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

by Matthew Berg

  Derek spoke up abruptly. “He didn’t dismiss his army. Or not all of it, anyway.”

  Cedric smiled again. “Thank you, Derek. That is absolutely correct. He chose to maintain an army even during times of peace. As Derek implied, the army was greatly reduced from the days of its greatness, but especially at the beginning, he maintained a considerable number of knights and—this is where he was truly being original—foot soldiers. He had decided to conscript peasants for a permanent force, which he maintained in housing outside of his keep, this keep, in the first royal city of the kingdom.

  “As I said, warfare would never be the same again. Immediately after the war, King Wilham did something else, this definitely not original but proven effective throughout the ages: he built a network of spies whom he placed in high positions in the lands he had conquered. With these spies in place, he could find out about any attempts to rebel against him, or even to gather troops. And when the Duke of Laval first tried to assemble troops at his keep, near the western forest, they were met by a highly trained unit of professional soldiers who arrived in a matter of weeks.

  “The next innovation in maintaining a kingdom came from Wilham the Second, Wilham’s eldest son. It was his idea not to outlaw the assemblage of troops by the outlying nations, but rather to control personally their assembly. Further, he extended the conscription of peasants and the permanent stationing of knights to Laon and Pretania—to be placed under his control. Now the sons of most nobles were in his court. So along with having a large share of the soldier conscripts of his potential enemies, he had also arranged to have noble ‘hostages’ available from every country represented in his court. Brilliant. Almost genius levels of forethought, really.”

  Oskar was squirming in his seat and couldn’t seem to control himself. Cedric noticed, and called on him. “Oskar, you look as though you have something to offer.”

  Oskar froze. But then he appeared to relax a bit before responding. “Brilliant, my arse. Street-smart is what it is. That’s a gang move. Nothing but kidnapping and blackmail. Doesn’t require a monk to come up with something like that.”

  Cedric laughed. “Yes, Oskar. It surely is. They use fancy names for it among the nobility. But you’re absolutely right. It’s a practice that isn’t significantly different from what you likely saw on the streets of Arlon growing up.”

  But Breeden was still thinking about the underlying lesson. He had heard the names of these countries before, but he hadn’t had a good sense of their geographic relationship to one another until that very morning, when Cedric had begun their lessons by unrolling an enormous map of the land. He recalled from the map that there were three human nations Cedric had yet to mention in the lesson. And because it seemed Cedric had no intention to do so, Breeden couldn’t help it and spoke up. “What about the Mahjars and Gaidheal, or the Krigares for that matter? Didn’t King Wilham try to conquer them as well?”

  Cedric smiled. “And I can always count on you for your timing, Breeden. We weren’t going to discuss these nations just yet, but mentioning them in the context of the larger war does make sense. Derek, what of the Gaidheal?”

  “They were protected by the elves.”

  Cedric nodded. “That’s true—in part and in effect, if not in fact. Most scholars agree that King Wilham believed the elves to hold the Gaidheal’s best interests at heart. But whether or not the elves would have engaged a human army—particularly one the size of Wilham’s—to defend other humans is a matter of some debate.

  “Any other reasons? Derek again.”

  Derek thought a moment before responding. “Shenn Frith doesn’t have anything worth plundering?”

  “The Gaidheal’s home actually does have quite a fortune in precious metals and jewels, though perhaps, as you indicate, it is not worth the risk of incurring the wrath of the elves. They may appear a primitive people, but they love shiny things as much as any other humans, and that the gemstones and metal coins are originally from their ‘mother’, the land itself, gives them a justification they can safely defend within the confines of their religion. So I’ll give you some credit for that answer. Can you think of any other reasons?”

  Derek thought longer this time and shook his head. “Sorry. But no. I can’t think of anything else.”

  Cedric replied, “Don’t feel you’ve missed the mark, Derek. Your first response was likely the most important and undoubtedly does account for King Wilham’s reluctance. If I were to add anything, it would be that Shenn Frith, the land occupied by the Gaidheal, does not provide any distinct strategic advantages. Possessing that parcel of land would give King Wilham no improved position over his enemies—no control of critical waterways, or mountain passes, for example—nor, due to the fact that the Gaidheal are gatherers and eat solely what they can obtain from the land itself, any critical matériel or resources that could benefit his campaign, i.e., grain or cattle. Add to these facts the very daunting specter of the elves, and I think you have a fairly clear assessment, as the Hyrden king would have made.

  “And the Mahjars? Kestrel?”

  Kestrel, as he often did when he had something to offer, looked to be on the edge of his seat. But upon hearing his name, he relaxed visibly. The tone of his response was casual but confident. “The Mahjars are fierce fighters, but their homeland, Namur, doesn’t really have any cities to speak of. And they don’t hoard wealth the way the Laonese and Hyrden do.”

  Derek interrupted at this. “Laonese and Hyrden, my arse! As if the Pretani are so noble and above such things! You—”

  Cedric raised his eyebrows at Derek and interrupted, barely elevating the volume of his lecturing voice. “That will be enough, Derek. Though your point is well taken. We should seek to identify cultures that are not concerned with hoarding wealth, rather than singling out the Laonese and Hyrden. Kestrel?”

  Kestrel continued. “As I was saying, the Laonese had richer plunder and easier pickings than the Mahjars. And yes, I suppose the Pretani did too. But the Mahjars are nomads and shepherds, and have almost nothing in the way of treasure. And their land is dry and harsh. In the northeast, they do have a fertile valley, but they leave that place as it is and don’t harvest their own food or grain from it, because they leave that piece of land free for the wild horses, their breeding stock. And I hear they harvest the wild horses in this valley only sparingly, leaving the strongest males and females to mate and strengthen the lines. For King Wilham to reach these horses, he would have to fight his way through an unforgiving, dry grassland and battle Mahjars intent on protecting the valley—the key to their way of life.

  “So my answer is maybe longer than you wanted, but the long and short of it is that the Mahjars had nothing to offer King Wilham, and what they did have of value, their horses, would have been too dearly won.”

  Cedric was impressed. “Well said, and very thorough, Kestrel. Those are excellent reasons and could very well explain King Wilham’s decision to leave the people of Namur alone. And that leaves the Krigares for . . .”

  Breeden cleared his throat and, in so doing, drew Brother Cedric’s attention and another raised eyebrow, this one a question rather than an admonition. Breeden did have something to contribute, but he also had second thoughts. But Cedric was looking at him, and he was drawn into continuing. He began roughly.

  “I have heard stories about the Krigares . . . I can’t say as to their truth, but if they are true, I know I wouldn’t want to attack them. They are supposed to be fiercer than any other opponent. They show no mercy to their enemies and fight to their own deaths before they surrender themselves. They are savages. Barely civilized. Though my father says that in their way they are also men of honor.”

  Cedric was nodding as Breeden spoke, and interjected when he paused. “What you say is true, Breeden. They are an uncivilized people by our standards, but they are also not so simply classified. In many ways—their treatment of travelers in their lands, for example—they behave more admirably than we do. As you say, the
y are men of honor—in their way. They have a primitive code of behavior in the Krigsrike and adhere strictly to its tenets. Those who do not adhere are shunned, cast out, or killed. Forgiveness is not among their teachings.

  “But I digress, and I am answering your question. I apologize. Please continue.”

  Breeden was still a bit unsure of himself but continued nonetheless, not just addressing the monk in his response but looking around the room and taking in all of his peers as well. “And along with their fierceness and their unforgiving nature, as Cedric said, the other reason is that they live on the other side of impassable mountains. To attack them without going over the mountains or through the passes, he would have had to do it by ship, since the mountains are so high and are always covered in ice. And to attack them by ship would be crazy, since the Krigares are the best sailors and rowers in all the lands. So even though the Krigares probably have all kinds of treasure stored away up there from their raids, I think King Wilham probably couldn’t figure out how to beat the Krigares to get it.”

  Cedric replied warmly. “Very true, Breeden. Very true. And because King Wilham actually feared the Krigares militarily, he felt it was necessary to formulate a treaty with them, lest they interfere with his plans for the Pretani, or just harass or raid his army for sport. Another thing about Krigares: they have made warfare their hobby, their calling, and their passion. As you say, they are fierce, but they are also a nation of warriors. And the Hyrden king knew this, so he knew he would need to bribe them in some manner to keep them out of the conflict.

  “He decided to promise them access to some of the Pretani land in the northwest, including a warm-water port—warm for them, anyway, at least in comparison to the rest of the Krigares’ ports. Once he had defeated the Pretani, of course. The Krigares’ ‘king,’ who controlled the coastline immediately north of the proposed parcel of land, agreed to the plan. Wilham didn’t know it at the time of the treaty, but the man claiming to act as king of the Krigares was really more the equivalent of one of Kestrel’s clan chiefs. But that he didn’t speak for all the Krigares is really academic, as he did control the most important piece of land as far as Wilham was concerned: the southern access to plunder along the western coast of the land. Only a few small raids by other Krigares from farther north and east ultimately interfered with Wilham’s efforts. So in the end, his treaty, limited though it was, probably did prove to be helpful.”

  Breeden felt good. His answer had seemed to satisfy Brother Cedric, and for perhaps the first time since he’d begun his lessons, he had not felt as though he didn’t belong.

  12

  Heroics

  Kestrel had awoken early that morning to prepare for the day’s hunt with the castle’s hunt master, a half-elf and former scout of the elf queen’s famed legion. His name was Aelric, and it was not often enough Kestrel had the opportunity to hunt or train with him, especially considering it was his favorite part of the training he received as a squire and future knight of the king’s court.

  While Kestrel had encountered elves in his homeland on a handful of occasions, they had always been isolated meetings that involved his father and some political discussion or another. He had never spent enough time with any of them to appreciate their culture or to truly get to know them. They had always came across as cold, laughed rarely, and when they did, it seemed to Kestrel they did so at inappropriate times. But something about the elvish people fascinated him despite the fact that he found them so detached, and difficult to understand. Their uncanny abilities in hunting, scouting, archery, and moving silently and invisibly through the trees had been a common daydream of his when he was a child. He had imagined he was one of them, moving so silently he could sneak up on a hart and slap it on the flank. He had imagined himself shooting a bird from the sky with a bow and arrow, and leaping from the branches of one tall tree to another as nimbly as a squirrel.

  His childhood imaginings had finally found confirmation in Aelric, the castle’s half-human, half-elven hunt master. Aelric ran as swiftly as a hound. He had the endurance of a horse. He could literally stalk a rabbit and catch it in his bare hands. And most impressively, he could outshoot any man Kestrel had ever seen with a bow and arrow. He was unerring in his accuracy. Aelric knew so well the limits of his own abilities that he would not even raise the bow to his eye if he thought the range were too great, or the obstacles too much of an impedance to his chances of a successful shot. Literally without fail—as Kestrel heard it reported—if he raised the bow to his eye and he let go the string, his arrow would strike its intended target.

  Kestrel was in awe of Aelric’s ability. He was in awe, too, of his talent as a tracker and stalker while hunting. And so it was that Kestrel took extreme care in preparing himself on the days when he was told he would accompany the half-elf on a day or weekend trip to add deer and boar to the castle’s larder and to train the young squires of the court in the skills of the huntsman. For most of the squires, the training was fairly basic, but with Kestrel and a few of the more promising and talented boys, they would also learn skills needed to succeed in the more advanced arts of forest craft.

  Kestrel rechecked his pack one last time to ensure he had brought an extra bowstring. He had, of course, as he had determined for the third time already that morning. He’d also brought his bedroll, a long, slightly curved hunting knife he had meticulously sharpened the night before, a length of stout cord to hang game beyond the reach of wolves and bears, and a bag of salt and herbs he would have used in his homeland to apply to a field-dressed deer to keep the meat from spoiling.

  He refastened the straps of his pack to ensure nothing would fall out, and swung it up over his shoulder, heading out of the barracks and toward the makeshift mess in the room adjacent to the one where he slept. He smiled at the other squires still eating their breakfast, grabbed a full loaf of the warm, hard-crusted bread that arrived from the baker minutes earlier, and saluted them by placing the loaf against his forehead. “Good day, gentle squires! Ye shall be eating venison when I return on the morrow!”

  The other squires were obviously accustomed to Kestrel’s antics, and a couple even threw heels of bread at him as he walked out of the room. Kestrel smiled even more deeply, finally satisfied that he was ready to join Aelric, and excited about the prospects the day held for him to demonstrate to Aelric how much he had learned since their last expedition.

  The group that would be going on the hunting trip today was small. And the two younger boys had little to no experience as far as Kestrel knew. Besides these two were Derek—no mean woodsman by any standard and, Kestrel thought with no false modesty, second only to himself among the squires—and Tavish Ranald. Tavish knew the basics of hunting—what to do and what not to do—and he was a fine shot, but he just didn’t have the knack for tracking that Derek and Kestrel demonstrated, and he stalked so loudly he couldn’t sneak up on a tree. But he was a hell of a swordsman—and a good egg. Kestrel liked him a lot, and he thought Tavish liked him just fine too.

  The day was bright and the sky blue as Kestrel left the barracks and headed for the mustering point near the keep’s east gate. Fall was treating them to a day that felt more like summer, and there were only the wispiest of high clouds in the lightening sky.

  Derek’s always unpredictable moodiness aside, the question of the day remained the personalities and abilities of the two untested young squires, whom Kestrel didn’t know all that well.

  As Kestrel approached the gate, he saw that Aelric had not yet arrived, so he decided to have fun with the two younger boys to test their mettle somewhat.

  “Good day, lads! Where do you think you’re going today, then?”

  The boys exchanged glances and then looked at Derek questioningly—who, it appeared to Kestrel, was making a show of ignoring them as much as possible. Kestrel loved this. They were playing right into his hands.

  “Are you mute? How is it that they’ve let mutes join the ranks of squiredom? Derek, is it not stil
l a requirement that all potential knights be able to speak?”

  Derek hadn’t been listening, and turned at hearing his name but then turned away again, seeming to guess that Kestrel was trying to provoke the younger boys.

  “Ah, well, it must be my day to work with the unfortunates of the world. I have three mutes on my hands, after all! You two, over there, do you have some kind of document to prove you are supposed to be here? Or do you await the baker on his morning rounds? If so, why the daggers and bows? Do you plan to shoot yourself a bannock for breakfast?

  “Still nothing, then? Come on, you two! Lighten your loads and smile already, would you? Good grief!” Kestrel saw Tavish coming then, leading five saddled horses with Aelric close behind, and he allowed his joviality to get the better of the reserve he usually demonstrated around the man he respected so much.

  “Hunt Master! Can you tell me what to make of these three mute squires? Is this an oath you’ve had them take to show their loyalty? Should I cut out my own tongue to join them in a vow of eternal silence?”

  Unlike the handful of elves he had encountered in his homeland, Kestrel had seen Aelric’s eyes express emotion from time to time. And although these occasions were rare, if Kestrel wasn’t mistaken, he’d have sworn the half-elf’s lip had just twitched ever so slightly. Could it be that Kestrel had made a human joke that had cracked through the hunt master’s grim exterior?

  Aelric’s eyes flashed again and then were flat once more as he responded. “Aye, Kestrel. It is your turn next. Only they did not cut out their own tongues. I cut them out for them. Come here now, so I can be sure to have a quiet trip today.” As he spoke, Aelric drew his hunting knife—with a blade a full hand longer than Kestrel’s own—and extended his hands forward as if he were preparing to engage Kestrel in hand-to-hand combat.