do you know I’m supposed to woo the white dragon? Of course you don’t. Well, when she comes back, I either have to kill her or woo her to survive.”

  “You’re in a tough spot after slapping her in the nose with your sword.”

  “Yeah...” Morgan mumbled, lost in thought. “I had problems with an elf princess. We fought a little and then later the captain of the royal guard, fought with her too and then Queen Verlainia. I could only work up a little disobedience with her but then I stole her precious chains.”