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

by Matthew Berg

  Giants were known, as a race, for their patience, and Aegir was no exception. He amused himself and Breeden’s parents by displaying his dry wit in responding to the less tactful questions Breeden posed.

  To the question about giant women breathing fire, he responded, “Upon occasion, and far too often for my comfort.” And to the question about whether or not he could swim, he responded, “I sink slower than a stone but faster than I care for.” In most cases, Breeden was already thinking of the next question, hardly registering each answer given, and before long Breeden’s parents were laughing openly, unable to contain themselves while observing the back-and-forth.

  Eventually, Breeden tired of asking questions in such rapid succession, and without being conscious of it, he began to ask ones that required more thought and time on Aegir’s part to respond. “What do you do for fun?” spawned a lengthy monologue by Aegir about his favorite hobbies: walking and sailing—both of which he claimed were made more pleasant by the company of his pipe. Aegir became more at ease as he spoke of home. When he talked of walking in the mountains, he painted a vivid picture of pastoral serenity: high and vast slopes of green pastures overlooking a rocky coastline and the lapis waters crashing into pure white foam at the land’s edge. His deep and sonorous voice projected the scale and sweep of the mountains and the might of the ocean better than Breeden thought a human’s possibly could. He felt the images come together in his mind as the giant spoke until he must surely have the sight captured just as the giant saw it himself.

  When he spoke of the sea, Aegir changed the timbre of his voice, and his words became an endless horizon, reefing sails and clanging tackle, and the hollow booming of a ship’s hull slapping against the waves. He lowered it once again, and a storm swept in from leagues away, darkening the sky and bringing with it stinging drops of heavy rain. The laughter of Breeden’s parents was forgotten, and his mother’s mouth hung open along with those of Breeden and his father. Breeden looked in his mother’s eyes and could see the enchantment being wrought by the seafaring giant’s voice.

  When Aegir finally did stop talking, the entire family remained silent for a long moment, allowing the images in their minds to dissipate at their own pace. It would be weeks before Breeden would find that the images had faded beyond his ability to recall them in such detail. And he would never forget the emotions left behind by the giant’s view of his home: devotion to the land, awe at the world’s beauty, and respect for the dwarfing and unknowable power of nature. In a sudden and surprising revelation, Breeden realized that he wanted to accompany Aegir when the giant left for home the next day.

  4

  A Diversion

  The next morning, Breeden allowed himself the rare opportunity to sleep in. Along with the fact that he’d been up so very early for the past week and a half, he’d also worked harder than normal the day before, and his whole family had stayed up late talking with the giant Aegir. When he had finally gone to sleep, he slept deeply and awoke somewhat stiff but otherwise well recovered.

  His father and Aegir were sitting at the kitchen table when he found his way down the stairs, a few small pieces of sausage, cheese, and bread remaining on a board between them. He supposed they hadn’t been there all night but had gone to bed after him and risen before him. But then, they looked somewhat tired, so he couldn’t be sure.

  They appeared to be involved in a much more serious conversation than the ones from the night before, and Breeden caught repeated references to “the boy.” He understood quickly enough they were talking about him.

  “Good morning.” Breeden projected the words to make his father and the giant aware of his arrival. He’d been told many times before not to “sneak up on people”—usually when his father was alone in his workshop and Breeden’s sudden arrival might cause a startled mishap in carving or the careful alignment of delicate pieces.

  Breeden’s mother had boiled some eggs for him, and she brought them to the table as he moved to sit down. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said playfully.

  “Good morning, young Breeden!” the giant boomed.

  “Good morning, son!” His father wore an odd half smirk as he spoke the words, and Breeden became suspicious.

  Breeden paused in the act of sliding his chair back from the table and couldn’t help himself. “What is it?”

  His father beamed at him and seemed to discard his first and even second response before continuing. “Well, after such a demanding day yesterday, I thought that perhaps you could forgo your chores today.”

  Breeden became immediately excited but didn’t dare show it until he understood the smirk. He decided not to respond, to see if there was more that his father would share. It didn’t take long.

  “Our giant friend here has not come strictly for a social visit but has placed an order as well. And the material and equipment I have at hand will not be sufficient for the job. It seems we will need to journey to the market to purchase what we can and to arrange for the rest.”

  Now Breeden was excited. And he decided the smirk might not hold a nasty surprise after all but could be a cousin to the smirk his father wore at Beltide or on Breeden’s birthday. His smile broke wide at the prospect of visiting the market with his father. It was something his family rarely felt the need to do, since they were mostly self-sufficient for their day-to-day tools and supplies. His mother would head into town for “womanly things” every so often—dresses and such, he supposed—but that was pretty much the extent of it.

  When Breeden did go to market, it was most often for something specific—a “there and back again” affair, so to speak. But something about the way his father spoke, or about his smile, made this trip sound somehow more expansive, as if the list were a long and difficult one, and they might have to spend a good amount of time seeking among the wares of the various merchants. Or at least Breeden allowed himself to imagine the trip as such.

  Breeden’s father continued. “We’ll be seeing off Aegir at the deepwater piers before we leave for the market—as soon as you have a chance to wash your face and eat your breakfast!”

  In minutes they were ready to go.

  Breeden was sad to see the giant go, despite having met him only the day before. In that single evening, the giant had brought a rare and sweet joy to the lives of his mother and father, and had become as natural a presence in their home as another member of the family.

  The walk to the deepwater piers was more than twice as far as the pier Breeden had used the day before, but the distance passed quickly. Aegir and Breeden’s father filled the time discussing the details of his order, his father plying him with more questions about the design and construction. Aegir answered most of these with “I trust your work, Holt Andehar.”

  His mother having said her goodbyes at their home, Breeden and his father stood on the pier as the giant maneuvered his boat away from them. The boat was of a size that Aegir could just manage to sail it by himself, with a tiller, four sheets, and a knotted line to raise the keel should he need to.

  The fin-shaped “keel” was unusual to say the least. Breeden had seen only a few like it before on Long Lake—the need for a keel of any depth was less critical when navigating lakes and rivers than sailing the open ocean. Common wisdom held that seagoing vessels needed a sturdy and fixed keel to weather the forces at work beyond the coastline. But Aegir appeared to manage just fine with a more flexible alternative to both extremes.

  The giant’s craft was fast disappearing from view to the north. Breeden thought of the long journey that lay ahead for him. It would be several days before he reached his home. Then it occurred to him, as he considered the relaxed and powerful ease with which Aegir controlled the vessel, that the giant was already there.

  With a final wave of his arms above his head, Breeden’s father decided it was time to head over to the Ridderzaal market.

  5

  Talents Revealed

  The market was a frantic place, and it always took Breeden a f
ew minutes to acclimate himself to it. The hawkers would yell loudly in competition for the handful of buyers. The animals would bleat, or neigh, or crow. The pungent aromas of a local favorite, satje, marinated meat or fish sold on sticks, would compete with the manure, the tanning chemicals, and the perfumes. The cloth merchants’ wares would strike a garish contrast in their rainbow hues to the dull duns and browns of most of the other booths. It was a mad and unpredictable scene, even on a calm day, and even in such a small city as Ridderzaal. And it was even madder to Breeden for the fact that his days usually consisted of helping his mother and father around the house and workshop. As an only child, with no close friends his own age, Breeden led a very isolated and uneventful life. The market was anything but uneventful.

  The giant’s project called for ironwood, which would quickly dull a blade made of poor-quality steel. Breeden’s father explained that the blacksmiths in town would not have forges capable of producing a high enough heat to achieve the hardness required for the giant’s job. But perhaps the traders at market might have some workable tools among their wares. He reminded Breeden, too, that the chisels and saw blades he sought would need to be larger than average due to the scale of the project.

  They started by looking for any sign of tools at all among the tables and stalls of the merchants, and then they scouted each stall that did to see if chisels, saws, or drawknives might be among them. In front of a garishly painted tinker’s wagon, they spotted a large spread of woodworking tools of all sorts and in all types of condition. The tools were spread out in a fan surrounding a battered wooden toolbox that looked as if it would contain the entire collection. Breeden spotted a flat box at one side, opened to reveal a gorgeous set of six silver chisels filigreed with creeping vines and flowers along the tops of the blades.

  “I see them too.” Breeden’s father had followed his son’s widening eyes and also appeared impressed with the set’s beauty.

  The tinker saw their interest and reacted. “You won’t find a finer set of chisels this side of the Eastern Sea. Handcrafted by the dwarven smith Bertil, these chisels have no rival in all the land.”

  Breeden’s father smirked good-naturedly at the man. “You don’t say.” He lifted one chisel delicately from the velvet-padded box, noting the obvious quality of even the box itself.

  Breeden wriggled himself between his father and the table, and he picked up one of the chisels, turning it over in his hands. He seemed to become lost for a moment as he did so. But his father was too busy to notice the intensity of his son’s examination as he began the dance of determining a fair price for the chisels.

  “I should say these chisels are a bit too fine for the kind of work I intend to put them to. Do you have anything sturdier about?”

  The tinker didn’t miss a beat. “Indeed, I have other chisels, sir, but none compare in beauty and function to these dwarven-made blades. They are a special dwarven alloy that polishes as brightly as silver but cuts as the finest steel. I offer you a blow or two with one of my mallets, if you’d like. I’m sure I could produce a scrap of wood for you to test their edge.”

  “Thanks for that, but I’m sure those tools are far beyond my humble means. Could I see some of your others?”

  The tinker realized Breeden’s father would not be an easy dupe and shifted to a more straightforward approach. “Indeed, sir. I believe I have an odd assortment of bits and ends in my wagon. Allow me a moment.”

  When the tinker had disappeared into his wagon, Breeden’s father spoke. “Here is where he plans to take his time so we can examine the fine silver chisels more closely. And he will watch us from a window to see that we do. So we won’t give him the satisfaction. Go ahead and put your chisel back.”

  Breeden grudgingly set down the chisel and commented, “They are not as fine as he thinks, anyway. The metal is cheap and ill-formed beneath the silver. They wouldn’t hold up under real use and won’t serve for what we need.”

  His father was puzzled at the certainty with which Breeden had made the statement, and he wondered where Breeden’s imagination had come up with such a firm and reasonable-sounding assertion. He gave his son an odd look. “They look fine enough to me. Why do you say that?”

  Breeden couldn’t explain, thinking it as obvious as rain, and was surprised at his father’s question. “Can’t you tell by looking at them? On the surface, they look pretty enough, but underneath the silver, the metal is weak.” Breeden felt his response was weak, but he didn’t have the words to better describe what he meant.

  His father thought back to a similar conversation they’d had a handful of months ago. The handle on one of his mauls had split, and he had asked Breeden to choose a piece of replacement stock. He knew that among the scraps of wood, there was a likely piece close to the right proportions for the job, which would require minimal whittling. When Breeden had come back with a much longer piece of wood with a fat knot at one end, he had asked his son if there were none better shaped for the purpose. Breeden’s response had stuck with him. He didn’t remember the exact words necessarily, but the intention was clear: “You’ll only have to carve this one later anyway, since that other piece is bound to split.”

  As now, he had asked Breeden why he believed that to be the case, and Breeden had given him roughly the same response: “Can’t you see that it’s going to break?” At the time, he’d chalked it up to youthful imagination and had made use of the wood Breeden had brought to him. As it turned out, the knot served as a perfect knurl at the butt of the handle to keep the heavy and long-handled maul in hand during strenuous use. And he had to admit that the grain and density of the wood was excellent for the job.

  What stuck with him was a sense of wonder at how the boy had made such a judgment. He considered himself a good judge of wood, and knew the skill to be a combination of art—or more accurately, practiced intuition—and simple experience. But despite Breeden’s growing up in a household where working wood was practiced with great care and, all modesty aside, great skill, there was something special about his boy.

  The tinker appeared from within his wagon, carrying a large burlap bag that clinked dully in his left hand as he approached. He unceremoniously dumped the contents on the table. It was full of chisels. Breeden’s father thought the tinker might have been gathering the tools together after all, and not watching them from the window, as he’d told his son. Or perhaps the tinkers were a more organized lot than he gave them credit for.

  Breeden scanned the tools and mentally discarded almost all of them. His father pretended to examine them himself, but he was suddenly more interested in watching his son. The tinker caught the exchange and didn’t appear to know what to make of it, but his face revealed that he thought he was somehow being conned.

  Breeden had already decided upon four of the larger and wider chisels, two of which appeared to be mated with each other, but he waited for his father before saying anything. He seemed to have finished with whatever sort of evaluation he intended when Breeden’s father spoke up. “Well, before I consider any of these rustic blades, why don’t we discuss your best price on the dwarven set.”

  The tinker’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected the question. But he recovered. “I couldn’t let them go for less than one and a half crowns.”

  Breeden’s father blanched at the price. He had expected the tinker to aim high, but never would have expected him to go that high. But the price was on the table, and Breeden’s father resumed the dance. “I should say that that’s more than I make in a season, sir! I would need to borrow some copper for half that price. The best I could manage with the coins on my person is twenty-five commons.”

  Twenty-five commons being twelve-and-a-half less than one quarter the starting price, the tinker feigned insult. “Surely you can’t be serious. Why, at ten silvers, I would sell them at a loss, never mind less than three!”

  Breeden’s father feigned being deflated by the assertion. “I suppose they’re out of my league, then. I truly
can’t afford more than twenty-five commons. How about these lesser-quality blades? How much are you charging for each of these?”

  The tinker responded without thought. “Make me your best offer, and I will consider it.”

  His father turned casually to Breeden. “Do any of these blades strike your fancy, son? It’s okay to say no if none are to your liking.”

  “Yes, sir. There are a few of passing quality.”

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

  The tinker’s frown grew deeper as his suspicion he was being conned became more pronounced. He appeared helpless, watching the father and son exchange words.

  “I’ll give you five commons apiece for any four my son chooses—not including the silver ones, of course. That’s twenty commons—nearly the same price I offered you for the dwarven set.”

  Now the tinker looked truly surprised. His face had become angrier, and he had seemed prepared to lash out at Breeden and his father, and then, in a moment—so fast that Breeden wasn’t sure he’d read the man’s growing anger correctly—the man smiled. “Twenty coppers it is. Go ahead and pick your chisels, son.”

  Breeden looked at his father first, to make sure it was okay, and at his nod, he picked up the four chisels he’d already selected. The tinker paid little attention to which chisels Breeden had chosen, but watched his father extract the twenty copper commons he had been promised from a leather case attached to his belt. When the transaction was complete and they were walking away from the man’s stall, Breeden observed that the tinker’s smile was gone, and he looked as if he was trying to figure out whether he’d been had. Breeden guessed the man thought the transaction far too easy. Breeden’s father glanced back and saw the look. “Good. May he always wonder whether he got the better of us this day.”