The Crafter's Son: Book One of the Exciting New Coming of Age Epic Fantasy Series, The Crafter Chronicles

by Matthew Berg

  Breeden’s father was still smiling, still admiring his work, and his son’s words didn’t register with him right away. But then he seemed to hear them echo in his head, and he turned to face his son, a look of concern visible on his face. “Old armory? What hinges? What happened?”

  Breeden kept nothing from his parents, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t yet told his father about the incident under the castle. He lowered his head and apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just never had the chance, and then . . .”

  His father appeared to gain control of his emotions in response to the obvious remorse of his son. “It’s okay, son. Go ahead and tell me what happened.”

  Breeden related the story of his breaking loose the hinges, and even told his father about Kestrel’s brief interrogation. His father wasn’t happy to hear that the noble likely wouldn’t let it go. Breeden also mentioned the armor Laudan had found, and how the patterns he saw on the armor’s discs had made him dizzy. His father’s eyebrows raised at this, and he seemed to consider interrupting but kept his thoughts to himself. Finally, Breeden told him about Tavish Ranald’s injury, and how he’d helped the sergeant set the bone. When Breeden was finished, his father remained quiet for a moment, as if considering how to respond.

  “That’s . . . a lot to take in. You’ve been busy.”

  “I’m sorry, Da, for not telling you sooner.”

  “It’s okay. No need to apologize. I can only imagine how I would feel about all of this if it were happening to me.”

  His father stood still a moment and rested the mallet against his thigh before continuing.

  “So . . . in most of these incidents, you’ve only talked about having a kind of sight. But the story about the old armory door sounded different. So, you think you broke these bonds by willing them to break?”

  Breeden nodded. “I’m sure of it. After the first one, I was so surprised I guess it didn’t register, but looking back, I think some part of me always knew I could do it. And then when I went to free the second hinge and it broke free too, I knew it for sure.”

  His father shook his head in disbelief. “Have you considered the fact that you have control of some kind of magic?”

  Breeden nodded. He had thought about that. Many times. And even Cedric’s lesson on the nature of God so long ago had remained with him and had him wondering whether Cedric’s “magic”—or God’s essence—wasn’t the “stuff” coursing through the bonds of his visions. But he really couldn’t say. “I don’t know, Dad. I’ve thought about it, but I don’t remember ever hearing anything about magicians seeing inside things.”

  “No, and I haven’t either. But then I guess they keep their own secrets, son. You know, I’ve been thinking about this for some time now. And I think maybe we should try to find someone other than Cedric to talk with about this.”

  Now Breeden was curious, thinking his father must have a particular person in mind. “Who?”

  “Well, I don’t know whom myself, but I think Aegir might.”

  Breeden smiled. “And he can get his new boat while he’s here!”

  “I’ll write a letter tomorrow and take it down to the deepwater docks. The harbormaster will know who’s bound for Ath.”

  25

  Old Tales

  Cedric carefully flattened out the scroll to give it another read. It was a unique piece of writing. Monks of the One God were not known for forbearance in acknowledging the old gods. Most references to them were to be found in private libraries, or in histories commissioned by royalty over the centuries. Only a few of these documents had been discovered outside of family collections. And fewer still could be found inside the walls of a building of the One God.

  What was so interesting about these few pages was that they purported to relay an interview between the writer and Mirren the Traveler. The problem was that the piece read as a story. Cedric frowned. He hated it when monks did that. It was one thing to write an allegorical tale to inform and instruct. But when used to capture the essence of words actually spoken, presenting a conversation in the form of a story made one question the veracity of the information the author was trying to convey.

  Yes, it was possible Mirren uttered the story to the scribe essentially as presented. After all, Cedric himself had met Mirren, and the god had been somewhat chatty. But even if the writer had been especially careful not to take liberties, it was impossible to know where the speaker’s words, Mirren’s words, left off and the listener’s words, in writing them down, began. For that matter, there was the question of whether Mirren himself could be trusted to be impartial in his narrative. But if the words were written in earnest, and recorded in good faith, it was likely there were truths to be found within the manuscript. As always, it was the truth Cedric was seeking. The rumors he had heard—about Mirgul returning—were too potentially cataclysmic to ignore. He read the document one more time.

  The old gods took many forms. Some appeared as humans when they walked among the land. Others appeared as dwarf, elf, or gnome. Still others took as many forms as there were creatures in the world. But those who walked upright, and spoke the common tongue, would sometimes hold council.

  The councils were informal things, a gathering of equals with no leader and no set agenda. They had begun many thousands of years ago, while the gods were vying with each other for power and establishing their domains, and had been used as a forum for grievances, as well as a means of maintaining social contact with their peers.

  In a practical sense, the gods were forced to associate with one another because most found that companionship with mortals would lead to despair—the life of mortals being so insignificantly brief. Some gods, like the goddess Mikele, found an easy way around this problem by not limiting their affections to one mortal at a time. Many more saw mortals as pets more than companions and became protective over the legions of followers who organized to worship them. But most understood the advantages of finding companionship, where possible, from among their own kind.

  There were also gods who did not attend council. But over thousands of years, their numbers had diminished. Many believed that those who went off on their own may have lost their will to exist. Those remaining came to find that spending time together was important lest they, too, fall prey to isolation and despair.

  Among the gods who appeared as humans, the brothers Mirren and Mirgul were powerful above all others. They were strong of will, strong of ability, and strong of charisma. Together they had defeated many powerful foes, rival gods, demons, and other ancient and fearsome creatures that roamed the world so long ago.

  Of the female gods, there remained two in form like Mirren and Mirgul. There was Mikele, the exotic and flighty goddess the humans had come to identify with fertility, bounty, and abandon. And there was Birghid. Birghid the Wise, or Birghid the Serene, as her human worshippers variously called her—the ideal of grace and beauty in the human form.

  Mikele was beautiful as well and, like Birghid and the other gods, could change her form to make herself appeal to her choice of partners. She would spend time with Mirren and Mirgul as it struck her fancy. But the brothers found her too unpredictable and directed their true affections toward Birghid. At first, being brothers and caring deeply for one another, they were willing to share her affections. And Birghid, caring for them both, was content to share of herself.

  But over time, Birghid became less interested in Mirgul and more attached to Mirren. It happened slowly, over many, many years, but in time, Mirgul came to resent his brother, and to resent Birghid as well. Mirgul became rude with Birghid. Where before he would have won her over with words of love, he began to demand that she spend time with him. Birghid resisted, and her love for Mirgul diminished with each demand. After one such rejection, Mirgul threw a tantrum, toppling trees and splitting boulders until the area surrounding Birghid’s favorite spring was laid to waste. Realizing what he had done, he looked back at Birghid’s stricken face one last time
and disappeared.

  Years passed, and Mirren and Birghid became closer than ever before. They came to discover that life together was richer than life apart. And, as unlikely a thing as one might expect from gods, they committed themselves to each other and forswore the attentions of others.

  More years passed. And one day Mirgul returned. He had been watching his brother and Birghid, and waited until his brother was away—honoring his worshippers to the north. Mirgul tried to rekindle Birghid’s affections with honeyed words. But despite the passing of years, she had seen his darker side before and would not forget. She spurned him once again. He surprised her then and got down on his knees to beg for her forgiveness and affections. She pitied him and raised him from his knees to kiss him on the forehead. But as she kissed him, he drew her to him, and before she knew what he was doing, he had drawn her life’s essence into himself. One moment she stood before him, and the next she had faded from sight. Now, he thought, no one can ever keep us apart, as we are one. But though he had captured her life’s force, her spirit and her presence had fled. He sought her spirit within himself and cried her name to the air, but the deed was done. Birghid was no more. He had misjudged the effects of his actions, and he had destroyed the one most precious to him. Realizing the finality of his actions, and suddenly fearing the arrival of his brother, Mirgul sped from the place where Birghid’s pity had brought about her undoing.

  When Mirren returned home, he was surprised that he could not feel Birghid’s presence nearby. And he was somewhat saddened by her discourtesy. She had always before told him when she was planning to travel. But as he did not perceive the possibility of any threat to her well-being, it was only when she did not return after many days that he considered something might be wrong. The date of council arrived two weeks later, and Mikele and a distracted Mirgul arrived, but Birghid was still missing. Mirren was happy to see his long-absent brother but was very upset about Birghid. Mirgul fidgeted but said nothing, relieved that his brother did not suspect him. But Mikele had seen Mirgul talking with Birghid shortly before she disappeared. And in front of his brother, she asked Mirgul if Birghid had not told him where she was going.

  Mirgul looked at his brother with wide eyes and panicked, running from the mountaintop where they had gathered. Mirren, still not aware of what had happened, nonetheless chased after his fleeing brother. His wits having left him in his moment of distress, Mirgul failed to use any of the powers at his disposal and continued to run on foot as he left the mountaintop. Mirren, however, assumed the form of a falcon and flew ahead of him, assumed human form once again, and waited in his path. Mirgul stumbled around a corner and ran into his brother, both toppling to the ground. Without thinking, Mirgul lashed out and tried to draw his brother’s essence into himself—as he had done to Birghid. But his brother had not opened himself up the way Birghid had, had not made himself vulnerable. And Mirren’s powers, always greater in strength and more cleverly wielded than those of his brother, allowed him to withstand his brother’s frenzied attack and strike out himself. He immobilized the still-bemused Mirgul and neutralized his magic after a brief struggle.

  Mirren felt pity for his clearly bedeviled brother but wanted to know why he had run away when asked about Birghid, and why he had lashed out at his own brother in such a deadly way. The now sobbing Mirgul, sprawled in the dirt of the mountain path, told him the entire story, described Birghid’s pity, and confessed to having destroyed her. Mirren froze. Mirgul had tried to do the same to him. As the gravity of his brother’s crimes became clear to him, Mirren flew into a rage, and his heart turned to ice. Knowing there was no way to cause his brother physical pain, he resolved to punish him in whatever way he could, and an idea was born in his mind. He assumed the form of a dragon, picked up the motionless form of his brother in his talons, and flew off to the southeast, toward the home of his friend the king of the dwarves.

  His vast winged form was spotted far away from the top of the mountain, and when he landed at the entrance to the King’s Hall, a squad of heavily armed and seasoned dwarf soldiers were there to greet him. He resumed his natural form lest the dwarves question his draconic intent. The soldiers, now recognizing a frequent visitor, and one of the most powerful of the gods, parted to let him pass through their ranks. Mirgul’s body lifted off the ground and floated behind Mirren as he entered the hall of the dwarven king.

  The king descended from his throne at Mirren’s approach and bowed his head in respect and greeting. Without ceremony, Mirren asked a boon, and a commission, of his long-time friend. “I wish for you to forge a cage for a serpent, and I wish to lend my magic to its making.” The dwarf king looked at the still form lying in the rushes on the floor behind his old and powerful friend, and upon recognizing Mirgul, he lifted an eyebrow. But the eyebrow was all the question he would raise to the undertaking, and he nodded without further hesitation. “By your will.”

  So it was that for the full cycle of a moon, a score of the finest dwarven craftsmen the king could assemble worked under Mirren the Crafter’s direction. Mirgul was bound in a cage that fit tightly about his still-immobile body and placed in a dark and distant mine the dwarves had long ago abandoned. At the end of the mine, where the diligent dwarves had deemed no more ore could be gleaned, they placed Mirgul in his cage against the rock wall and fixed it in place with many and strong bolts of dwarven steel, using the greatest of their arts in binding metal to rock. Then, because Mirren feared he might one day have pity on his brother, he hid him from sight. In front of the cage, they erected a wall of stone and steel, etched with glyphs infused with the magic of Mirren, and hardened by the art of the dwarven smiths, sealing away Mirren’s brother for all time.

  Cedric sighed. If only Mirren had followed the One God’s enjoinment to forgive.

  26

  Portents

  “The king is dead.” Six weeks had passed since Laudan’s punishment and Janelle’s elevation. And Kestrel had just returned from an excursion to the market.

  Breeden was stunned. “But he’s younger than my father. What happened?”

  Kestrel had too much energy, more even than he usually did, and he couldn’t stand still. “Where are the others? It’s nearly two bells, and here it is just you and me.”

  Breeden could see that Kestrel didn’t know what to do with himself. “What happened to the king?”

  Kestrel’s eyes settled on Breeden’s own, and he seemed to hear again the words Breeden had spoken. His lips moved without uttering a sound, and then the words came. “He fell from his horse. Nothing more than an afternoon ride. Not even in battle!”

  They became silent then, each lost in his own thoughts.

  Kestrel broke the silence again. “I met him once. He came to Culuden to visit my father’s land, enfeoffed to him, for a renewal of his vassals’ oaths. All the nobles of our country came together at moot for the same purpose.”

  “I remember my father having words with several of the other nobles of our clan. Beyond the oaths, the moot was supposed to be a festival—I even ran in a foot race! But many of our clan leaders saw the gathering as a painful reminder of their oaths to a foreign ruler. My father felt that way, to be sure, but he was more practical than most. He met with the men who were unhappy about giving the oath—some for the first time in their lives—and quieted their voices.

  “Even so, I was worried on the day the king was supposed to arrive. But he was a subtle man. He showed respect to even the lowest clan chief. He stopped the wagging tongues, and he won them over to be his own men.

  “I was close to him at one point, in the crush of people. I was standing on something—a barrel, I think. I could see over everyone’s heads, and I watched him approach. He came right up to me. No more than an arm lengths away. And as he swept the crowd, his eyes locked onto mine and he nodded slightly, acknowledging not just my existence but also my worth in a glance.

  “There was a power and a courage in those eyes I will never forget. He was standing am
ong an entire city full of men who, to be kind, didn’t exactly wish him well, and he acted as though he had not a care in the world but to meet the worthy men who surrounded him. It was something I will never forget. He was a rare man and a good king.”

  Kestrel remained silent for a moment, musing. “Now that I think on it, the princess’s own eyes have some of his fire, though hers burns more darkly.”

  As if mention of the princess had summoned her servant, Janelle entered the room then, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Breeden’s eyes widened. “Janelle? . . . Oh. Lorelei . . .”

  Kestrel snapped out of his trance somewhat at the sight of Janelle in tears and at Breeden’s exclamation. “That’s right. I’d not thought what this might mean to you, Janelle. I’m very sorry.”

  Janelle raised her head to look at both boys, the tears streaming down her reddened face in bright rivulets, and she wobbled slightly. Breeden reached for her, and she fell awkwardly into his outstretched arms. She remained that way for several minutes, and Breeden continued to hold her even as the sobs dwindled. She remained in his arms when Derek and Laudan came into the room. And finally, when at last her strength seemed to fail her, she spoke.

  “I was with her when Cedric came to give her the news. She became as a statue when he told her—it chilled me to see her so. Then she demanded to be brought to Arlon immediately to be by his side. Cedric told her she should stay here until arrangements could be made for the funeral and a safe transition of power. When I left, they were still arguing. She’s the queen now, or will be soon. I think she will not listen to what Cedric has to say.”