down for bar stock.” That surprised me. Normally my father bought his stock iron from the foundries in Albamarl. It was difficult and expensive for a small smithy like ours to do its own smelting. He had taken a lot of trouble to do this. “I did not have the skills, so it took me years, but I thought you might want something like this one day.”
He opened the box and nestled inside was a sword. It was a simple thing, straight and true, the edges finely honed. The guard was plain but the steel pommel was inset with the Cameron arms. The base of the blade carried the maker’s mark of Royce Eldridge. As far as I knew it was the only weapon he had ever crafted aside from knives and similar tools. He was not fond of violence.
“I did not make this for your vengeance. I did this to show that even from the ashes of wickedness and tragedy something of beauty can arise. I made this hoping the same for you. Use it for yourself; use it for defending those who cannot protect themselves, as your true father would have. Do not shame either of us.” Then he hugged me, again. Twice in one day, surely he must be getting senile. I didn’t complain though.
He sheathed it with a scabbard that had been stored alongside it in the box and gave it to me. I buckled it on, feeling awkward for I had never worn a sword, much less learned to use one. Then at last I got mounted and began to ride slowly away. Before I crossed the rise that would block the view of our house from my sight I looked back. He still stood there in the yard, watching me. Royce Eldridge is a blacksmith, and his work had made him strong, but at that moment he seemed old to me.
I rode on to Lancaster with the twilight casting deep shadows about me.
Chapter 12
The Blacksmith’s Son
Gods and wizards have historically been primarily antithetical, given that they usually embody opposite philosophies, those being ‘submission’ and ‘free-will’ respectively. Wizards rarely have much to do with deities and higher powers, having little interest in sacrificing their own goals. The reverse is not true however; the gods have always had a strong interest in wizards, for their ability to provide something which no channeler can. The gods are restrained by the fact that they reside upon a different plane of existence. Although a channeler may provide them an outlet into our material world he cannot offer them entry. The act of creating a portal through which the planes may be connected requires a great deal of power from both sides of the gulf between worlds. The only known case in which a wizard willfully conspired with a god to effect such a thing led to the destruction historians call the Sundering. The dark god Balinthor was allowed to cross and his actions here nearly destroyed our world. It is not clear how the ancients eventually stopped him nor how he was forcibly banished to his proper plane.
~Marcus the Heretic,
On the Nature of Faith and Magic
I reached Lancaster with very little light to spare, but as chance would have it Marc and some of the guests came riding in at the same time. They had gone hawking that afternoon after I had left, which suited me just fine. I had enjoyed enough of ‘polite’ society already and the day with my parents had been a welcome respite. I was wrapped in my thoughts, still digesting what I had learned about my ‘other’ parents, so I gave them a casual wave and went to return Lord Thornbear’s horse.
As I came out of the stables I encountered them again in the yard. Marc had a proud falcon on his arm, and he looked every inch the young nobleman in his hunting leathers. Stephen Airedale, Devon, and Elizabeth Balistair were still with him. I suppose the others had left their horses with the grooms already and gone to wash up.
“Ho! Mordecai! Come and see my catch!” As always he retained the exuberance of youth. I couldn’t help but find his enthusiasm catching. I walked over and let him show me the contents of his game bag. He had quite a collection of small birds and gazing at the lethal beauty of the falcon he carried I wasn’t surprised. Seeing that, I felt somewhat better about my accidental hawk ‘murder’ the other day. Birds everywhere rejoice! Mordecai the hawk slayer works to even the scales on your behalf.
“Where did you get off to today Mordecai? I couldn’t find you earlier,” my friend asked.
“My apologies, I felt a sudden need for fresh air and borrowed a horse from Lord Thornbear,” I replied innocently.
Devon chose then to make his presence felt, “Off to visit the blacksmith, Master Eldridge?”
That took me off-guard, “In fact, I did ride that way. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he replied with an audible sneer. “How was your father? Well, I trust?”
Stunned I had no reply. Artful words would not suffice; it was lie or admit my deception. Marc didn’t suffer from my hesitation, “Where’s this coming from Devon? Or are you just practicing at being a rude jackass as usual?”
Devon ignored the insult, “I was simply curious. I heard that our Master Eldridge here was actually the blacksmith’s son, I thought I’d see if it were true or not.”
Marc’s cheeks were flushed red, “I don’t appreciate your treatment of my guests Tremont.” He put emphasis on the name, to remind Devon of the political implications of insulting him I would guess.
Elizabeth Balistair tried to break the tension, “Devon you shouldn’t pay heed to servant’s gossip, it demeans you. Where did you hear such a thing?”
“From one of the serving girls, Penelope I believe she said her name was.” He stared directly at me as he said this.
“Why would she tell you this?” Stephen asked.
“In my experience a woman on her back will tell you anything you want to know,” Devon said with a leer. The man had no shame.
I was overcome with rage. The world turned red and all I could see was Devon Tremont bloodied and torn beneath me. I raised my fists and advanced on him, ready to make my vision a reality. I heard a whisper of steel and felt a razor edge at my throat, stopping me cold in my tracks.
“I see you wear a sword, blacksmith. Why don’t you try that instead?” Devon’s eyes glittered triumphantly. The man had trained with the sword since childhood, whereas I had never held a blade in my life. There could be only one outcome.
“Planning to add murder to your list of sins Devon? You know he cannot beat you with the sword,” Marc spoke now, his voice calm and sure. “Only a coward provokes a fight he cannot lose. Why don’t you try something more interesting.”
Devon’s sword never moved but his confidence wavered, “What do you suggest?”
Marc smiled, “Since you have challenged him, let Mordecai choose the contest.”
Devon considered for a moment, then answered, “What would you choose boy?” He glared at me. I had the distinct impression that if I chose a sport he could not win he would find an excuse to use the sword anyway.
“Chess,” I said. I could feel cold sweat dripping down my back, but my face was defiant.
“You think you can beat me at a gentleman’s game?”
“I think you are no gentleman,” I answered, but my more sensible side was screaming at me to shut up. Normally you don’t provoke a man holding a sharp instrument to your throat.
“Very well,” and he sheathed his sword in a graceful motion. “But if there is no blood, honor cannot be satisfied. Why don’t we put a wager on the game?”
“What do you want to wager?” I said.
“A hundred gold marks,” he replied with a grin, “and if you cannot pay the debt I will take you as my bond servant.”
I was in deep now, that was more money than I would see if I worked ten lifetimes, even a nobleman would fear to lose such a sum.
“No,” came a deep voice, “If he loses I will pay his wager.” James, the Duke of Lancaster stood unnoticed behind us. “And if he wins you will pay, I will make sure of that.”
Devon found his manners and gave a shallow bow, “It shall be as you say your grace.” He did not dare insult his host at this point.
After that we repaired to the sun room parlor, there were tables a plenty there. The Duke walked beside me as we went. “I trust you will teach that dog a lesson, Mordecai,” he said in a tone meant just for us. I looked at him and for the first time I considered how much he had done for me. As a boy I had never questioned the fact that
