of wood and split it clean.
It helped. In a tiny way, it helped. He lifted another log into place and struck again. Again. Sweat pricked his brow, and he shed the heavy weight of his familiar black cloak. Then he split another log. And another.
He lost all track of time within the rhythmic motion. The sun rose while he worked, but he barely noticed. He cleared the pile before he stopped, then stood a moment, stunned. His chest heaved, his lungs and arms ached, but his mind felt sharper than it had in days.
“More,” he said, his voice raw to his own ears. “I am not finished.”
“It’s true,” another voice answered.
Corin wiped sweat from his brow and turned to find Auric watching. The farmboy’s hands were dirty, and a sheen of sweat covered him too. Corin realized there were no split logs around the block. Auric had been clearing them while Corin worked, stacking them neatly on the pile beneath the cabin’s eaves. It had to have been more than an hour they’d worked together without him noticing Auric or either man saying a word.
Corin licked dry lips. “True?”
“You’re not finished,” Auric said, passing Corin a waterskin. “That’s clear as day. But I doubt that there are trees enough in all of Raentz to satisfy your need.”
Corin took a long, slow drink. Then he nodded his agreement. “No matter how I try, the wood won’t bleed.”
The farmboy didn’t answer right away. He took the axe from Corin and turned it over and over in his hands. Then, with a casual gesture, he tossed it aside. He met Corin’s eyes. “That is not the proper tool for your task.”
Corin nodded. “A friend is bringing me—”
Auric cut him off with a shake of his head. “Sera told me all about it, but the sword won’t do it either—not on its own.”
Corin sank down on his heels, still fighting for breath. He was worn out, but he could see the golden light of an autumn morning shining bright. He’d find a way to do what neede d doing.
“The sword will serve me well enough,” Corin said. “It will spill the blood of Ephitel.”
“And what will that gain you?” Auric asked. “Zyphar will only take his place. Or Elsbrit. Or Pellipon. There are gods enough to fill the role, and every one of them is cast from Ephitel’s mold.”
“So what would you have me do? Forget the wrongs he’s done? Grieve for what I’ve lost and try to find a normal life again?”
Auric shook his head emphatically, and Corin loved him for it. “Don’t be a fool. You have to kill him.”
“But you said—”
Auric spoke over him. “You’re not sufficient to the task. You don’t have to be. I tried to tell you so last night.”
Corin frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You do. You already know precisely what is needed, but you’ve allowed your grief to blind you. Before you first brought Sera here, you told her that you meant to raise an army.”
“Ah,” Corin said in sudden understanding. “Last night you spoke to me of good friends. But I have none. My plan required the assistance of the druids.”
“I . . . I thought you were friendly with the druids.”
“The circumstances of that relationship have changed.”
Disappointment touched the corners of the farmboy’s eyes, but he said nothing of it. He considered this new information a moment, then asked, “What did you need of them?”
“They were to connect me with the elves. But in the end, they could not help me there.”
The farmboy ran a hand through his hair and asked with exaggerated care, “Your true goal is to find the ancient elves? Long lost and most forgotten?”
“Aye. They’d be true and powerful enemies of Ephitel if I could but rouse them to the fight. But, alas, even the druids cannot tell me where they’ve settled.”
Auric let loose a mighty laugh. “You see! What did I tell you?”
“What?”
“I have a good friend who is even now setting out on a grand quest to find the elves of lore.”
C orin’s jaw
It helped. In a tiny way, it helped. He lifted another log into place and struck again. Again. Sweat pricked his brow, and he shed the heavy weight of his familiar black cloak. Then he split another log. And another.
He lost all track of time within the rhythmic motion. The sun rose while he worked, but he barely noticed. He cleared the pile before he stopped, then stood a moment, stunned. His chest heaved, his lungs and arms ached, but his mind felt sharper than it had in days.
“More,” he said, his voice raw to his own ears. “I am not finished.”
“It’s true,” another voice answered.
Corin wiped sweat from his brow and turned to find Auric watching. The farmboy’s hands were dirty, and a sheen of sweat covered him too. Corin realized there were no split logs around the block. Auric had been clearing them while Corin worked, stacking them neatly on the pile beneath the cabin’s eaves. It had to have been more than an hour they’d worked together without him noticing Auric or either man saying a word.
Corin licked dry lips. “True?”
“You’re not finished,” Auric said, passing Corin a waterskin. “That’s clear as day. But I doubt that there are trees enough in all of Raentz to satisfy your need.”
Corin took a long, slow drink. Then he nodded his agreement. “No matter how I try, the wood won’t bleed.”
The farmboy didn’t answer right away. He took the axe from Corin and turned it over and over in his hands. Then, with a casual gesture, he tossed it aside. He met Corin’s eyes. “That is not the proper tool for your task.”
Corin nodded. “A friend is bringing me—”
Auric cut him off with a shake of his head. “Sera told me all about it, but the sword won’t do it either—not on its own.”
Corin sank down on his heels, still fighting for breath. He was worn out, but he could see the golden light of an autumn morning shining bright. He’d find a way to do what neede d doing.
“The sword will serve me well enough,” Corin said. “It will spill the blood of Ephitel.”
“And what will that gain you?” Auric asked. “Zyphar will only take his place. Or Elsbrit. Or Pellipon. There are gods enough to fill the role, and every one of them is cast from Ephitel’s mold.”
“So what would you have me do? Forget the wrongs he’s done? Grieve for what I’ve lost and try to find a normal life again?”
Auric shook his head emphatically, and Corin loved him for it. “Don’t be a fool. You have to kill him.”
“But you said—”
Auric spoke over him. “You’re not sufficient to the task. You don’t have to be. I tried to tell you so last night.”
Corin frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You do. You already know precisely what is needed, but you’ve allowed your grief to blind you. Before you first brought Sera here, you told her that you meant to raise an army.”
“Ah,” Corin said in sudden understanding. “Last night you spoke to me of good friends. But I have none. My plan required the assistance of the druids.”
“I . . . I thought you were friendly with the druids.”
“The circumstances of that relationship have changed.”
Disappointment touched the corners of the farmboy’s eyes, but he said nothing of it. He considered this new information a moment, then asked, “What did you need of them?”
“They were to connect me with the elves. But in the end, they could not help me there.”
The farmboy ran a hand through his hair and asked with exaggerated care, “Your true goal is to find the ancient elves? Long lost and most forgotten?”
“Aye. They’d be true and powerful enemies of Ephitel if I could but rouse them to the fight. But, alas, even the druids cannot tell me where they’ve settled.”
Auric let loose a mighty laugh. “You see! What did I tell you?”
“What?”
“I have a good friend who is even now setting out on a grand quest to find the elves of lore.”
C orin’s jaw
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