Shadow of a Dark Queen (10 page)

A bitter taste of tin filled Erik's mouth, and his stomach knotted as he moved through the twilight. His desires were few and his needs simple, yet it seemed fate had decreed them to be impossible.

Not knowing what he could possibly say to his mother, he walked like a man three times his age, each step slow and deliberate, his shoulders bent under an incredible weight.

E
rik halted
.

The sound of so many horses' hooves pounding on the cobbles nearby was unusual in Ravensburg. He put down the bundle of clothing he had tied a moment before, and set it upon the trunk containing his mother's personal belongings.

The sound was definitely louder now, and Erik knew a group of riders was heading for the inn. He glanced at Milo, who was speaking softly to Freida on the other side of the kitchen. The decision to leave Ravensburg had been difficult, and to Erik's surprise it had not been his mother who objected. She seemed resigned to never realizing her girlhood dream of her son's being legitimized by his father. It was Nathan who had been the most vociferous in urging them to stay. When it was clear they were leaving, he bade them travel to the Far Coast. He spoke in almost reverent terms of the nobles of the Far Coast, Duke Marcus, cousin to the King, and his own Baron of Tulan, who had done everything in his power to aid those who had suffered in the massive destruction of the Far Coast at the hands of pirates a quarter century
earlier. Stefan's threats were repulsive to Nathan, whose view of the responsibilities of the nobility to the commons was at odds with the experience of most of those at the inn.
All Milo would say was that nobility in the West was vastly different to that in Darkmoor.

Erik and Freida had been gathering up their belongings, making ready for the morning coach that would take them west to Krondor. Erik was to call at the Hall of the Guild of Smiths with a letter from Nathan, explaining that his leaving the forge at Ravensburg had nothing whatsoever to do with his skills. It explained more of the situation than Erik was comfortable with having known by strangers, but Nathan had assured him the guild was like a family. The letter urged the guild to find Erik a position somewhere on the Far Coast or in the Sunset Islands.

The sound of horses entering the courtyard of the inn caused Freida to cast a worried look Erik's way. It was only two days since Greylock had burned Otto's message, but still she was worried that Stefan might act prematurely to harm her son.

Erik opened the door to the rear courtyard and found twenty men in the baronial livery dismounting, Owen Greylock at their head. “Master Greylock, what is it?”

Erik half expected to hear Owen say they had come to arrest him, but instead the Baron's Swordmaster took Erik by the arm and steered him away from the soldiers. “Your father. He suffered another seizure. We turned around yesterday afternoon, and now we must stop. His chirurgeon says he will not live to reach Darkmoor. He's being taken to the Peacock's Tail”—the most lavish inn in
Ravensburg—“and the rest of the men will be quartered in the other inns around the town. Another company rides all night to Darkmoor to fetch the Baroness. Your father will not live more than a few days.”

Erik felt surprisingly devoid of any feeling at the news of his father's impending death. The message from him had made whatever childish fantasies about the man evaporate, to be replaced by a distant image of a man unable to do the right thing by a common woman and his own child. The closest feeling Erik could muster was pity. At last he spoke. “I don't know what to say, Owen.”

“Have you given thought to our last conversation?”

“Mother and I are leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Keep out of the town square tonight, and see you are on the coach when it leaves. Stefan and Manfred are understandably distressed, and there's no telling what that hothead Stefan's capable of doing. As long as the Baron's alive, he'll probably remain close at hand, so if he doesn't catch sight of you, all should be well.” Glancing at the soldiers, he said, “I will stay here, with this guard, until I'm summoned to the Baron's side.”

Erik knew that Greylock had intentionally chosen to bring his own contingency of guards to the Inn of the Pintail, against the possibility of trouble, and he said, “Thank you, Owen.”

“Just doing as my lord would want, Erik. Now go inside and tell Milo I need all his rooms.”

Erik did as he was asked, and soon the inn was busy, with Rosalyn, Freida, and Milo all hurrying to get every room ready for guests. Each soldier saw to
his own mount, but Erik and Nathan had plenty to do fetching fodder into the barn and the large corral on the north side of the barn where twelve of the twenty mounts were herded.

Erik finished bringing in the last bale of hay for the horses, and washed up in the forge. Nathan came to stand behind him and said, “I am sorry to hear about your father, Erik.”

Erik shrugged. “I don't have much feeling about this, Nathan. Milo's been the only father I've ever known, though he acts more like an uncle. You've treated me more like a son in the last five months than Otto did my entire life. I don't know what I should be feeling.”

Nathan put his hand on Erik's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “There is no ‘should' to it, lad. You feel what you feel, and there's no right or wrong. Otto was your father, but you never knew him.”

His voice was quiet and calm as he went on, “It's changing diapers when the wife's too busy with another child's illness, or listening to the child prattle after a long tiring day because it's
your child's
prattle, that makes a father, not getting a girl pregnant. Any fool can do that. It's holding a child who's frightened at night, or tossing one in the air to make her giggle. You've had none of that from Otto. I can understand how you could feel little at his passing.”

Erik turned to regard the burly smith. “I shall miss you, Nathan. I mean what I said. You helped me understand what a father should be like.”

He embraced the older man, and they hugged for a long moment. Nathan said, “And you've given me a chance to imagine what it would have been like had my sons lived, Erik. I'll treasure that.” Then, with a
harsh barking laugh: “And you've made it hell to be my next apprentice, lad. You're a talent and you've got years of experience under your belt. I may be short-tempered with some tangle-footed boy of fourteen who has never stepped inside a forge before.”

Erik shook his head. “I somehow doubt that, Nathan. You'll be fair with him.”

“Well, let's not dwell on partings. Let's go inside and grab some food before those soldiers eat everything in sight.”

Erik laughed at that and realized he was hungry, despite the prospect of leaving the place of his birth and never returning, and the specter of his father's death at any hour.

They entered the kitchen to find Freida busy preparing food, as if it were just another night at the inn, and Rosalyn hurrying between the kitchen and the common room, while Milo fetched ale and wine from the taproom.

Erik and Nathan washed up and entered the commons. Instead of the usual loud talk, the soldiers were quietly eating and drinking, keeping their voices low. Owen sat alone at a corner table and motioned Erik and Nathan to join him.

They did, and Milo brought over three large glass goblets of wine. When he had left, Owen said, “Where are you bound for tomorrow, Erik?”

“Krondor,” he said. “To the guild office for another apprenticeship.”

“So it's west, then?”

“Yes. The Far Coast or the Sunset Islands.”

Nathan said, “They've found gems and gold in the mountains near Jonril, so the rush is on. The trading houses from the Free Cities, as well as every
adventurer, thief, and swindler, have descended there. But it also means a good opportunity, because the Duke of Crydee has asked for additional smiths, as well as other Craftmasters, to be sent there.”

Owen nodded. “This place changes little, and most of us are born into our lives with small chance of making them different. Out there, with some ambition, some thought, and a touch of luck, a common man can rise to riches or even to the nobility.”

Erik said, “Riches, with luck, I guess. But a commoner become a noble?”

Owen smiled his crooked smile. “It's not common knowledge, but the King's adviser, the Duke of Rillanon, was common-born.”

“Truth?” said Nathan.

“He did some favor or another for the late Prince of Krondor, and was given a squire's rank when he was but a lad. His wit and service to the Kingdom earned him a rapid rise, and now he is second only to royalty in power.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “There are those who claim he was not only a common boy, but a thief as well.”

Erik said, “That is impossible.”

Owen shrugged. “Nothing is truly impossible, I think.”

Erik said, “Well, maybe when he was a boy, but that was fifty years ago.”

Owen nodded. “Things change. Once, centuries ago, this was the frontier, Erik.”

Erik's brow furrowed as if he didn't understand.

Nathan said, “I grew up on the Far Coast, Erik. I think what friend Greylock means is that you'll find a different stripe out there, men who are concerned more with what you know and can do than with who
you are, or who your father was. Too many things going on to worry about rank; you've got to depend upon your neighbors. Goblins, dark elves, bandits, and other problems constantly coming at you—those make a man glad for help close by. You don't have time to worry about a lot of the things that make life here in the Kingdom the way it is.”

Greylock nodded. Erik said nothing for a moment, thinking about the possibility things might turn out right after all, when the front door of the inn opened, and Roo hurried in.

He saw Erik from across the room and quickly came through the crowded commons to where his friend sat. Nodding with as much deference as he could muster to the Baron's Swordmaster, he said, “Master Greylock, they need you over at the Peacock, sir.”

Owen threw a quick glance at Erik. His expression betrayed his worry. It couldn't be good news. He stood, said a quick good-bye, and left. Roo took his place. Nathan said, “You a squire these days, Roo?”

Roo made a face as if that remark put a bad taste in his mouth. “I was hanging around the fountain by the Growers' and Vintners' Hall and a soldier came out and told all of us to spread out and look for the Swordmaster and fetch him to the Peacock's Tail. So I told the other lads I'd come here.”

Erik smiled. “I was hoping you'd come by tonight.”

“I would have been here sooner, but Gwen was at the fountain and . . .”

Erik shook his head. “So you're back in her favor once again?”

“Trying to be,” said Roo.

Nathan said, “How'd you like to apprentice at the forge, Roo?”

It was a joke, and they all knew it, but Roo still said, “What, me get all dirty and grimy? You get your hands calloused, and the horses step on your feet! Not on your life. I have plans.”

Erik smiled, but Nathan said, “Really? What sort of plans?”

Roo glanced around the room, as if fearing to be overheard. “There are ways to make a living that have nothing to do with guilds and apprenticeships, friend smith.”

Nathan's brow furrowed. “You're going to end up in jail, Roo.”

Roo put up his hands as if protesting innocence. “No, nothing dodgy, I swear. It's just my father has been hauling enough from Krondor up to here that I'm getting pretty good at nosing out what the markets are for different things. I've saved a little money, and I'm going to invest it in a cargo one of these days.”

Nathan appeared impressed. “A shipping concern?”

“There are syndicates in Krondor and Salador that routinely underwrite the cost of freight hauls from one city to another, or cargoes for ships bound to distant ports. They have subscribers and return nice profits on their investments.”

Nathan nodded. “True, but there's risk as well. If a cargo isn't delivered on time, your profit can vanish. Worse, if bandits take the caravan, or the ship sinks, you lose everything.”

Roo looked as if this would never happen. “I plan on starting small and building up my capital for a few years.”

“What do you plan on doing to eat and put a roof over your head while you invest in these ventures?” asked Nathan.

Roo said, “Well, I haven't quite worked that out, but—”

“How much capital have you, Roo?” interrupted Nathan.

“On to thirty golden sovereigns,” he said proudly.

Nathan was impressed. “Quite a beginning. I think I'll forbear asking how you've managed to amass such a young fortune, and”—he turned to Erik—“I suggest you get back to the forge and keep out of sight. When the coach comes in the morning is time enough for your good-byes. If Master Greylock needs another word with you, I'll send him to you.”

Erik nodded and rose. Roo followed him. The two youngsters passed from the crowded common room to the kitchen, where Rosalyn was hurrying to carry a large platter of steaming greens out to the soldiers. Freida worked feverishly over her stew as if it were just another busy night at the inn and not her last in the home of her birth.

Erik walked outside with Roo, and as he passed the corral, the horses there wandered over to investigate the two boys. Erik inspected their legs out of habit. “Milo will need to order up hay tomorrow,” he muttered to Roo as he slowly walked along the fence. “This lot will have eaten the entire contents of the loft by the time they've gone.”

Roo turned and faced Erik while they were walking. He seemed to half skip, half dance to keep from tripping while walking backwards. “Erik, let me come with you.”

Erik said, “Why would you want to come with me?”