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

by Matthew Berg

  All the boys in the room were clustered around their now quiet female companion. They exchanged uncertain looks. Breeden, Derek, and Kestrel appeared not to know what the death of the king would mean to them. Only one seemed sure of himself. And Laudan was resolute. “I will go with her.”

  Now all eyes, including Janelle’s, turned to look at their friend. He seemed a man standing before them, and not the child the rest of them appeared to be in their frail uncertainty of the moment. His words were deep, nearly bass in tone, and his conviction was that of a man.

  Janelle was touched by Laudan’s words. She squeezed Breeden against her in thanks and then gingerly released herself from his arms to walk over to the giant boy. “You cannot go with her, Laudan. It will not be allowed. Even now the plans are well underway. And I’m sorry to say it, but they cannot include you.”

  Laudan looked unconcerned by her words. “Then I will follow her caravan, or if she goes by water, then I will hire a ship to follow her up the lake.”

  Janelle looked pained, but continued. “Laudan, I’m sorry. I just can’t even imagine how it would be possible.”

  Despite Janelle’s certainty that it wouldn’t be possible, Laudan’s conviction and the emotion of the moment sent them into a flurry of discussion then as to how they could arrange for Laudan to be with the princess. It seemed as though all were willing, for the moment, to forgive the princess her weaknesses and think of her as a girl who had just lost her father. It united them all—even Derek—to try to come up with a workable plan.

  Laudan suggested he might pose as a page, but that was shot down when all considered the fact that he was larger than most men and would look the unlikeliest of characters in tight hose and a dandy’s hat. Kestrel remained apart as the others schemed, staring out of the window.

  Breeden thought that if the princess left by water, he himself could sail Laudan up the lake in his father’s boat. “It’s faster than anything else on the water,” he claimed. When everyone got excited about the idea, Derek reminded them that Laudan would still not be with the princess when she arrived in Arlon. They would need an excuse to put him in her train, or better yet, arrange for him to become part of her retinue.

  Janelle voiced what Breeden realized was probably her chief fear then. “I don’t even know if I’m going to be part of the princess’s retinue myself!”

  Cedric’s voice came from the doorway. “You will not be attending the princess once she leaves Ridderzaal, I’m afraid.”

  Everyone was startled, not having heard him enter the room.

  Laudan further surprised everyone by nearly pouncing on their instructor, who looked wan, and older than usual. “I need to go with her, brother! Tell me how I can!”

  Cedric’s attention shifted from Janelle to the unlikely Laudan Marchant. He blinked his eyes and looked up, as if noticing his oversize charge for the first time.

  Laudan leaned over his teacher. “How can I go with her, Brother Cedric? She’ll need me to keep her safe!”

  And then Cedric nodded and mumbled almost below hearing, “I see. Yes. I suppose I knew that on some level. If I weren’t already so preoccupied . . . Does she share these feelings, then?”

  Laudan glanced at Kestrel, and Kestrel shrugged before answering. “She certainly knows he’s alive. She spied him walking the box one day when she was on a stroll, and she stopped to ask the sergeant about him. If required to wager on the matter, I’d say that she was interested, yes.”

  Laudan didn’t smile at the confirmation. If anything, he became even more serious than before. “What can you do to help me?”

  Breeden had never seen his friend so focused and unshakable—except perhaps for the incident Kestrel had just referred to indirectly, the time Laudan had nearly killed his fellow squire Tavish Ranald.

  Cedric allowed a moment of silence to linger while he considered how best to respond. “I’m afraid, my dear student Laudan, that I would not try to arrange for that even if it were in my power. It is an ill enough thing that the princess will not be able to complete her schooling here with me. I’d not permit that to happen to two of my most aspiring students at once—not without a fight, anyway.”

  Breeden couldn’t be sure, but he almost heard something of a threat in Cedric’s words. If it had been anyone but Cedric using the tone, Breeden would have sworn his use of the phrase not without a fight was more than using words to make a point.

  Laudan didn’t respond visibly—to the words or to the threat behind them—at least as far as Breeden could tell. He seemed to be thinking about what he would say next, and he allowed an even longer silence to hang uncomfortably in the air.

  “Besides,” Cedric continued as if there had been no pause, “what would you do? Do you think you’d be allowed to follow her about like a puppy?”

  Laudan’s reserve appeared to crack, just a little, and a worried frown creased his brow. “Why, I’d watch over her, of course. And keep her safe. There will be many who wish her ill.”

  It was as if Cedric had been awaiting the words, as if Laudan had just made a chess move Cedric had been expecting. “Yes, Laudan. But don’t forget that many would think that of you. The son of a line that proves to win the kingship should anything happen to the princess. Your father, I don’t think I need to remind you, is next in line behind our Lorelei. Even if something should befall her that is not by your hand, your proximity would be cited by those who seek to gain by neither Lorelei nor your own family inheriting the throne. After your family, Laudan, the line of succession is much muddier. And the opportunity for someone exploiting this fact has never been riper. Though not your father’s oldest son, you cannot forget who you are. And all you are, to many in this kingdom, is fourth in line for the throne.”

  Breeden had had no idea Laudan and his family were so close to the throne, though, as he looked around the room, he realized he might be the only one who did not. Derek was nodding sagely, as if the points Cedric had raised had been apparent to him all along. Kestrel was back from the window and didn’t look surprised by the words but was more focused on seeing how his friend was reacting to them. Even Janelle seemed to know. I am such a commoner, thought Breeden, for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d begun classes with the former knight and his fold of noble children.

  Oskar arrived then. And it was apparent to Breeden that he had been crying. His face was red and splotchy, and his eyelids were swollen. Without saying a word, he walked over to a chair by the window and sat, facing away from his friends and teacher, and looked out over the southern fields, which fell away from the monastery toward the Woodfall’s seaward run.

  Breeden looked away from Oskar and took in his friends. It was obvious Laudan was still unconvinced about why he could not accompany the princess. His mood was dark. And while he was physically still, he carried an air of impatience about him. Kestrel was visibly upset and was fidgeting with a clasp on the front of his cloak and shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. Derek seemed somber and respectful, but Breeden found he couldn’t gauge the boy’s true feelings beneath. Janelle looked hollow and empty. But her shuddering and weeping were now past, and strangely, Breeden thought, she appeared the most composed of them all.

  Breeden looked at his mentor and saw a struggle taking place on the old man’s features. Whatever he wrestled with, thought Breeden, it weighed heavily upon him. Cedric called off the day’s lessons and bid them all go their own way to mourn the king’s passing with their loved ones.

  27

  Winds of Change

  The next morning, Breeden stopped at Janelle’s house on his walk to classes. But he didn’t have the heart to knock on her door when she didn’t immediately appear. Instead, he sat on the bottommost step of her front stairway.

  He was confused by the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him right now. He’d never met the king, never even seen him from a distance. But he’d grown up on the stories his father had told about the king’s wisdom and
his justness. And that the poor princess—his own age—had lost not simply the king but her father was difficult to grasp.

  As Breeden had said to Kestrel when he’d first heard the news, his own father was older than the king. What would Breeden himself do should he lose his father? How would he react? The future, as uncertain as it was without such thoughts, felt even more bleak and frightening when envisioned without his father’s strength and guidance. And how would his mother handle it? He wanted to imagine her as one of those stubborn widows who became merchants or craftspeople—taking over their husband’s business. But his mother didn’t know the first thing about being a boatwright. And the doubts within him couldn’t shake the image of the widow at the edge of town who begged a meager supply of food from the goodwill of her neighbors, and who rarely crossed the threshold of her humble cottage to walk among other humans. Breeden recalled the time the village men had fixed her roof when someone noticed a gaping hole in it, as wide as a man’s arm is long. His father had commented afterward that she’d no doubt had a leaky roof for months, maybe longer, and had never had the courage, or will, to ask for help.

  Breeden’s mind shifted back to consider what Janelle must be feeling. She had become, if not fast friends, at least friendly with the princess. And now a tragedy that would have brought her to the princess’s side to offer her comfort—if their stations in life had been different—instead had become a wedge that drove them apart. In all likelihood, now that Lorelei was to be queen, Janelle would never be close to her again.

  Lorelei. Janelle. Laudan! And the king!

  Breeden wondered what fate the gods held in store for him, if such a depressing mess should have befallen his friends and his king. The cracked paving stone under his foot held no answers. And while the thyme that laced between the stone’s two halves smelled fragrant as he crushed a stem of it under his boot, even that sweet distraction was carried away too quickly by the morning breeze.

  The door creaked open behind him, and he turned to see Janelle looking somewhat recovered and sporting the faintest of smiles. “Good morning, Breeden. Thank you for waiting for me.”

  Breeden stood, and they began the walk together toward the monastery in silence. Breeden’s sturdy boots hit the street with a slow, repetitive clop like that of an unshod horse, and Janelle’s finer winter footwear sounded a faster and more delicate staccato in counterpoint as they went. Breeden couldn’t recall having ever heard the sounds of footsteps so loudly and crisply. No other noise broke the mournful silence. None of the baker’s laughter, the fruit seller’s hawking, or the arguing fishwives carried on the wind from the next street over.

  Janelle reached for his hand. He felt her fingers fumble into his own, and after a moment’s adjustment, they were twined together. Breeden squeezed once and Janelle’s smile grew. As they passed around a corner, not yet quite in view of the keep’s main gate, Janelle stretched up and kissed Breeden on the cheek.

  “Thank you for yesterday. For holding me. I’m not sure I’d be going to class today if you hadn’t. Thank you.”

  Breeden felt his heart race, and a lump grew in his throat, making it impossible for him to speak. His face must have shown his difficulty, because when Janelle threw him a quick glance, she saw something that made her laugh, a quick, bright thing that leapt into the air and then was gone.

  Her laugh eased the lump enough that he managed, “You’re welcome.” And then the silence took over again.

  That morning, they had seen new uniforms in the streets. A mustard-yellow tabard with the red lion of the king of Hyrde. They must have traveled by night. And there were more than a score of them spread out, it seemed, to cover all entrances to the keep.

  There were other strangers moving about the keep as well. Breeden recognized a handful as being not of Ridderzaal. Some went about their business as if they were right at home. Breeden guessed these were legitimate retainers. Others, however, were trying too hard to fit in and act like they belonged. Breeden spotted them easily. He had no idea what purpose they served for the king—or now the princess. But he suspected they might be there for her protection.

  Classes that morning were not quite real to Breeden. A feeling of floating in his head and stomach had replaced the lump in his throat. The sensation remained with him throughout the day, from the morning’s prayer, to the instruction Cedric offered on the etiquette and ceremony associated with a king’s death, to the afternoon’s funeral mass for the passed monarch—at which Breeden was surprised not to see Cedric or the princess.

  Since Cedric still had much to attend to, there were no afternoon classes again. Laudan wanted to approach the altar and add his own prayers to those already shared by the Brothers of the Faith. Derek began to follow him, but when Oskar indicated he would also like to pray with them, Derek changed his mind and casually joined the crowd of people leaving the church. Oskar appeared to take the insult in stride, better than Breeden, who felt himself scowl involuntarily.

  Kestrel looked from Derek’s slow and measured retreat, to Laudan and Oskar’s penitent poses in the sanctuary, to Janelle and Breeden standing close by one another, and then he nodded once to Breeden and slipped away. Breeden watched him disappear into the throng with misgivings. His normally capable friend looked as aimless as a cork caught in the eddies where Long Lake met the Woodfall.

  Breeden and Janelle spent the rest of the day walking about the city. They spoke about themselves, revealing more in that afternoon than they’d learned of each other in the nine months they’d attended Cedric’s lessons together. They walked through the market, bought themselves sweetmeats, and then they walked back to the monastery, where they strolled the grounds and discovered the beauty of a spring still ripening toward summer. Green sunlight filtered through the thickening canopies of oak and elm. Bushes and lush decorative grasses were already concealing many of the statues, plinths, and fountains. Birds and squirrels flitted and jumped about with what looked like genuine joy at the bounty surrounding them.

  It was in the quiet of the monastery where Janelle once again took Breeden’s hand in her own. This time it was she who squeezed his hand first. Breeden felt a thank-you in the squeeze—for the day before, he supposed. He was surprised at how cold her hands were on such a beautiful day. They stood that way for some time in silence before they began the walk home, and she didn’t release her grip when they did. But her hand warmed up during the walk, and after a little while, he realized he could no longer tell where his fingers stopped and hers began.

  Breeden’s cheeks were flushed and his lips dry when they found themselves standing in front of Janelle’s door. Back where they’d begun the day together. They’d had an amazing day, thought Breeden. And the time had passed so slowly! She was so smart and funny. And it had been as easy to talk with her as it would have been to talk with his mother or father. Then, just like that, the rising lump was back in his throat, and it threatened to cut off his supply of air. He felt the urge to kiss her then. But just as he couldn’t speak that morning, when the lump held his voice, so he found he could not even lean over to kiss her cheek.

  She seemed to read the struggle that had taken over his face, and she laughed again. The laugh was not as it had been that morning: bright and quick. It was warmer and softer, and hung in the still air a moment before echoing in his head. She kissed him then, and on the lips this time. Then she opened the door and was gone.

  28

  Reflections

  The next day was warmer still. Breeden and his parents were on the balcony built out over the Woodfall’s waters at the back of their house. They had just finished dinner and were seated on bentwood chairs crafted by his father, quietly admiring the clarity of the night. Despite the warmth, his mother had a light blanket draped over her legs. Grasshoppers, tree frogs, and peepers filled the air with their murmuring song. The black backdrop of the moonless sky was deeper and darker than Breeden could remember. And the stars were spectacular: clear and so bright it almost hurt t
o look at one too closely.

  Breeden’s father sat next to his mother, in the chair that was typically downwind from them both, and smoked his pipe. He drew deeply, and Breeden could hear the wet crackle of tobacco being consumed by the ember that also lit up his face with a warm orange glow. He released a large puff of blue-white smoke from his mouth, the cloud roiling outward from its center. The night was so still the smoke lingered long before dispersing on its own, no errant breeze to carry it away.

  No one was making an attempt to speak, and Breeden’s mind wandered in the silence. He thought about Laudan’s loss of control, the king’s death, the princess, Janelle, and even about Derek. It must have driven Derek crazy to hear that the princess had selected a commoner to be her lady-in-waiting.

  Breeden thought about his gift, as his father had taken to calling it, struggling with the fact that no one else could do, or even conceive of doing, what he could—at least, as far as he’d always understood magic from the stories he’d heard. And he thought about the silence his father had asked him to maintain about his abilities. He wondered, too, when Kestrel would confront him about it again. He knew it was not a matter of if—Kestrel was too persistent and too curious. And this thought led him to consider his friends Kestrel and Oskar, and what they meant to him.

  He had never had real friends before—none he saw regularly, anyway, and none he connected with so well as Kestrel and Oskar. He got along well with Tom Conkle, the carpenter’s son, and some of the boys who lived a few doors down. But his neighbors were a few years younger than him, and Tom was a few years older. In fact, he realized he was friendlier with his father’s friends, and with his neighbors who were his parents’ age, than with the boys he had known before meeting Kestrel and Oskar. Without having known it all this time, he realized he had been missing out on something important by not having friends his own age.