Stumpers Don't Have Hearts

"No, no, my Dear. You've got this all wrong," Lord Balister gave his most ingratiating smile. "It was never my intention for you to feel kidnapped." He approached Nimmo with his arms outstretched. "I regret you ever misunderstood my intentions," he glanced at his soldiers standing behind her. "I blame my men for being over-exuberant. They were only to deliver my invitation and escort you," he paused and raised a finger towards the nervous men in mild reproach, "After you accepted, of course."

A little woman of indistinct age stood among Lord Balister's soldiers. She wore a deep forest green cloak over a greenish-white dress, standing in a defiant pose with all the dignity she commanded as the Lady of the Woods.

"So you will allow me to return home?" She asked.

"Absolutely. I'm so distraught by the misunderstanding." Lord Balister shooed away his soldiers, and they made a hasty exit, unable to disguise their relief. "Good help is absolutely impossible to find. Don't you agree?" He looked into her eyes and laughed as if he had told a joke. "Of course, you don't. You create stumpers." His retreating soldiers heard his maniacal laugh continue longer than warranted. It reverberated throughout the castle. Even the two prisoners in the tiny dungeon heard.

"You'll forgive me if I fail to find the humor," Nimmo straightened her back, not daring to take her eyes off the half-crazed Lord.

"Yes, yes. All is well," Lord Balister's mirth subsided. "Most people fail to appreciate my humor."

"Perhaps it's because it's not humorous." The look in Nimmo's eyes could have cut a diamond. "Since you say I'm not a prisoner, allow me to leave immediately."

He wasn't phased in the least by her defiance, any more than a salesman is phased by the word "no." He awkwardly stood, glancing at the door, then back to Nimmo and back to the door. He continued this until it became apparent he was expecting someone to enter.

Finally, a confused-looking servant walked through the door. Lord Balister clapped his hands in barely contained excitement. "Yes, is something wrong?"

"Yes, my Lord," the servant spoke like he was reciting memorized lines. "The main gate, our only way to get over our dangerous mote, just broke."

"That's terrible! When can we have it repaired?"

"Our blacksmith says it will take some time… I mean… three days."

"Well, tell our blacksmith that Nimmo, the Lady of the Woods, must leave as soon as possible. Tell him to work day and night to make it happen."

"Yes, my Lord," the servant excused himself with a bow.

"I can't believe this happened." Lord Balister appeared abashed, then shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well, what can we do? Might as well make the best of an out-of-control situation. Don't you agree?"

"Do you think I'm a simpleton?"

"What do you mean?"

"The main gate is broken? And it just happened to brake right after your soldiers, and I crossed over? Within the last thirty minutes?"

"Umm, I do see the improbability of such a misfortune occurring," Lord Balister smiled. "But it did, so why don't we constructively use our time by accomplishing something useful?" He grinned, "Don't you agree?"

"I won't create stumpers for your army!"

"Now, now. 'Won't' is such an ugly word. Don't you agree?"

"No, I won't agree."

"That word again. My foresters have already labored to bring you a dozen tree stumps. Perhaps a bit taller than you are used to, but I don't see why that would be a problem. Don't you agree?"

"Is that your nervous tick – or something?"

"What?"

"You keep saying, 'Don't you agree.'"

"Do I? I haven't noticed." He paused for an awkward moment. "Anyway, what will it take to get you to use your unique magic to carve life into those stumps? Money? Land? A higher title?" He hummed questionably.

Nimmo walked to Lord Balister's throne and sat impishly. "I tell you what. If you take the Vow of Xer-Bane and swear you will allow me to go home upon carving all twelve stumps and protect me from any harm as long as you live, I will do it."

Lord Balister was perplexed. He tried to ascertain her hidden motives for using Xer-Bane. It was a bold move, he thought. It appeared to favor him on the surface, but the Lady of the Woods was as sly as a fox. He glanced at Nimmo, sitting with confidence. What was her game? He was filled with apprehension. He didn't like the "protection" part but could stay far from her neck of the woods. What was she scheming? Although his reputation for being a crafty liar, alleged crook, and overall bad guy was known throughout Wanowyn, even he did not dare break the vow of Xer-Bane, he would be dead within a month. The mysterious power it evoked never failed to exact judgment on those who broke it. But as much as he tried to evaluate all sides, he could not see how this could fail. Perhaps she grew desperate and simply gave in to his request. Suddenly, what she might be trying to do occurred to him.

"You have a deal. If you vow, you won't use them as your personal army, and they'll only be loyal to me."

THE ARTIST AT WORK

Under constant guard, or as Lord Balister called it, a troop devoted to her every need, Nimmo was handed her leather satchel of carving knives and chisels, undoubtedly stolen when she wasn't kidnapped, and went to work.

She was a special sorceress, perhaps the only one with her unique type of magic. It flowed from her while she carved sticks. She discovered her ability young with a whittling knife given to her by her father. She carved sticks with elongated faces dressed in carved-out dresses. When they came to life, her parents took her to the Selwyn College of Magic, where elite magical professors tested her gift with various mediums. Although they were intrigued by how magic worked through her, they were disappointed it would not work on anything but sticks. They wrote her power off as a parlor trick, not worthy of their continued study. So, she was sent back home.

Eventually, she began using stumps instead of sticks. Her father gave her the idea that they're just big sticks. And it worked. They proved tougher and couldn't be carried away by stray dogs. Her childish intellect dubbed them stumpers, and since the family never came up with a better name for the wooden race, it stuck. When she was a girl learning her magical craft, she made the mistake of carving stumps without limbs. Although they made great conversationalists, they were forced to live out their lives without being able to move or do anything. But her kind and sympathetic mother found a place for these limbless stumpers in the homes of the elderly who longed to have someone to talk with. From then on out, she ensured each stump had two limbs for arms, smaller twigs on the ends for fingers, and short, thick roots for walking. 

As she grew into adulthood, her conscience became more aware of recklessly carving life. All her stumpers were still alive; their lifespan was the same as the tree they came from. However, they weren't happy. They constantly asked her if there was anything they could do. She would give them small tasks. Growing up, she never had to fetch water, sweep, or do any household chores. They absolutely loved to be helpful.

Her father, wise and able to understand the nagging feeling of uselessness, suggested they train the stumpers to be productive farmers or household servants instead of meandering about the house. So they did, and eventually placed them with poor farmers who would treat the stumpers with dignity and respect. Over time, the stumpers grew to be seen as part of the farmer's family and provided much-needed help usually reserved for the wealthy who could afford farmhands.

This is why she carved stumpers: to help the poor. It was her passion. She saw them as a force for good. It filled her with dread to think of them being used as soldiers. Nevertheless, she carved each stump alike: fierce, thick faces with short hair, chainmail for the middle, and the bark untouched on the bottom half because her family felt it looked more decent. She removed every limb except two huge ones she intended to use for the arms, where she carved muscles that made most men look like Popeye – before he ate his spinach.

A TOAST

Nimmo had finished the wooden dozen and began to put her tools away. Her helpers – those who looked suspiciously like soldiers, informed her she was invited to join Lord Balister for supper to celebrate his new troop.

"So, that means I'm going to sup with him, correct?"

"Umm, I can't say that, but…" One of the helpers answered.

"Fine, why not. I am a bit hungry."

"Lady? Why aren't the stumps alive?" A helper inquired.

"It takes a little while for the magic to kick in," Nimmo answered.

Her helpers escorted her to the great hall where a feast was laid out. Minstrels played upbeat music while servants hustled about serving food and drinks. Lord Balister invited many guests to celebrate; however, a few looked like they received the same kind of invitation she received.

She was taken to a seat across from Lord Balister, who stood while a servant pulled out her chair.

"It's my honor to dine with you," Lord Balister said as they sat.

"The honor is all mine." Nimmo laid her napkin in her lap. "I trust you've seen my work?"

"I have, and they look divine. Now, excuse me," he stood and silenced the minstrels. The crowd quieted. "If I could have everyone's attention. I'd like to toast the Lady of the Woods, who has graciously provided us with a troop of stumpers." The crowd broke out in applause. Lord Balister raised his cup, "To the Lady of the Woods, may she live to carve all her days." Everyone reciprocated and took a drink.

The feast returned to its noisy state, and Lord Balister sat back down. "So, where were we? Oh, yes – your work. I'll admit they are more intimidating than I imagined. You are quite the artist."

"You're too kind."

"I wonder if you could answer a few questions about them?"

"I will certainly try."

"Can they handle a sword? Or battle axe?"

"A stumper can."

"Excellent!" He clapped his hands together. "Do they die easily?"

"A stumper can die without water if consumed by fire or chopped in two. My father accidentally hit one with an axe before discovering the stumper wasn't part of the pile of logs meant for firewood. The poor stumper was just napping in the wrong place, but he said it didn't hurt, and he suffered no injury because of it, just a scar."

"Perfect!" He clapped again. "I can't wait to put them to good use."

Just then, a soldier whispered to Lord Balister. Lord Balister nodded, then nodded again with a look of disappointment, then froze. He dismissed the soldier and stared at Nimmo.

"So, apparently, we have a teensy-weensy problem," he lowered his head and whispered through gritted teeth, "They're not alive!"

"You don't say. Now, that's very odd. Don't you agree?"

Plates of food being served interrupted them. One of the guests seated next to Lord Balister asked him a question. He attempted to appear merry and nonchalant in front of his company, but Nimmo could see the fire in his eyes.

"I fear you're in peril. It appears you have broken the Vow of Xer-Bane," Lord Balister said.

"Have no fear, my Lord. I assure you I'm in no peril."

"But they're not alive!" A few of the guests glanced his way. He recovered, "So I'd say that puts you in great peril. Don't you agree?"

"Temper, temper, my Lord." She cut a piece of her steak and took a bite. After chewing longer than necessary, she added, "I never vowed they would be alive, only that I would carve you a dozen stumps whose loyalty completely belongs to you." She took another bite. "I assure you, they'll be the most loyal stumps you've ever had."

His mouth dropped as he realized his mistake. The fox outfoxed him. I never should have taken that stupid vow. He smiled and nodded in defeat. How did he miss the "alive" part? How could he be so ignorant? But Lord Balister had one positive trait, he quickly moved on from setbacks.

"I did my homework on you before sending you my invitation, and I was informed you have no control over your magic. That it simply happens when you carve." He straightened, "How did you control your magic?"

"The answer is heart."

"Heart?"

"Yes, heart. Only when my heart is in a carving does the magic happen. It cannot be forced or purchased."

"How strange."

"Not if you think of it. Every artist is similar. True art can only come from an artist's heart. Only then will the magic happen."

"I've always hated art, and now that I think of it, I'll add artists to that list." Lord Balister said. He grew bored of their conversation, "Well, my Dear, I'll admit it. You have bested me. After supper, my men will see you back home. You'll excuse me for not offering lodging for the night, but I don't like you and can't wait to be rid of you." He said this with the demeanor of one paying a compliment.

"Now that's something I can agree with."

They finished the rest of their meal in silence. Lord Balster looked for loopholes in his vow but, finding none, moved to his other guest, whom he was attempting to exhort for money.

Nimmo dismissed herself and joined the soldiers for the trek home. A full moon lit the road, and a warm breeze made for a pleasant journey. The soldiers proved to be congenial escorts. They all agreed Lord Balister was full of himself, but the unemployment rate was high, and a job was hard to come by. When they arrived, she insisted they camp in her woods for the remainder of the night, which they accepted gratefully. They then left early the next day.

Nimmo woke with one thought on her mind and one thought only. I won't be "invited" like that ever again. She began to carve a few stumps she had lying around with plans to ask her dwarf friend to cut taller and wider ones soon. She worked all day in a frenzy as one stump after another transformed into a stumper soldier.

Word spread throughout Wanowyn about Nimmo's army. It created alarm, and requests for stumper farmers dwindled for a few months until people realized she intended her army strictly as a deterrent against any more "misunderstandings."