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

by Matthew Berg

  Janelle was numb from exhaustion. She had never exerted herself so strenuously as she had done that night. And she had never begun a voyage so unprepared, and so wrought with fear and uncertainty. Her mind was close to empty when Aelric handed her a chunk of hardtack and spoke the simple words “You must eat.”

  She hardly noticed that Kestrel had laid out her bedroll and guided her to sit upon it. She didn’t hear a word her friend shared with the castle’s hunt master. She ate the hardtack, and then the cheese, and then drank the tea they fed her. She lay down when they bade her do so. And despite the vortex of thoughts threatening to overwhelm her mind, she remained calm and unconcerned by the events around her, and she found sleep quickly. Her last memories of the evening were of stars so bright they looked like enchanted diamonds cast into the sky. And the last words she heard were of Aelric speaking to Kestrel of the elven queen.

  35

  Squire Lost

  Laudan was torn. Kestrel had been missing for days. He couldn’t find Breeden or Janelle anywhere. And the princess would be heading back to Arlon the next day. Cedric had still not returned to teach Derek, Oskar, and himself. And technically, Cedric’s classes were the last obstacle to Laudan becoming a knight. But Laudan was ready to be done with classes. And he was past done with Cedric’s righteousness.

  Laudan set down the oiled rag he was using to rub the rust from his chain mail shirt. He was sitting at a low table in the barracks’ mess, somewhat hunched over due to his height. He looked around then, as if to make sure he was alone with his thoughts. The barracks was empty, and he leaned forward onto the table with a heavy sigh.

  The king’s death had put everything on hold.

  Worse, it meant he wouldn’t have a chance to get to know the princess before she became queen. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. And that she knew he existed, and had even asked questions about him, made his stomach churn whenever he let himself think of it. How could he arrange to go with her? And if he couldn’t . . . ? How could he win her heart if he were given no chance to do so?

  It wasn’t about becoming king. That was the last thing he cared about. His father and brother would be much better kings than he ever would. It was about the girl named Lorelei who had stolen his heart from his first sight of her.

  She was all he could think about. Before classes had been interrupted by the king’s death, it had been all he could do to concentrate. Cedric and his peers may have thought him incapable of learning, he thought wryly. But the truth was he simply couldn’t keep his mind on history, politics, or religion. He could think only of the beautiful young girl with eyes the color of a pale morning sky, and hair that would bring shame to spun gold.

  Drill and the tactics of warfare had been an exception and a welcome diversion. His curiosity and his hunger to master the arts of war were among the few things that could distract him from his all-consuming thoughts of the princess. And the physical aspects of training helped him release his pent-up energy.

  He loved swordplay, loved working with horses, loved the exercises where he was asked to lead the other squires in mock battles against one another. It was one area where he truly excelled. He was so much better than his peers—and even many of his superiors—at nearly all aspects of war that he was constantly asked to lead. That suited him fine. Since he had a much harder time as a follower.

  When he was not in charge, he would chomp at the bit to offer the “squire captain” of the moment advice on everything from how to draw his sword, to how to offer mercy to his defeated foes. He would, without even realizing it, issue orders in the heat of the moment. He would rush to the hottest points of a mock battle. And wherever he went, his decisions were good—or the effect of his presence was enough to shore up a weak point in a defense.

  It was instinctive for him. And he never felt so alive, and so in charge of his own life, as he did when he was leading others. The rest of his life was his father’s to dictate. Or his sergeant-at-arms’s. Or Cedric’s. But when he was drilling, he was in his element.

  So . . . he needed to be knighted as soon as possible. But he couldn’t figure out how to manage it. He thought about asking Lorelei to knight him and his stomach turned over at even the thought of it. He tried to smile, but doing so made him lose his concentration. His face flushed with heat, and sweat broke out on his forearms. That plan wouldn’t work, he realized. His body would betray him long before he succeeded. There had to be another way. But how? And who else had the power to help him?

  It occurred to him that he would normally talk to Kestrel about something like this. Where was Kestrel, anyway? He should have heard something from him by now. But he couldn’t let himself think about it. If he dwelled on the possibilities, he would make himself crazy. And there was nothing he could do to help his friend, in any event, since he didn’t even know where he was. Kestrel was all right. Some part of him knew the boy would weather whatever storm might have come his way. So, who else could help him, then?

  Cedric? He was too busy with the affairs of the princess. Knight-Captain Jenlyns? He had returned to Arlon weeks ago. And how willing would he be to help the boy he’d just chastised for hurting another squire, anyway?

  The door to the sleeping quarters of the barracks opened and snapped Laudan out of his moment’s reverie. He picked up the rag again and resumed his work. He tried to be casual about glancing over his shoulder at the sergeant walking toward him between the beds of the barracks’ long, narrow sleeping quarters.

  The sergeant met his eyes and smiled. “Polishing your mail in the barracks while the weather is trying to decide whether to be spring or full summer, eh? That’s not like you, Marchant. You should be outside! I’m sure I can find someone willing to spar with you. Well, maybe not, at that!” And he laughed good-naturedly at his own jest.

  Laudan cracked a smile but didn’t know how to respond. So he shrugged his shoulders at the sergeant’s remark.

  “What is it, lad? Thinking of Kestrel? Something tells me he’s fine—wherever he is. That boy could squirm his way out of a locked iron maiden! Come on, lad. You know that!”

  Laudan nodded. “I do. No, I’m not thinking of Kestrel. Well, not much, anyway. I’m just ready to move on, I guess. The waiting is killing me. I think I’m going to run off to Arlon and beg to be made a knight at once.” Laudan laughed, as if trying to pass off his comment as a joke, even though it was at the very heart of what was bothering him.

  The sergeant pulled out the chair next to Laudan and pushed it far back from the table so there was a good five feet between them when he sat down and faced him.

  “Well, now. I can see that, certainly. Nothing worse in the army, nor more commonplace, I’m afraid, than sitting around with naught to do.”

  Laudan felt comfortable with the sergeant. Maybe he could chance his question with him. In what he knew was a rare moment for himself, Laudan bolstered his courage and asked, “Could I? Could I become a knight now? Or do I really have to wait until summer’s end, when the other squires are knighted?”

  The sergeant gave him an appraising look, as if trying to judge his earnestness. He scratched his day’s growth of whiskers in thought. “Well, now. If it were anyone else—’cept maybe Ranald—I’d have talked you out of the thought altogether and just told you to be patient. But frankly, there’s little left for you to learn from me at this point. Only problem I see, really, is finding someone with the authority to knight you. Cap’n Jenlyn’s not around. The king’s gone and died—God rest his soul. Course, your father could knight you. But I don’t know as you can convince him to come up here to do it. And the old king didn’t like his men to be knighted by anyone but through his own hand—wanted them loyal to Hyrde first. And then there’s the princess. But I suppose she isn’t quite queen yet.”

  Laudan felt the familiar gnawing at his stomach. The sergeant had confirmed what he had suspected all along. “What about Cedric?” The question surprised even himself when Laudan realized he’d given
it voice. But then it grew a certain appeal when he’d heard it out loud. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Cedric had been a knight-general! He wondered whether it would be possible.

  The sergeant looked confused. “Hmph. I don’t know what to think about that one. Sure, he was knight-general at one point. And he still holds the title as an honorary thing. But folks might think it odd you were knighted outside of protocol. You could write to Cap’n Jenlyns and see what he says. Course, by the time you hear back, you’ll already be knighted by his own hand!” He laughed again, more of a rough bark. “I guess, all told, the best thing to do is just hold tight. You’ll be a knight for sure in two months. What’s the rush, anyway? It’s got to be more than simple boredom, eh?”

  Laudan didn’t answer. He was distracted as it was, and he pretended to be so distracted as not to have heard the question. He was grateful the sergeant didn’t ask again. “I think I’ll talk with Cedric anyway. Maybe he’ll be able to think of something we couldn’t.”

  At that, Sergeant Hewrey stood up and pushed the chair back into place. “Oh, I’m sure of that, lad. Cedric may be too old to swing a sword—though I’m not so sure even of that—but I’d wager he could think us both under the table. Ha!” He paused a moment before he left, to rest his hand on Laudan’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, son, I hope you come out of it better than Kestrel did, and better than the king. Don’t rush into something that’s going to get you killed too quickly. I’m looking forward to fighting alongside you someday. Don’t deny me that. You hear?” He gave Laudan a final slap on the back of the shoulder and walked back the way he’d come. His heavy boots scuffed the ground as he went, and Laudan sat where he was until the sound passed from hearing.

  Laudan hardly noticed that he’d stopped sweating and the heat had gone from his face. He took a deep breath and stood from the table. There had to be something Cedric could do.

  Laudan had never seen Cedric so busy. He had tracked him down by talking with one of the girls Kestrel had tumbled back in the autumn. Like most girls Kestrel had been with, she was no less infatuated with the boy than she had been before they’d gotten together. Laudan didn’t know anyone else who could manage to do that.

  This particular girl’s name was Mairwen, and she was able to quickly determine where Cedric could be found. He had taken over one of the small research libraries in the tower opposite the one occupied by the princess and her retinue. The room was scattered with scrolls, missives, and other documents.

  Laudan stood in the doorway for a moment and watched his mentor making hashes on a waxed tablet, picking up his quill and making a notation on a piece of parchment, and then flattening the wax and starting over again. After three or four such notations, Laudan knocked on the open door to get the man’s attention.

  Cedric looked up briefly, then down again to finish whatever calculation he’d just begun. “What is it, then, Laudan?” The cleric continued working as he spoke.

  Laudan had no idea what Cedric could be doing. Didn’t the old cleric have people to keep track of numbers? And what was it about the princess leaving that required such involved planning? As Laudan wondered how to ask for what he needed, Cedric’s scribbling quickened, and he appeared to become more and more agitated.

  “By the One God, boy! Out with it! What is it you need?”

  Put on the spot as he was, Laudan froze up even more. “I . . . That is . . .”

  And then Cedric exploded—something Laudan had never seen him do. “Laudan Marchant, if you do not state your business immediately, I will call the guards to remove you. These are not trifling times. And I can’t be interrupted by such as those who cannot speak their minds. If you have business with me, state it now, or LEAVE!”

  The anger in Cedric’s voice had shifted from annoyance into something more like a command issued in battle. And it had its desired effect, putting Laudan into a place where he was a soldier speaking to a superior officer. “Sir, I wish to be knighted as soon as possible. I don’t wish to wait until summer’s end.”

  “Absolutely not.” The answer, and the speed with which it was delivered, surprised Laudan.

  “But—”

  “What are your reasons, Laudan? To follow the princess to Arlon? To become her protector? I am not unaware of your infatuation with the princess. But your skills would be wasted on such a job, and your proximity to the woman who will be our queen would eventually make you see her as everyone else does. Once you realize what a mistake you’ve made, it will already be too late. You will have proven yourself to her, and to her advisers, and they’ll never let you rejoin the army as a common soldier. You’d become a bodyguard and worse: a painted doll for her to put on display, to intimidate her enemies at court.

  “That is no life for you, Laudan. That is not why I’ve spent the last three years teaching you as much of the world as I could. I will not see you spend your life on such folly!”

  Laudan was stunned. On many levels. For Cedric to have ferreted out Laudan’s motivations, and even logically carried Laudan’s potential actions through to a hypothetical failed ending? Laudan struggled within himself for a moment, and then, to his own great surprise, he felt tears well up in his eyes. He shifted his head to the side so his teacher couldn’t see them fall. And he turned around in preparation to leave.

  The tears, he knew, were not because of the princess—or not entirely, in any event. But he couldn’t be sure what exactly they were from. Was it the loss of the king that had him so unsure of himself, and unsure about life and his place in the world? Or was it that Kestrel’s death had finally caught up with him?

  His death? What had made Laudan think that? There had been no indication from anyone that he was believed to be dead. But Laudan realized suddenly that he had believed his friend dead all along. That was why he’d stopped looking for him. With the admission, the grief hit him hard.

  He grasped the doorframe, still standing with his back to Cedric, and then sank down on one knee as the emotion washed over him. It racked his body. It consumed all of his strength until he felt pain in the muscles of his face and shoulders. The pain reached a point of such intensity that he felt he couldn’t bear it any longer. And then, at the first shudder that took him, the tension was lessened. Over the course of another minute or so, the memory of the pain left him feeling strangely renewed and healed.

  “Kestrel.” Laudan whispered his friend’s name. Had it been Kestrel after all, and not the princess? Was it his inability to do anything about his missing friend that had been tormenting him and making him restless? He wasn’t capable of accepting the truth—at least not yet—that his friend may have been lost to him forever. He found himself wondering if he had thrown himself into the idea of following the princess even more completely to keep his mind off Kestrel. But for a moment, at least, the helpless rage and sadness that had warred within him were subdued, spent along with his tears.

  But somehow he knew it was a temporary thing. And the void that filled his life would soon bring the pain back. Kestrel was gone. And he would feel no relief until he knew the truth of what had happened to him.

  At some point, Cedric had come from behind his desk and was now kneeling beside him, his arm draped across the boy’s shoulders. Laudan had not even been aware. The old man’s strength was apparent in the squeeze he gave Laudan when he saw him begin to come around.

  Laudan turned toward his mentor. “I am useless here, brother. Please, if you cannot see me knighted, see me put to good use somewhere. I cannot stand the idleness. I will go mad.”

  Cedric replied in a soothing voice. “I will find you something. It would be best, for all concerned, if you were knighted by the new queen. But I will find you something else to do to keep your mind occupied until then. Come back here tomorrow, and I will let you know what I’ve worked out.

  “But you cannot blame yourself, my son. Besides,” he continued, “Kestrel is an enterprising fellow. He may yet surprise us all.”

  “I hope you�
��re right, Cedric. I hope you’re right.”

  As Laudan left his teacher’s room, he thought of his friend. And he wondered if he were still alive. He’d heard tales of brothers knowing when their kin had been killed, knowing in a moment—even when separated by country borders and leagues of ocean. He closed his eyes to see if he could sense Kestrel’s aliveness but could feel nothing. Nothing foreboding, which reassured him somewhat. But neither did he feel even the smallest glimmer of hope.

  36

  Practical Magic

  Breeden woke up somewhat stiff from sleeping on the hard ground but otherwise well rested and ready to go. A warming yellow glow was forming on the horizon to the southeast. The sun was not yet up. And Aegir was still asleep. So he cooked breakfast. Fish again. And potatoes, but fried this time, in a pan in which he had heated up another thin slice of the bacon—and some water he’d retrieved from the river. He had also found some tea while he was looking for the spices the giant had mentioned the night before. And by the time the giant woke up, he had boiled several cups of a very strong tea he’d never tried before.

  Aegir roused somewhat groggily, and Breeden immediately offered him a cup of the strong brew, which he accepted in silence and downed in a single gulp.

  He grimaced slightly. “Strong.” The word rumbled as deeply in his chest as any word Breeden had ever heard the giant speak. His voice sounded rough—as if he’d been yelling and had nearly lost it. “But needed. Perhaps some honey. There’s a jar among my pickled eggs, if you’ve found those yet. Far back in the bow, wedged between two sacks of flour.”

  Breeden found the honey and supplied the giant with the jar to help himself. “There’s breakfast too.”

  Aegir smiled. “My young master, you are a worthy companion. And I thank you.” He rolled toward the fire, grabbed an empty bowl, and helped himself to some fish and potatoes from the fire’s edge, where Breeden had left them to stay warm.