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

by Matthew Berg

  Derek snickered as the two entered, and received a dirty look from Oskar in response.

  As class continued where it had left off, Breeden remembered that Cedric would be discussing a famous naval battle between the great Hyrden king’s son, Wilham II, and the Krigares. He was disappointed to realize he had missed the beginning of Cedric’s tale, and tried to catch up to the unfolding story as Cedric related it.

  Cedric took a moment to compose himself after Breeden and Janelle’s disruption, but once he began speaking again, he regained something close to his typical momentum. “And the shipbuilding of the Hyrdens and Laonese under the king’s orders was like nothing ever undertaken. Lumber from the great Hyrden forest was floated downriver to Woodfall, past these very walls, and, back when the lower Woodfall was navigable, to the once great open ocean port of Ghent. It was there, at the farthest reach from the Krigares’ watchful eyes, that dozens of new ships were constructed. Massive transports, catapult-bearing fast-attack boats, supply ships, and a handful of small and nimble scouts.

  “But Wilham the Second was three times a fool. Once for breaking the treaty his father had signed with the Krigares at the close of the battle that saw most of Erda under Hyrden rule. Twice for thinking he could keep a full year of shipbuilding and preparations from being noticed by the seafaring Krigares.

  “And when Wilham the Second finally did launch his attack, he was a fool for at least the third time in that campaign, when he chose to split up his forces, directing half to come up and around the west coast, and the other to come up the east coast. Apparently, he felt that he could crush the entirety of the northern tribes between the pincers of his ‘armada.’ He was quite horribly wrong. And not one of those among his advisers dared to warn him otherwise. Or if they did, there is no record of dissent among the scrolls and books that cover this tragedy.

  “All told, thousands of conscripts from among the Hyrdens, Laonese, and Pretani were sent to a watery grave by the nimble fighting ships of the northern raiders. Many hundreds of Krigares lost their lives, it is true—most to the arrows that flew like gadflies between and among the battling ships. But it was only through the bold cowardice of a few officers in the King’s Navy that any Hyrden at all survived the battle to tell the tale. Seeing the early rout of the battle, and having prepared for it, in fact, from the beginning, a senior officer of the King’s Navy raised the pennant of retreat on his heavily manned transport and ordered his crew to come about. A handful of other ships in the area around him responded in kind. These ships would prove to be the only ones to survive. A little more than a thousand men returned home, a mere fraction of the force that had left Hyrde’s waters.”

  Cedric paused a moment for dramatic effect, scanning the eyes of his pupils, and then he continued once more. “Many lessons are to be learned from this failed campaign. The first lesson was an obvious one that should have escaped no one: never attack the Krigares in a naval battle in their own icy waters, regardless of the size of your force. Among other lessons that I would have you focus on: absolute right doesn’t equal absolutely right. As thinking members of the future of our society, you need to know that some orders are meant to be questioned. Would you consider it a sound strategy to attack the Krigares in a pincer maneuver that split your forces, weakening each group effectively by half, and doubling your ‘front’ as well as the number of your enemy? Had the force attacked from either the east or the west, it would have been united, would have faced a foe of half the number, and would have been able to work its way up the coast, attacking one tribe and village at a time. It is unlikely even that approach would ultimately have resulted in a Hyrden victory. But Hyrde would at least have had a turn at the dice.

  “Further, by not considering the tribal nature of the Krigares, Wilham the Second failed to recognize that he was actually attacking two separate enemies at the same time. And he created between these enemies the situation of a temporary peace and a cooperation that may not have been there before. The tribes of Krigsrike do not typically involve themselves in each other’s business. It is only in a time of such need as threatens all the Krigares’ land—not that of but one or two tribes—where you see such cooperation among them. Each tribe is slow to unite if they don’t perceive the threat to themselves. And the uniting is not hastened by the fact that each chief is loath to place his forces under the command, even temporarily, of whichever chief has been chosen as war leader of the forces of Krigsrike.

  “At any point during the planning of the campaign, it is certain that wiser heads could have argued against such a rash course of action as that proposed by Wilham the Second. But those involved in planning feared raising his ire. They knew their place.

  “Might Wilham have dismissed any disagreement or protest? Certainly. He might have. Might he have had the dissenter executed summarily? Possibly, though Wilham the Second wasn’t known for such irrational and spontaneous behavior, the way some other monarchs have been. But even at the risk of losing one’s life to protest such a decision, would not the chance be worth taking against the odds that otherwise faced an entire armada doomed to certain defeat?

  “The lessons, then: First, consider well your plan and the count of your force if you should decide to challenge the Krigares in their homeland. Second, recognize the risks in executing a two-fronted war, especially when the option to retain a single army at full strength exists and your enemies are not united against you. And third, do not allow a foolish plan or foolish order to come to fruition if you can, through your influence, bring reason to light or effect a change in some other way.

  “Learn this last lesson well, my pupils. Many a noble, and even, from time to time, a king, has been known to issue orders that are unworthy, unjust, or even suicidal. It is no more treasonous for you, should you find yourself in such a position, to question that order than it is for me, a teacher of the kingdom’s future, to suggest you do so.”

  At break, Cedric asked Breeden and Janelle to remain a moment, and after the others had left, he asked them why they were late. They told him the true story, and Cedric was somewhat mollified, though disappointed that Breeden was always cutting things so close. He told Breeden that showing up late for a scheduled engagement showed a lack of respect for Cedric and for his lessons and that he had better get used, in his planning, to the fact that the outside world would sometimes creep in upon him. Further, he instructed Breeden that it was up to him, and not anyone else, to ensure that he was better prepared to meet the challenges the world brought his way. Giving himself a few extra minutes to get to class, against the chance that something unexpected might delay him, was a good start. Breeden was chagrined at the monk’s words. And he knew his teacher was right.

  Janelle and Breeden made their way to the room where their friends had indicated they were going to take lunch.

  The room was on the second floor, in the southeast corner of the east wing of the monastery. The east wing was the “administrative wing,” where all activities unrelated to the actual worship of the One God were held. The room they occupied was a large round one with tall stained glass windows that sent beams of scattered colors across the many small tables and chairs that filled the chamber. It was a comparatively large study and was adjacent to the impressive library of historical and religious texts the monks maintained with such care.

  As Breeden and Janelle entered together, Derek was ready with another snicker, and this time he followed it up with a snide remark. “Have you two peasants started breeding yet? If so, my father’s farms could always use some more hands.”

  Breeden, Oskar, and Kestrel all shouted as one, “Shut up, Derek!” Laudan rolled his eyes, and Breeden took a few involuntary steps toward the young noble.

  Derek’s eyes gleamed at the response, but he wasn’t through with his torment yet, and he lunged toward Janelle, grabbing the scarf she was in the process of unwinding from her neck.

  “Is this Breeden’s leash, Janelle? Do you make him roll over for you? Why is
it about your neck? Does he run away from you if you don’t tie him up? Or is it just that you fear his mooning will lead him astray if you’re not there to guide him?”

  And then, seemingly on a whim, Derek threw open a window and tossed the scarf out into the sharply cold wind. “Fetch, boy! Be a good boy and fetch your mistress’s scarf!”

  Laudan frowned, Oskar cursed, and Kestrel moved to join Breeden, who was now only a few jerking steps away from his tormentor.

  Fists balled and knuckles white, Breeden marched up against Derek and thrust his face to within inches of Derek’s. “Go get the bloody scarf, Derek!”

  Derek laughed. “No, doggy. You fetch your own leash!” And then he shoved Breeden hard, with both hands. Breeden fell awkwardly backward and somehow managed to stay on his feet by grabbing onto a writing desk. Then he charged at Derek in a blind rage. Derek remained composed, and only an ever-so-slight flicker of fear registered in his eyes as he watched Breeden careening toward him. But he held himself still, and just before he went down under Breeden’s weight, he managed to lash out with his fist and catch Breeden in the eye. Then he was flattened to the floor.

  The impact took the breath out of Breeden as much as Derek, and his momentum carried him over Derek and onto the floor beyond. Derek recovered first and managed to get behind Breeden and catch him in a wrestling hold. But Breeden squirmed and thrashed, and he somehow shook off Derek’s grasp. A few seconds of rolling around on the floor and attempted pins and holds by each boy finally ended when Breeden locked his legs in a scissor grip around Derek’s waist, effectively immobilizing him. Derek pounded on Breeden’s legs with his fists, hard and relentless, but Breeden met each assault by crushing Derek’s ribs ever tighter between his legs. Each squeeze earned a grunt from Derek, followed by a gasping curse. “You bloody peasant! . . . You’re cheating! . . . Let me go!” Soon the energy of his attack on Breeden’s legs trickled down to next to nothing.

  “Let me go, Andehar! Let me go . . .” Derek’s words faded along with his strength.

  Breeden gave him a few more squeezes, releasing more of his slowly ebbing anger in the process. And finally he stopped squeezing altogether. But he would be damned if he would release Derek without some kind of apology or promise or something.

  Breeden waited until his breath was somewhat regular, and then he tried to make Derek meet his eyes, but the noble was looking down and refused to do so.

  “Tell Janelle you’re sorry, and promise you’ll get her scarf as soon as I let you go.” Breeden’s tone was almost conciliatory. He was tired, and as much as he wanted Derek to apologize, he also didn’t want to prolong this situation any further.

  But there was no response from Derek. No movement at all. He just continued to breathe heavily in low gasps, and to stare at nothing, with his head down.

  Breeden squeezed with all of his might, and Derek squealed involuntarily, not expecting more from the boatbuilder’s son. He managed to gasp in barely discernable words, “Okay. I’ll get the bloody scarf.”

  It wasn’t an apology. But Breeden was relieved nonetheless. He loosened his grip a bit, but the thought occurred to him that Derek might try something when he let him go.

  “And tell me that the fight is over. And that you won’t attack me when I let you go.”

  “It’s over.”

  Breeden released his hold and allowed his legs to slump to the floor.

  17

  Training

  Laudan, Kestrel, and Derek would not start their more formal and rigorous military training until they were knighted, at seventeen years old. For Laudan and Kestrel, that meant later this year. And for Derek, it would be the following year, but in the meantime, all three squires participated in regular training exercises once a week to teach them the basics.

  Training at their age took the form of drilling in formation, being exposed to different weapons, sparring with swords, and wrestling. Kestrel was small of frame but quick and wiry. He excelled at ranged weapons—longbow, short bow, and crossbow—and was a surprisingly talented wrestler, though he did have a hard time immobilizing many of the boys, all of whom were larger than him to varying extents. At swordplay he was slightly above average. He did well with the short sword and rapier, but had some trouble wielding the heavier and longer bastard and long swords.

  Derek was a much more gifted swordsman, even at a year younger than Kestrel. After proving himself during the past several weeks, he had worked himself up to sparring with some of the older squires in Laudan and Kestrel’s class. Like Kestrel, Derek was adept with the shorter and lighter swords, but he was also stout enough to handle even a long sword passably well. Derek was not terribly good with the ranged weapons, but then, most of the boys were not. But he was an above average wrestler and did well against many boys older than himself.

  After watching a few of Derek’s matches, Breeden felt better about his performance in his own fight with Derek, and how he’d ended up on top—even if he did cheat by using an illegal leg lock.

  But then there was Laudan. Laudan was strong enough to hold the draw of a longbow and take his time with aiming. He wasn’t a great shot, certainly nowhere near Kestrel’s abilities, but he was fairly accurate and could sustain a regular rate of fire long after the other squires’ arms had dropped numbly to their sides. He was also a bear of a wrestler, dominating anyone he faced, including many of the professional soldiers who had agreed to wrestle him. And he wielded a sword like a young knight. He was not clever with a sword, nor particularly graceful, but he was nearly unbeatable on the sparring field due to a modicum of skill and his dominating strength and endurance.

  On this day, Breeden and Oskar were seated on the wooden pavilion that overlooked the jousting lists on one side and the sparring field on the other. While Cedric would normally hold class even absent the three knights in training, he had canceled this afternoon’s to spend additional time with the princess. So Breeden and Oskar were afforded a rare opportunity to watch their classmates in training.

  They were turned toward the sparring field, watching two squires at work. Each combatant was clad in thick layers of stained and patched padded armor that looked likely to have seen service in the time of their respective fathers, and they were battling with heavily nicked and dented, blunt-edged training broadswords.

  Kestrel was nowhere to be seen, but Laudan and Derek were waiting for their chance to fight at the far end of the field.

  Breeden returned his attention to the two combatants. The more he watched, the more he realized how good they were, and how evenly matched. They were both using two hands on the respective hilt of what was for a knight typically a one-handed weapon. Each was doing a good job of parrying the other’s attack, and both were quick to try a strike when they saw an opening. He watched several attacks, parries, and ripostes, and became caught up in the rhythm. And although they didn’t look as though they were taking it easy on one another, the match became almost boring in its back-and-forth nature. Despite their skill, Breeden wanted to see more of a challenge. He wanted to see some of the dominating and heroic swordplay he’d heard about in the tales his father would tell at night: a knight disarming his opponent and allowing him time to retrieve his fallen sword before continuing, a series of relentless attacks that backed the opponent against a wall or a cliff or a river, or a surprising feat of acrobatics that foiled the enemy’s lucky blow.

  But in all fairness, he could tell that the boys before him were talented. And when he considered that they weren’t two years older than he was, he felt more of the same unworthiness he’d felt that day in the armory. He would never be afforded the opportunity these boys had been. He was frankly lucky he had even been permitted to befriend the boys as he had. And Derek would be sure to remind him of his luck, and his unworthiness, should he find himself forgetting.

  Breeden looked over to where Laudan and Derek were standing. They were chatting with each other comfortably, and Breeden felt a sudden pang that Laudan even deigned
to associate with that jerk. Derek had such a cruel sense of humor, and he was so arch and unkind to Janelle, Oskar, and Breeden. He would constantly joke with Laudan and Kestrel so the others couldn’t hear—or so they could, but about topics that excluded the others all the same. He never had one kind word to say to any of them. Breeden supposed if he were a noble, he might not despise Derek so much, but he found it a hard bit of imagining.

  Immediately in front of the two boys was a sergeant-at-arms watching the combatants carefully. Breeden guessed the man had seen forty years, and probably many of those in combat. His hair was dark, oily, and matted to his head and still bore the impression of his helmet. His skin was pale, where it was exposed, and his face communicated a calm, controlled callousness. After only briefly watching him interact with the boys, Breeden could tell that he had little patience for nonsense. He wore a maroon gambeson under a heavily scarred chain mail shirt that came down to just above his elbows on his arms, and nearly down to his knees at the bottom. And he wore a crisscrossed arrangement of leather straps across his chest, over his shoulder, and attached to a wide belt worn high around his waist. Affixed to the leather straps were numerous metal rings and leather ties.

  The sergeant was calling out to the boys as they fought, and commenting frequently on their form. Laudan had once explained to Breeden that the constant testing and the regular changing of weapons was done so the instructors could gauge the squires’ natural abilities with different fighting styles and different weapon types. They would also add different types of shields, sword breakers, and dirks to the off hand to expose the boys to the greatest variety of fighting scenarios.

  And while some of the instruction was consistent, regardless of a boy’s individual abilities—such as using a sword and shield together—later in the training, they would be focused more heavily in the directions of their greatest observed strengths. Breeden had been told that it was typical for the larger boys to gravitate toward the larger and heavier weapons, and for the smaller boys to lean toward the smaller and lighter ones. But preference wasn’t always considered, and ability wasn’t necessarily so predictable. It wasn’t unusual to see a short knight wielding a two-handed sword or a war hammer, nor was it uncommon to see a taller, bulkier knight proving himself particularly skilled with the agile and almost delicate rapier.