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

by Matthew Berg

  Yes, this sword would work nicely. And Cedric’s approval of the armor had come easily enough that he didn’t think anyone would have a problem with him taking a sword too. But he couldn’t allow himself time to be any greedier, so he looked around the room one last time and left. He jogged back toward the kitchens and then to the barracks to gather the rest of his gear.

  Laudan was back in Cedric’s room in a little more than the hour his teacher had given him. He could see by the look Cedric gave him that he’d pushed his luck. But there was no helping it now. As his father would say, “you can’t call back the arrow.” Cedric sprang up from his writing table with a large tome in his hand, and a rolled and sealed parchment in the other.

  “The book is for Knight-Captain Jenlyns and bears messages in cipher. The scroll is a decoy, and also contains a cipher. But the scroll’s hidden message is false. Or at least it tells nothing of import.”

  Laudan and the others had learned the art of cipher under Cedric’s tutelage, and it had been one of the very few of the more scholarly lessons he taught that Laudan had enjoyed. He and Kestrel had made a game of ciphering simple coded messages. And they had even made up their own list of phrases to expand on the handful Cedric had taught them. He smiled at the memory.

  “Further . . . Laudan! Please listen to me!” Laudan’s thoughts had wandered again. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t stay focused.

  Cedric held his eyes then. “Are you sure you can do this, Laudan? This is no ride in the country you take here. Do you understand that the danger your foe represents cannot be met with a sword on the field of battle?”

  He gestured then toward one of the bronze discs on Laudan’s armor. “This protection will serve you naught. Do you understand?”

  Laudan nodded. “I do, brother.”

  Cedric continued to hold his gaze. Laudan felt as though the man were searching his thoughts and emotions, and looking for weakness and doubt. Well, he would find none of those things there. Laudan didn’t know what to expect. He truly didn’t. But he knew it would be better than what he faced by remaining in Ridderzaal with idle hands and wandering thoughts. As if to reassure the former knight of his confidence, Laudan asserted, “I am ready, Brother Cedric. There is nothing left for me here.”

  To Laudan, the statement was a fact he had long recognized but had yet to utter out loud. And as he spoke the words, and steeled his resolve, a light sparked in his eyes.

  Cedric appeared to sense the change in his student’s demeanor. And his own expression shifted to one of mild relief. “Perhaps you are, my son. Perhaps you are at that.”

  He raised the book and the scroll once again, from where they had been hanging at his sides. “Remember, now, share nothing of what we have discussed with anyone but Captain Jenlyns. My network in Arlon has dwindled. I do not nurture it as I once did. As a consequence, I cannot vouch for anyone else with certainty. Give him the book—and the scroll. And trust in his guidance as my own.

  “Now, let us go down to the north gate to join the princess’s train. It could leave at any time now.”

  39

  To Arlon

  The princess was impatient. She squirmed in her seat as she awaited the lurch that would mean her exquisitely carved and gilded carriage had begun the journey back to Arlon. There would be so much to do when she returned home. And while she had demonstrably moved things along from her exile in Ridderzaal, she still felt she hadn’t yet achieved enough control over the kingdom and the people she had left behind in Arlon. Using couriers and having whispered conversations in secret meetings beneath the keep had been burdensome.

  But then, that boy had overheard her despite the precautions. And before she had discovered exactly what he had heard, or more precisely, before her inquisitor had been given a chance to ply his arts upon the boy, he had escaped. It mattered little, she supposed, since her plans were already well underway, and less for the fact that she had learned this morning that her spies had picked up the boy’s trail heading south.

  But it irked her still that she hadn’t had the comfort and protections offered by the royal palace’s honeycomb of secret rooms and passages. She had played in them as a child. She knew of the room where one could eavesdrop on a conversation by standing in a secret passage. And if she were the one in that room and not wanting to be overheard, she knew that the counterweights in the floor of the passage behind the wall would cause one of the pictures on the wall to dip at a slight angle, alerting one who knew the room’s secret that she was being overheard.

  It was her favorite room in the royal palace. The profound sense of security and isolation it offered could be found nowhere else she had ever been. There she could be alone with her thoughts. And there she would never be surprised. She would put the room to heavy use when she returned. There were many agents in need of questioning and instruction, and many allies with whom she needed to catch up.

  The carriage lurched, surprising her as it always did and causing her to stretch her hands out to either side to catch her balance. But she smiled anyway, despite the annoyance. She was going home. She was going back to Arlon.

  40

  Running River

  The sound of Aegir’s axe in the distance reminded Breeden, oddly enough, of his mother chopping vegetables on her wooden cutting board. Shhhck. Shhhck. Shhhck. Most of the time, he could discern a pattern in the rhythm of the strokes, as if Aegir were timing his blows to a song that only he knew, and that only his axe could give voice to.

  As the giant worked his way toward him, Breeden could see that it was the effort of downing a particularly large tree or tearing up a stubborn root or moving a boulder that was slowing him down at times and breaking his rhythm. But even these obstacles, some fairly impressive, hardly slowed him down this morning. And his axe flew faster and faster the closer he came to Breeden and the boat.

  As Breeden watched, Aegir looked up one last time at three saplings still blocking his way. As quick as a glance, each fell in three rapid blows, and he had completed his trail. Breeden couldn’t believe how easy the giant had made it look. The giant kissed the axe and walked over to the boat to wrap it up and put it away. But before he did so, he looked it over once more and grunted.

  “Nearly unmarked! In fact, I think it’s all sap and dirt. There isn’t even a scratch on the edge of the blade! Hmph. Well, I’m not sure what you did to my axe, young master, but I thank you.”

  Breeden said nothing in response. He was embarrassed by the praise and still didn’t feel his contributions to the trip were anywhere near what the giant’s had already been in their time traveling together. His musings were only reinforced as he watched Aegir put away the axe, secure a harness to the bow of his boat and to his shoulders, and begin to haul it across the rolling wooden “floor” he’d built as he had cleared the saplings that bordered the path. He stopped only infrequently to clear minor snags as the wheel assembly became caught up, but for the most part, the hull of the boat slid and rolled along the bed of saplings with little obstruction, and the effort went fairly quickly.

  Not two hours later, Aegir was removing the wheels, replacing the mast and stays, and pushing the boat back into the water—the “insurmountable” obstacle bypassed after all.

  Once Breeden boarded, Aegir pushed off with his massive legs and climbed over the gunwale. Like the boat entering the nearly still water below the logjam, the giant’s movements were slow. Despite the apparent ease with which the giant had performed the work of the past two and a half days, Breeden could see that the effort had taken its toll. The giant was exhausted, and he sank heavily against the aft gunwale, resting his right arm on the tiller. He sat there for a long moment to catch his breath before he made any effort to adjust the sails and move them downriver. So Breeden collected the sheets for the mainsail and brought them back to his companion, laying them within easy reach of his off hand. Then he rummaged around in his pack of supplies and pulled out one of the unopened bundles of Kestrel’s satje, handi
ng it to the giant along with a skin of water so large it required both of Breeden’s hands even to lift it.

  Aegir muttered a low, raspy thanks and drew a long pull from the skin—drinking on one breath of air enough water to last Breeden a week or more on their voyage. The giant then popped the entire package of satje, which Breeden had removed from its sticks, into his mouth and began to chew. “Mmm. Mmm.” The noise sounded like a bull in rut—only louder and deeper—and Breeden couldn’t help but laugh. His giant companion opened his eyes and smiled as he looked at Breeden. “Yes, that is very good. Very good indeed. And a fine fare that would make for a long sea voyage too!”

  Breeden’s laughing trailed off, and he decided he needed to know more about their trip. He started out haltingly. “We left so quickly I didn’t really get much of a chance to ask questions. And now we’ve gone a few days, I feel more than ever that the trip is important. Or at least it’s obvious you think it so. But I really don’t understand why I am so important, and why you are going to such lengths to bring me back to this wizards’ council. I suppose I won’t know the answer to ‘Why me?’ until I meet my father and he explains to me what he expects I can do to help. But the ‘What?’ and the ‘Why so quickly?’ are still unanswered as well. What is it they want me to do?”

  Aegir’s smile softened but remained in place as he responded, adjusting his seat and checking their progress downstream before doing so. “You are the son of a wizard with great powers. I have said to your father before that you were in need of a proper teacher. And while Cedric is renowned as a scholar and statesman, he could not teach you the practical art and use of magic.

  “But even knowing that this trip might have been made sooner, and should have been made sooner—if your parents had been willing to part with you—I don’t fault them. They love you very much. And I can understand that they did not want to see you go. But while all parents know that someday they must wish their children well and send them out into the world alone, your parents have known that someday their parting with you would be different. They knew you were born of a wielder of magic. And they were warned you might be special as a result of your birth.

  “I wrote regular letters to your parents, to check on you and see how you were doing. I tried to determine if you had exhibited any unusual capabilities. And I asked regularly if they would let me take you to Ekszer Hegy to have you evaluated. They always said no. They always demurred for another time. But your true father, through me, was persistent. And it finally came down to your father who raised you—Holt, that is—promising that if you ever exhibited powers beyond your ken, they would contact me, and they would let you go—to study with the wizards and help you master your abilities.

  “The last time I came, you had begun to show your powers. Whether you were aware that your parents knew or not, I don’t know, but they had seen little things they couldn’t explain. A chair that had been broken for weeks and that you had mended with glue. Or so you said, though your father could not, for all his skill, find a break or crack that had been glued in the leg of any chair he examined afterward. Your selection of wood stock for projects. Your rejection of other stock, which seemed sound. It added up. Your father figured it out first—probably because you appeared to have a particular affinity for wood. And your mother had not fully pieced it together until your father told her just a few days ago. Apparently, she was relieved—that so many strange occurrences had been neatly wrapped up with a tidy explanation. But then the more she thought about it, the harder it was for her to accept.

  “Nearly a year ago, your father and I fought over your fate. I wanted to take you back with me, and your father would not allow it. I even sank low enough to call him on his promise, and threatened to hold him to it by his honor. He acceded then—in principle, anyway—though he asked for one more year to school you in letters and history. But, to be clear, I don’t think he ever intended to break his promise. I just think he wanted more time with you—more time to prepare himself for the day you would leave him. I was not proud of doing that to your father. He is a man of rare integrity. But your true father had convinced me of the importance of you mastering your powers. I’m not sure how he knew that such a day as this would come, but then, he can often see things others cannot.

  “It may have seemed a quick decision three nights ago, when your parents gave in to my pleadings. And it may have hurt you that they did not fight harder to keep you in Woodfall. But in truth, it has been a long battle. And that battle began at your birth.

  “Most importantly of all of that, Breeden, there is no more time to waste. It is not that there is little time, Breeden. There is no more time. The ships of the enemy are under sail even as we speak. I am sorry to have been the harbinger, young master. But your childhood is over. And this journey marks the beginning of a new life for you. We must prepare to battle Mirgul for the fate of all Erda.”

  Breeden had listened quietly. And the words of the giant had almost wrapped him in a spell as they did when he spun tales of his home. But this was no faerie tale. This was Breeden’s life. It almost felt like whatever had passed for his life so far had been just a temporary arrangement. Breeden’s parents had known all along that this time would come. And Breeden could do nothing about it. He frowned upon hearing the giant’s concluding remarks. But he couldn’t respond. He didn’t know what he might be expected to say, so he allowed a silence to grow in the space that followed the giant’s answer.

  The part of him that recognized the unfairness to his parents of the whole thing wanted to rebel. What if he didn’t want to return to his blood father? He couldn’t stand the phrase “true father,” because he believed no man could be a truer father than Holt Andehar had been to him. What if he wanted to live out his life simply, the son of a boatwright and his wife? And who was this wizard, this stranger who had abandoned him? All pity aside for a man who, in his grief at losing his wife, may have made a hasty decision in handing over his son to be raised by others. But as sad as the thought was that he would never know his birth mother—who had not abandoned him after all—and that her death had weighed heavily on his father, Breeden still felt forsaken. Usually respectful and obedient, Breeden wanted to lash out. What was happening was so unfair—to his parents and to him.

  He looked about him and saw that their boat was now traveling over a series of gentle rapids. The water level was not much deeper than the draught of the boat they traveled in, and the surface of the water was churning over the bed of rounded, irregular stones that made up the river bottom. He had been thinking he wanted to jump out of the boat. It may have been a whim, and nothing he’d have truly carried out, but the rapids quashed even his ability to pretend he might swim to shore and find his way back home.

  But his streak of resistance didn’t die with his prospects of immediate escape, and he tried to calm down by reminding himself that he could leave at any time. The giant would never try to stop him. Nonetheless, it still took some doing before he had his emotions back under control.

  Aegir, as if reading his mood the entire time, finally queried, “Do you wish to ask me anything more, young master?”

  Breeden thought for a moment but shook his head. “No. I just miss my ma and da. And I guess I don’t really know what to think about this voyage.”

  Aegir remained silent, concern evident on the craggy, bark-like features of his face as he waited for the boy to go on. Breeden continued, and some of the fire he felt within him crept into his voice. “I still don’t understand how my feeble magics are supposed to help in a fight against a god!”

  Aegir’s face took on an unusual expression Breeden couldn’t quite read. It seemed as if he wanted to say something in response to Breeden’s statement, but he couldn’t decide how to say it—or perhaps whether to say it at all. When the giant did respond, he spoke slowly and with great care.

  “Your father wields magics that have proven effective against Mirgul in the past. And while he fears the Dark Brother’s rage, h
e does not think the world is without hope. He believes Mirgul may be brought down. But he would have you at his side, to lend your craft to his own, to help ensure that the god’s defeat this time is final. While I know no more than that of his plans, I know that your father is extremely wise and a man of great compassion. He did not want to pull you away from your parents so he could have you back for himself—though I know that he regrets having to give you up as he did. What he does now he only does out of necessity. And because he values the world above any single life.”

  Breeden felt somewhat mollified, though not yet convinced. He wasn’t sure why, but he believed the giant and put stock in his opinion. He supposed it was the deep affection he saw between Aegir and his parents that made him trust the giant so well.

  “You’ve known my father a long time—my real father, that is. Holt Andehar. How would you compare him with the father who abandoned me as a child?”

  Aegir made a sour face. “A strong and heavy word. And one that shows me your heart, if not your mind. But I will answer the question anyway. They are both men of great integrity. They both value the needs of others before their own needs. They both love you very much, though one has been lucky enough to live with you all these many years and the other must be content with the occasional visit, in disguise, to check in on you from a distance. Each loves, or loved, his wife more than anything else in all the world—excepting you, perhaps. Hmph.