Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

Jicks swung at the back of the troll nearest him. His blade sliced clean through the calf meat, causing the troll to fall to a knee. The young swordsman was trying to back away when the troll turned and swung a roundhouse blow. Jicks was brutally batted across the floor by an anvil-like fist.

With all but one of the trolls down, the great wolves stormed into the cavern and joined the battle with tooth and claw. Their savage attack saved Jicks, for he was lying limp and unconscious from the massive blow he had taken.

Durge took a claw across the face as he stepped in and cut the legs out from under the last of the trolls. He yelled out a thunderous roar of victory, though, when it was done. The sound scared the great wolves and Corva as much as it did the dying trolls. Hyden didn’t hear it. He was lost in a casting, and the rest of the world could have been a thousand miles away.

A crackling ray of yellowish healing magic flared from Hyden’s hands and went swirling into Jicks’s body. Using such magic was taxing, and Hyden was washed over with relief when Jicks sat up and looked around.

After Durge and Corva had finished killing the trolls, they built a fire. Hyden attempted to heal Durge, but the giant refused. His face had three deep furrows running from his left ear across and under his eye to his nose and mouth. The giant said he wanted the scars, wanted the pain to keep him sharp so that he didn’t forget. Once they were warm, the giant gutted the trolls and fed their livers to the great wolves. He took their huge hearts and spitted them on the butt end of the staff and set them to roast over the fire.

“I can’t believe you're going to eat those,” Jicks said incredulously. “Yuck!”

“I’ve never eaten troll heart before,” Hyden said. “But an old giantess named Berda used to tell my people tales when she was around. She said it was a delicacy.”

“It is!” Durge boomed through his grizzly appearance. Even with his face gashed and bloody, his grin was wide and white. “It’s only proper to eat from your kill, anyway, but troll heart is something spectacular. Only the tongue meat from a bark lizard has a better flavor.”

“Mikahl’s told me how good that is,” said Hyden.

“I’ll try it,” Corva said. “The Elders say that troll heart is good for the spirit.”

“Are you going to eat it?” Jicks asked Hyden. “Those trolls are so unclean.”

“Aye, I will,” Hyden laughed. He directed Jicks’s attention back to Corva.

“If you think on it, Jicks,” Corva said, “the troll eats better than any other creature alive. It hunts the mountains for elk, moose, and bear. It drinks from the purest of melt streams. It’s only filthy on the outside. A pig, now there’s a beast that should seem to have filthy meat, yet doesn’t roasted pig beat anything you’ve ever eaten?”

“It does when it’s drenched in honey,” Jicks nodded and glanced at the sizzling hearts spitted on the fire. “So what does it do to your spirit?”

Before Corva could answer, Talon came sweeping down out of the darkened sky into the cavern mouth. The hawkling fluttered to a stop and landed on Hyden’s outstretched arm. After sidestepping his way up Hyden’s shoulder, he settled and began preening himself. His beak was bloody from a freshly killed meal.

Corva continued. “A spirit is something that every living thing has about it. Some predators, some men, as well…” Corva nodded toward Hyden. “…some can see it around you. It’s like a glow that indicates the nature of who it belongs to.”

“Can you see mine?” Jicks asked, looking at himself uncomfortably.

“I can sense it more than see it,” said Corva. “It’s an ability that will sharpen as I age. Most elves can’t see the spirit aura until they are well over a hundred years old.

“How old are you?” Jicks asked.

“I’m seventy-seven,” Corva replied, as if he were ashamed of being so young.

“Very young for the responsibilities of a royal guard,” Durge observed. The giant brought the shish kebab of troll hearts to his face and pinched one. He seemed pleased, and inhaled their aroma deeply. The dark, scabbing lines across his face gave him a menacing look.

“It was my grandfather’s place on the Hardwood council that got me a place on the expedition to Salaya,” Corva explained. “Even had I not some skill with the blade and bow, I would have been allowed to go. My grandfather shamelessly used his position in my favor.” Corva let his gaze fall to the fire with shame. “Several better elves, more qualified and more deserving, were passed over in the matter.”

“You’ve proved your rightful place and position, Corva,” Hyden said. “As I said before, very few would have gone as far as you have in the name of duty. Most would have run straight to the Queen Mother.”

Corva nodded his thanks for the encouragement.

“They’re done!” Durge announced. The meat was chewy, yet savory, not tough and ever so succulent.

Jicks didn’t shut up about how good the hearts tasted. The others were thankful when sleep finally silenced him. With the great wolves standing guard, everyone else slept, as well.

In the morning, they entered the tunnel-like Shoovway. Hyden was anxious and excited about what the Wedjak had in store for them. Its wonders and dangers were now but a few dozen paces away.

In a small, snow-covered clearing somewhere in the Evermore Forest, the senior members of the coalition of Hardwoods were gathered. Revan, Lord of the Redwoods, presided over the group of old elves. Some heads of other families outside the coalition were in attendance, as well. What they were about to attempt required more power and ability than the coalition could manage on its own. The Cherrywoods, the Teaks, and one rebellious old Birchblood stood in a spell circle with the others. From the center, Lord Revan spoke.

“The time of the Queen Mother has passed. It is known that a daughter’s heart will follow her mother’s closely. Are we ready? Are we going to stand by and suffer four hundred more years of reclusive mediocrity?”

A murmur ran through the circle. “No.”

“We once hunted this land from the southern sea to the giants’ borders. All of that land was once pure and untainted by the stench of men. The time has come for us to call from the earth a new leader, someone who will guide our race back to its former glory. We need someone who will not bow down and hide from the likes of man.”

“Who?” the old Birchblood asked.

“Yes, who?” someone else said.

“The unborn daughter of Milea Redwood. Her father is of the purest Redwood stock, and Milea is the epitome of the Cherrywood lineage. The child will be strong and proud.”

Revan reached out a hand to a slip of an elven girl wrapped in a shimmering cloak. Her belly was well rounded with child. Her luminous golden eyes were a bright contrast to her pale, almost blue-colored skin. There was no doubt that she was one of the purest of elves. “If we call forth the Arbor Heart into this child, then once she is born, we will suffer the fearful leadership of the Queen Mother no longer. We will…”

“All of you are fools!” Dieter Willowbrow yelled down from the trees. He had been out rounding up winter spore for his father’s herbal works and accidentally overheard the meeting. He’d intended to hide in the trees and remain silent until they were done. Now he regretted speaking, for he might not make it to warn the Queen Mother. “It’s you that are afraid of the humans, you who are even now guilty of blasphemy against the Heart of Arbor. You shame yourselves. You shame me with this… this…” He was so angry and scared that, instead of finishing, he leapt through the trees like a startled squirrel. Only a light cascade of loosened snow marked where he had been. Dieter knew that he had to get away from them. If he was caught they would have to kill him. It was never spoken openly, but all elves knew what happened if you crossed the Hardwood coalition. Luckily, Dieter was young and fleet of foot. None of the older elves, he hoped, could catch him.