The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

you know what that means?’

      ‘Not by his words, Erik, but I’d be a fool not to guess. It might be considered a wise thing if you were on your way to a new home when we return from Krondor. Stefan has a temper that blinds him and a dangerous nature.’

      ‘Owen?’ Erik said as Greylock made ready to ride on.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Do you think he ever really loved my mother?’

      Greylock looked startled by the question. He paused, then said, ‘To that I cannot speak. Your father was a man to hide much within. But this I can tell you: whatever you read in that missive take to heart and count an honest telling, for there is no deceit in the man’s nature.’

      He rode off, and Erik found himself alone. Then he began to laugh. Everything in his life had stemmed from a deceit. Either Greylock was a poor judge of his lord’s nature, or Otto had reformed his ways after deceiving Erik’s mother. But to Erik it was of little significance which was the case.

      Unsure of his own feelings, he began the trek home. But one thing he knew: Greylock would not take the time to underscore his father’s warning if it wasn’t real and deadly. For the first time in his life, Erik considered leaving Ravensburg. He laughed again at the irony of no more than a month’s having passed since word returned from the guild that it had approved Nathan’s registration of Erik as apprentice.

      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.

       • Chapter Three • Murder

      Erik 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