Raymond E. Feist - Wood Boy

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THE WOOD BOY

BY RAYMOND E. FEIST

The Duke looked up.

Borric, Duke of Crydee and second-in-command of the Armies of the West,

acknowledged the captain at the door of his command tent. 'Your Grace, if you

have a minute and could come outside?'

Borric stood up, envying his old friend Brucal, who was now probably sitting

before a warm fire somewhere in LaMut while he wrote long letters of complaint

to the Prince of Krondor about supplies.

The war was leaving its second winter and a stable front had been

established, with Borric's headquarters camp located ten miles behind the

lines. The Duke was a seasoned campaigner, having fought against goblins and

the Brotherhood of the Dark Path - the dark elves - since boyhood, and every

bone in his body told him this was going to be a long war.

The Duke donned his heavy cloak, and wrapped his scarf around him. He exited

his tent and a strange tableau greeted him.

In the distance, a group of figures could barely be seen as they approached

the camp. Through the swirling snow Borric could see them slowly take shape.

Grey figures against the dull white, surrounded by a haze of snowflakes, they

approached at a steady rate. Finally, the figures resolved themselves into a

patrol escorting someone.

The soldiers marched slowly, for the figure they surrounded was pulling a

heavy sled, plodding along at a steady pace despite what appeared a heavy

burden. As they came close, Borric could see it was a peasant boy who laboured

to haul the sled to the camp. He moved with steady purpose, coming at last to

stand before the commander of the King's Armies of the West.

Borric looked at the lad, who had obviously been through an ordeal. He was

bareheaded, his blond hair encrusted with ice crystals. About his neck and

face he wore a heavy scarf wrapped several times around. He wore a heavy

jacket and trousers, and thick sturdy boots. His simple wool coat was stained

dark with blood.

He had been pulling a sled, laden with odd cargo. A large sack had been

secured with ropes atop the sled, and over that two bodies had been lashed

down. A dead man stared up at the sky with empty eyes, his lashes sparkling

with frozen tears. He had been a fighter, from the look of him, and he wore

leather armour. His scabbard hung empty at his side and his left glove was

missing. Beside him lay a girl, under blankets, so that it appeared she was

sleeping. She had been a pretty girl in life, but in death her features were

almost porcelain, near perfection in their pale whiteness.

'Who are you, boy?'

The boy said, 'I am the Wood Boy.’ His voice was faint and his eyes were

vacant, as if he stared inward, though they were fixed on Borric,

'What did you say?' asked the Duke.

The boy seemed to gather his wits. 'Sir, my name is Dirk. I am the servant

of Lord Paul of White Hill. It's the estate on the other side of the Kakisaw

Valley.' He pointed to the west, Three days' walk from here. I carry

firewood.'

Borric nodded. 'I know the estate. I've visited Lord Paul many times over

the years. That's thirty-five miles from here, and twenty behind enemy lines.'

Pointing to the sled, he asked, 'What is this?'

Weary, the boy said, 'It is my master's treasure. She is his daughter. The

man is a murderer. He was once my friend.'

'You'd better come inside and tetl me your story,' said Borric. He motioned

for two soldiers to take the ropes that the boy used as a harness to pull the

sled out of the way, and indicated that another man should help the exhausted

youth.

The Duke led the boy inside and let him know it was permissible to sit. He

signalled for an orderly to get the boy a cup of hot tea and something to eat,

and as the soldier hurried to obey, Borric said, 'Why don't you start fcpt the

beginning, Dirk?'

Spring brought the Tsurani. They had been reported in the Grey Tower Mountains

the year before, bringing dire warnings of invasion from both the Kingdom

rulers on the other side of the mountains and some of the more important

merchants and nobles in the other Free Cities. But the tales that accompanied

the warning, of fierce warriors appearing out of nowhere by some magic means,

had been met with scepticism and disbelief. And the fighting seemed distant,

up in the mountains between Borric of Crydee's soldiers, the dwarves, and the

invaders.

Until the first warning by the Rangers of Natal - who had quickly ridden on

to warn others - followed a day later by a column of short men in their

brightly-coloured armour who appeared on the road approaching the estate at

White Hill.

Lord Paul had ordered his bodyguards to stand ready, but to offer no

resistance unless provoked. Dirk and the rest of the household stood behind

the Lord of White Hill and his armed guards.

Dirk glanced at his master and saw he stood alone, his daughter still in the

house. Dirk wondered what extra protection the master thought that afforded

his young daughter.

Dirk found the master's pose admirable. The stories of Tsurani fierceness

had trickled down from the early fighting, and the Free Cities would be wholly

dependent upon the Kingdom for defence. Areas like White Hill and the other

estates around Walinor were simply on their own. Yet despite no hope of

successful resistance, Lord Paul stood motionless, without any sign of fear,

in his formal robe, the scarlet one with the ermine collar. No hereditary

title had been conferred on any citizen since the Empire of Great Kesh had

abandoned its northern colonies a century before, yet those families with

ancient titles used them with pride. Like other nobles in the Free Cities, he

held in disdain other men's claims on title while treasuring his own.

As the invaders calmly marched into view, it was obvious that any resistance

would have been quickly crushed. Paul had a personal bodyguard and a score of

hired mercenaries who acted as wagon guards and protection against roving

bandits. But they were a poor band of hired cut-throats next to the

highly-disciplined command that marched across the estate. The Tsurani wore

bright orange and black armour, looking like lacquered hide or wood, nothing

remotely like the metal armour worn by the officers of the Natal Defence

Force.

Paul repeated the order that no resistance was to be mounted and when the

Tsurani commander presented himself, Paul offered something that resembled a

formal salute. Then, with the aid of a man in a black robe, the leader of the

invaders gave his demands. The property of White Hill, as well as the

surrounding countryside, was now under Tsurani rule, specifically an entity

named Minwanabi. Dirk wondered if that was a person or a place, like a Kingdom

Duchy. But he was too frightened to imagine voicing the question.

The leader of this group of Tsurani - all short, tough-looking veteran

soldiers - could be differentiated from his men only by a slightly more ornate

helm, graced with what Dirk took to be some creature's hair. The black fall

reached the officer's shoulders.

Dirk tried to guess what the role of the black-robed man might be; the

officer seemed extremely polite and deferential to him as he translated the

officer's words for him.

The officer was called Chapka, and his rank was Hit Leader or Strike

Leader, Dirk wasn't sure which.

He shouted orders and the black robe said, 'Only the noble of this house may

bear arms, and his personal man.' Dirk took that to mean a bodyguard. That

would be Hamish. 'All others put weapons here.'

The estate guards looked at Lord Paul, who nodded. They stepped forward and

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Raymond E. Feist - Wood Boy

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