Shadow of a Dark Queen. Raymond E. Feist
man took a quick step forward and put his hand on Erik’s shoulder, gripping him firmly. ‘I think I know how you feel. But law is law. You’re a guild apprentice –’
‘No.’
The smith’s brows lowered. ‘No? Didn’t your master register you with the guild?’
With conflicting emotions, anger and ironic amusement, Erik said, ‘My former master was drunk most of the time. I’ve conducted the business of this forge since I was ten years of age, Master Smith. For years he promised to take the journey to Krondor or to Rillanon, to register my apprenticeship with the guild office. For the first three years I begged him to send a message by Kingdom Post, but after that … I was too busy to continue begging. He’s been dead for two months now, and I’ve done well enough tending the barony’s needs.’
The man stroked his chin and then shook his head. ‘This is a problem, youngster. You’re three years older than most who begin their apprenticeship –’
‘Begin!’ said Erik, his anger now coming to the fore. ‘I can match skills with any guild smith –’
Nathan’s expression darkened. ‘That’s not the point!’ he roared, his own anger at being interrupted giving him volume enough to silence Erik. ‘That’s not the point,’ he repeated more quietly when he saw that Erik was listening. ‘You may be the finest smith in the Kingdom, in all of Midkemia, but no one at the guild knows this. You have not been listed on the roster of apprentices, and no one with a guildmaster’s rank has vouched for your work. So you must begin –’
‘I will not apprentice for seven more years!’ said Erik, his temper threatening to get the better of him.
Nathan said, ‘Interrupt me again, boy, and I’ll cease being civil with you.’
Erik’s expression showed he was not in the least bit apologetic, but he stayed silent.
Nathan said, ‘You can go to Krondor or Rillanon and petition the guild. You’ll be tested and evaluated. If you show you know enough, you’ll be allowed to apprentice, or perhaps you’ll even get journeyman’s rank, though I doubt that seriously; even if you’re the best they’ve ever seen, there’s still the politics of it. Few men are willing to grant to another rank without the sweat to have earned it. And there’s always the possibility they’ll call you a presumptuous lout and throw you into the street.’ The last came with a hard tone, and suddenly Erik realized that this man had spent at least seven years as an apprentice and perhaps twice that as a journeyman before gaining his master’s badge – and to him Erik must sound a whining child.
‘Or you can apprentice here, in your hometown with your family and friends, and be patient. If you are indeed as well taught as you claim, I’ll certify you as quickly as I can, so you can petition for a forge of your own.’
Erik looked as if he was again going to object that this was his forge, but he said nothing. Nathan continued, ‘Or you can set out today, on your own, and become an independent smith. With your talent you’ll make a living. But without a guild badge you’ll never set up shop in any but the rudest villages, unless you wish to travel to the frontier. For no noble will trust his horses and armor to any but a guildmaster, and the rich common folk to no less than a guild journeyman. And that means, no matter how gifted you are, you’ll always be nothing more than a common tinker.’
Erik remained silent, and after a moment Nathan said, ‘Thoughtful, is it? That’s good. Now, here’s the choice of it: you can stay and learn and perfect your skills and I’ll count myself a lucky sod for having a second pair of trained hands around, belonging to someone I don’t have to teach every tiny thing. Or you can brood and be resentful, and think you know as much as I, and be useless to us both. There’s only room for one master in this forge, boy, and I am he. So there’s the end of it, and there’s the choice. Do you need time to think on this?’
Erik paused, then said, ‘No. I need no time to think about it, Master Nathan.’ Sighing, he added, ‘You are correct. There is only one master in a forge. I …’
‘Spit it out, boy.’
I have been responsible around here for so long I feel as if it is my forge, and that I should have been given it by the guild.’
Nathan nodded once. ‘That’s understandable.’
‘But it’s not your fault Tyndal was a slacker and my time here counts for nothing.’
‘None of that, boy –’
‘Erik. My name is Erik.’
‘None of that, Erik,’ said Nathan; then suddenly he swung hard and connected a roundhouse right that knocked Erik onto his backside. ‘And I told you, interrupt me again and I’d cease being civil. I am a man of my word.’
Erik sat rubbing his jaw, astonishment on his face. He knew the smith had pulled the blow, but he could feel the sting of it anyway. After a moment he said, ‘Yes, sir.’
Nathan put out his hand and Erik took it. The smith pulled Erik to his feet. ‘I was about to say that any time spent learning a craft counts. You only lack credentials. If you’re as good as you think you are, you’ll be certified in the minimum seven years. You’ll be older than most journeymen when you seek your own forge, but you’ll be younger than some, trust me on that. There are slower lads that don’t leave their master’s forge until they are in their late twenties. Remember this: you may be coming late to your office, but your learning started four years earlier than most boys’ as well. Knowledge is knowledge, and experience is experience, so you should have a far shorter time of it from journeyman to master. In the end, it will all work out.’
Turning slowly, as if examining the smithy once again, he said, ‘And from what I see here, if you can keep your head right, we’ll get along fine.’
There was an open friendliness in that remark which caused Erik to forget his stinging jaw. He nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now, show me where I sleep.’
Without being told, Erik picked up the smith’s travel bag and cloak, and motioned. ‘Tyndal had no family, so he slept here. There’s a small room around back, and I sleep in the loft up there.’ Erik pointed to the only place he’d called his own for the last six years. ‘I never thought about moving into Tyndal’s room – habit, I guess.’ He led the smith out the rear door and to the shed that Tyndal had used for his bedroom.
‘My former master was drunk most of the time, so I fear this room is likely to be …’ He opened the door.
The smell that greeted them almost made Erik gag. Nathan only stood a moment, then stepped away as he said, ‘I’ve worked with drunkards before, lad, and that’s the smell of sour sickness. Never seek to hide in a wine bottle, Erik. It’s a slow and painful death. Meet your sorrows head on, and after you’ve wrestled with them, put them behind.’
Something in his tone told Erik that Nathan wasn’t simply repeating an aphorism but was speaking from belief. ‘I can put this room right, sir, while you take your ease at the inn.’
‘I’d best make myself known to the innkeeper; he is to be my landlord, after all. And I could use something to eat.’
Erik realized he hadn’t thought of that. The office of guild smith might be granted by the guild and a patent for a town might be exclusive, but otherwise the smith was like any other tradesman, forced to make a profit the best he knew how, and responsible for setting up his own place of business. Erik said, ‘Sir, Tyndal had no family. Who …’
Nathan put his hand on Erik’s shoulder. ‘Who should I be paying for all these tools?’
Erik nodded.
Nathan said, ‘My own tools will be coming by freight hauler any day now. I have no desire to take what is not rightfully mine, Erik.’ He scratched his day’s growth of whiskers as he thought. ‘When you’re ready to leave Ravensburg and begin your own forge, let us assume they go with you. You were his last