Michael Manning - Mageborn - The Blacksmith’s Son

The sun was shining through the clouds as Timothy worked, weeding the garden near the kitchen yard. It was a small garden, nowhere near large enough to serve all the people that the castle fed each day. Most of the food was brought in on carts. Instead the cook used this garden to grow herbs and spices, and small things that were best fresh. Timothy frequently got the task of making sure it was weeded properly, but the cook did all the harvesting himself, when he needed something from it.

Most of the other boys living in and around Lancaster Castle disliked weeding, but Timothy never minded the job. He had lost his mother while still a baby and only had a few friends among the children nearby, so he often had too much free time, even with the tasks he was given. The garden was full of growing things, and dirt, not to mention all manner of insects and small creatures, like frogs. He quite liked frogs. Since there was no rush for him to finish the cook never complained if he took hours to complete the task, so long as he didn’t damage the plants. So he weeded, and talked to frogs, weeded some more and then got distracted by a grasshopper. Small boys are easily distracted and Timothy was no exception.

He looked up as a shadow passed over him, Father Tonnsdale stood there, smiling at him. “There you are! I’ve been looking high and low for you Timmy!”

“I was right here the whole time Father! Cook likes me to weed and he don’ mind if it takes a while,” he gave Father Tonnsdale his best smile.

The older priest tousled his hair, smiling at him, “It’s alright boy, I just needed you to fetch something from town for me.”

“Sure Father, I can finish this later,” Timothy replied, dusting himself off.

Father Tonnsdale gave him directions to a house in town that had what he needed. He told Timothy it would be a small but heavy package, possibly jars. He was to fetch it straight away and bring it back to the chapel.

“What’s in the package?” Timothy asked curiously.

The old man gave him a conspiratorial wink, “It's a secret, a surprise for Mordecai when he gets better. Something like an heirloom, he’ll be glad when he gets it. Just remember, don’t tell anyone till after you get back to me with it. We can tell him together tomorrow if he’s better.”

Excited Timothy took off at a run, full of the endless energy of youth. He liked Mordecai and had worried that he might not recover from his fall. Being given something he could do to help made him feel better.

The morning after the hunt Devon found himself waiting outside the Duke’s chambers. He had been summoned at dawn and although he had arrived within a quarter of an hour he had been waiting for at least an hour since then. It was a sign of the good Duke’s displeasure that he left him in the sitting room for so long and Devon knew it.

A man stuck his head into the room, “The Duke will see you now.” Devon took a deep breath and followed, he was sure this would be unpleasant. Inside the room the Duke sat at a small table, having just finished his breakfast. There were no other chairs, although Devon was sure he had seen several there just a few days before. Another subtle hint, he would be kept standing.

“You called for me your grace?” he spoke, since James Lancaster seemed disinclined to start the conversation.

“I wanted to speak with you regarding yesterday’s events,” James was not one to beat about the bush once a conversation was underway, and he looked tense. Devon noticed there were two armed guardsmen within the chamber, which was close to an outright insult. Surely the Duke did not plan to arrest him?

“Ah, I expected that your grace. Young Dorian seemed most upset after we parted ways,” that was an understatement, but Devon wasn’t going to put words in the Duke’s mouth.

“If by most upset, you mean he stormed up here and demanded your immediate arrest, trial and execution, then yes, he was considerably perturbed.” The Duke’s face left little doubt how he felt about the matter.

“I had not realized he seriously considered me at fault. I thought his temper might cool after hearing my explanation.” Devon thought nothing of the sort, but he wouldn’t be caught giving even a hint that he might consider himself at fault. He knew from long experience that once the hounds caught the scent of blood nothing would satisfy them but more.

“As he told the tale he nearly took your head from your shoulders before you did something to help Mordecai. What was done to him before, and what you did to help him were unclear. That hardly sounds like a man who might be ready to forgive and forget.” The Duke’s eyes never left Devon’s.

“Your grace, in all honesty, I had nothing to do with the accident and I was hard pressed to think how to help him once I reached him. He had struck a tree and wasn’t breathing. Dorian assumed I was at fault without proper cause. If I were not so considerate of his hot blood I might challenge him for the insult,” he projected an aura of righteous indignation.

“You would be a fool to do so, he would have your guts on the ground within the first minute,” James paused for a moment, “If you did nothing to cause the accident, what was it you did to save his life?”

“If I may be frank your grace, I am ashamed to admit that young Dorian had me in such a state that I did not know what to do. He seemed ready to remove my head and had me at a serious disadvantage. So I pretended I had some way to make him breathe again. In fact it was the grace of the gods themselves that Mordecai began to recover when he did, else I am sure I would not be here now,” Devon projected embarrassment.

“It is convenient no one saw the fall. My men also report no sign that the horse was injured before it threw him either. Dorian claims you are some sort of sorcerer.” James was pulling no punches today.

“If I were I would not resort to such crude means, but to answer your question no, I am not. To my knowledge there are none of any noteworthy power left,” half truths came as easily to Devon as breathing water did to fish, and he smiled inwardly.

“It seems there is no proof of wrongdoing then,” the Duke sighed as if disappointed. “There are however, other things that have reached my ears. Things which have made me wonder at your character, Lord Devon.”

“I would be happy to answer your questions your grace. It is difficult to defend oneself when one’s accusers are absent and unknown.” Devon replied.

The Duke stood then, and Devon noticed he wore a sword, highly unusual in his own chambers. Clearly the Duke was prepared in case Devon might incriminate himself, “I am told that you accosted one of my staff, rudely forcing yourself upon her.” James’ eyes flashed as he said this.

Devon’s mind raced. What did he know? What had he been told, and by whom? The crime would not be enough to do more than fine him, and possibly send him packing; his station protected him from more than that. Within a second he decided that the Duke would be unlikely to press the case, he meant to embarrass him. “Who said this, your grace? It is unfair to accuse me with what seem to be baseless rumors,” he kept his face smooth.