David Farland - Wizardborn

1. To prudently oversee the lands with which he has been entrusted.

2. To uphold the king’s laws, offer up the king’s taxes, and to maintain highways and other edifices of public benefit.

3. To offer up his own life, or the life of a son or suitable tenant, in the king’s service during times of war.

“Did you hear that, boys! My Waggit’s a baron now!” Scallon laughed. The big man slapped Waggit on the back and forced another mug of rum into his hand. All around, men in the inn at Carris grinned at Waggit and congratulated him.

Waggit remembered riding the king’s horse. Waggit remembered being knighted. It was better than a dream.

He closed his eyes and promised himself that he would remember those things. But it was hard to remember. He always forgot everything. He’d promised himself last night that he’d try to remember killing the reavers, but already the memories were fading. He could only remember killing two or three. He only knew that he’d killed nine of them because everyone told him so.

“Don’t just sit there squintin’ at it—drink it down, now,” Scallon shouted. “If you’re going to be a baron, you’ll have to learn to hold your liquor in something more watertight than your hand.”

Everyone laughed and pounded Waggit on the back. They leaned in so close that he could smell their breath, and he took a huge swallow. The rum burned his throat. Waggit didn’t like the feel of it, but he liked to get drunk. The only problem was that whenever he got drunk, he’d always wake up and find that his money was gone.

And the only way to keep it safe was to give it to Scallon. He’d keep it hidden good.

“Can you believe it?” Scallon shouted to the crowd. “Waggit’s a baron! He’ll be having a house and lands, and moneybags so heavy that even he won’t be able to lug them around.”

Lugby, a friend who worked the mines in Silverdale with Waggit and Scallon, said, “And I suppose you’ll be there to help him?”

Scallon laughed. He was a big man with a beard, and when he laughed, spittle flew everywhere. “Who else but his best friend? He’ll be needing a chamberlain now. Who better than me?”

“Just about anyone,” Lugby blurted.

Scallon glared at Lugby, who was old and going crippled in the back from long hours bent double in the mine. Waggit had never seen Scallon so mad. “You’ll be eating your words, now,” Scallon said in a dangerous tone. “You’ll eat them or choke on them.”

Scallon reached down with a beefy fist, gripped the long knife slung in his belt. Lugby lurched backward, terror in his pale eyes.

The room went quiet, and men retreated from the two. Waggit wondered what was going on. Why was Scallon mad enough to kill? He’d seen the big man beat others senseless before, but he’d never seen him kill.

“I—” Lugby said, his eyes flickering through the common room. “I meant no disrespect. I was only thinking that if you’re to be his chamberlain, you might be needing a good man to work the kitchens.”

Silence hung in the room for a moment as everyone waited to see how Scallon would react.

Scallon laughed heartily. “Aye, we’ll need help in the kitchens.”

Lugby began to grin at his good fortunes.

“Can he cook?” Waggit asked.

“Can he cook?” Scallon roared. “Why, he can boil you up the finest mess of beans you’ve ever tasted!”

That was good enough for Waggit.

He grinned and drank some more, until he could not feel the rum burn his throat raw any longer and the room began to spin. Waggit lost all sense of time. He stared at the spit dog treading around in its circle as a young hog roasted over the fire. He wanted to pet the dog, but he knew that the innkeeper would just slap his hands with a ladle. Innkeepers were firm about that: no stopping the dogs from their work. That’s what life was all about, after all. Work.

Waggit worked all day long, swinging his pick in the mines. Work made money. Work and beans had made him strong—strong as a bear.

Waggit roared like a bear, and everyone around him stared and laughed. So Waggit roared again and stood up, raking the air with his ringers. It was a good joke.

Scallon was talking to another fellow, a man in a greasy leather apron. After a moment, Scallon jabbed Waggit with an elbow and said, “Did you hear that? The king owes you some forcibles for killing the reavers. Nine forcibles. You’re going to be a rich man.”

“Oh, he doesn’t...owe me nothin’,” Waggit said, the words coming thick to his mouth. “He let me...he let me ride his horse.”

“Well, he does owe it, see,” Scallon said. “It’s the law. It’s an old law, written before he was born, written before we were all born. If a man kills a reaver, he can go to the king and get a forcible. That way, a brave man like you, even if he’s lowborn, can become a knight.”

“Oh,” Waggit said. The room was really spinning now, and Waggit sat and laid his head down in his hands.

“And you’ll be needing those forcibles, see.” Scallon leaned close. His face was covered with layers of sweat. Dirt from the mines had worked into the creases around his eyes. “See, you’ll be needing them to sell. You’re going to have a house and lands, and you’ll be needing some money to get things going. Like, you’ll want to buy a fine horse, and some carriages. Maybe now that you’re going to be rich, you’ll be wanting to marry Andella even.”

Once Scallon said that, Waggit could think of nothing else. Andella sold ale at the inn at Silverdale. She was the most beautiful woman ever. All the men told her so.

“You think she’d marry me?” Waggit said.

“My friend,” Scallon said in a reassuring tone. “There’s one thing in this world that I’m sure of: that trollop would sleep with a hog for enough money.”

Waggit grinned and tried to imagine Andella lying sound asleep beside a pig. His head was spinning so badly, he couldn’t manage the feat.

“So come on,” Scallon said. “Let’s you and me go raise your fortunes.”

“I can’t,” Waggit said. “I’m too drunk to walk.”

“That’s okay,” Scallon said. “I’ll help you.”

“But...I don’t want to lose nothin’.”

“You won’t lose nothing,” Scallon promised. “I’ll hide the forcibles for you, along with all the other coins you’ve given me over the years.”

Waggit looked up through bleary eyes. “Are you...you sure you won’t lose ‘em? You lost my money once!”

“Oh, that was long ago,” Scallon said. “I found it all again, remember? I brought it to you all shiny and new. You bought those boots with it.”

That was the problem. Waggit couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember Scallon ever finding his money. He couldn’t recall ever having new boots. He forgot everything. He’d even forgotten his real name. People hadn’t always called him Waggit, but he forgot what his real name was.

“Oh,” Waggit said, as Scallon lifted him to his feet.

They walked out of the inn, into the broad light of day, and for a long time, Scallon kept urging, “Come on, lad. Keep your feet moving.”

Waggit had to stop once to throw up, and it took forever to reach the duke’s keep.

The guards at the door seemed to recognize him, for they saluted with their swords.

He’d never seen such opulence in his life. He’d never been in a fine house. The duke had rich panels on his walls, and beautiful tapestries. The audience hall had the largest hearth he’d ever seen. When a wealthy man appeared, Waggit was all flustered. “Duke Paldane,” he blurted in awe.

But the small fellow with the pointed beard looked at him with crafty eyes, and said, “No, the duke is dead. I’m Chamberlain Galantine, acting in his stead. I understand that you’ve come to demand forcibles?”