Lady of the Woods

By Mark P. Kolba

Could faeries really exist? Aleandor has only heard of them in old bedtime tales until the day his master Kinsley proclaims that he has seen one. And what does Kinsley propose they do? Grab a bow and go hunting. Soon Aleandor must decide where his heart lies—behind a goose-feathered arrow and a drawn bowstring or in exploring the wonders of this magical visitor.

Lady of the Woods is a 6,700 word fantasy short story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark P. Kolba
• Release date: Jan 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301733859

Mark P. Kolba

Mark P. Kolba lives in northwest Indiana with his lovely wife and daughter, and he has enjoyed reading and writing epic fantasy for many years. Growing up, he was steeped in the world of The Lord of the Rings (what fantasy fan wasn’t?) and found himself fascinated by tales of adventure, magic, and battles between great forces of good and evil. Tales that provided a fun and exciting escape from the real world yet also resonated long after the story was finished. He hopes that through his own writing he is able to open windows to worlds that are full of wonder, struggle, and fantastical delight. He hopes that you find his stories to be a place where adventure begins. And he hopes that you come along for the ride.

Book preview

Lady of the Woods

by Mark P. Kolba

Copyright 2013 Mark P. Kolba

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

Lady of the Woods

Could faeries really exist? Kinsley told me he’d seen one. I snatched the last piece of wood and balanced it on my chopping stump. I looked at the wood for a moment—birch, it was, with fragments of silver bark still clinging to the edges. Did that tree once shelter some magical creature or play host to dryads? I shook my head. What an odd thought. A swift stroke of my axe split the wood, and I threw the pieces on top of the pile by the shed.

My pops used to tell me stories, before he and mum passed on, stories about warriors, mystical places, and magic creatures. About faeries. Pops had a way with words, and when he described a monster or a sorcerer, it all came to life so vividly inside my head that I felt it must be real. When he finished a story I would ask him, Did Tiberion the wizard really exist? And he would furrow his brow and look offended that I had asked such a question. Real as these two hands, he would say, and then he would grab my shoulders and shake me. I let my axe rest against the stump and studied my own hands: cracked knuckles, dirt caked into the creases, small droplets of sweat glistening in the morning sun. I shook my head again. When my pops died, most of my belief had died with him. Adolescence had claimed the rest.

But now Kinsley told me he’d seen a faerie. I’d heard people claim things before; down at the Red Lion I once heard a man swear he’d been attacked by a two-headed ostrich on his way to Pentheloam. Of course he’d downed nigh on half a barrel of ale by that time, and Brogan had sent one of his barmaids to walk the poor wretch