Читать книгу King of Ashes - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 11

Declan sat quietly while enjoying a mug of ale. The forge had been busy since he accomplished his masterpiece as they caught up on some work put aside while the sword was completed. But finally, the tools, ploughshares, and horseshoes had been finished, and by three o’clock, Declan had fulfilled the work. There were still a few small tasks, but nothing pressing, and Edvalt had pointedly told Declan to leave early and to begin to consider his choices.

He had removed his dirty tunic and trousers, soaked through with sweat, and had poured buckets of well water over his head to clean up as best he could. Edvalt had commandeered the wooden tub for a proper scrubbing and once he had rinsed away most of the soot and grime, Declan decided he could wait for a day to bathe properly. He settled for a quick swim in the ocean, washing the salt water away with a bucket of fresh, determined to get his proper bath soon.

They had not spoken of Declan’s options since he finished the sword for Baron Bartholomy, but the decision hung over the new master smith’s every waking moment. While Declan had always known this day would come, and that he would be ready to set out and create his own future, he suddenly felt as if it had taken him by surprise. He realised that thinking about it and living it were quite different.

Edvalt had made it clear that once Baron Bartholomy had paid for his sword, the old smith would consider retirement. Good smiths were able to live better than most common men, but even they rarely earned the opportunity to retire, and often lived with their sons or daughters until death arrived to claim them. Some earned enough goodwill from a village that the people provided for their dotage, but that was rare. A few, like Edvalt, were good enough to be able to plan for the day they could no longer do justice to their craft. They earned enough coin to buy food for their remaining years and live in a quiet cottage on the edge of a town, or rent a small loft in a city.

Declan knew that Edvalt and Mila would not move in with their daughter and her husband. The old smith still had years of work left in him, but he was getting to an age when he would welcome a gentler pace. Declan understood that. Over the course of Declan’s life he had seen Edvalt maintain his skill, but he knew that his pace was slowing. Tasks that used to take an hour now took longer. Even with a talented apprentice like Jusan, Edvalt’s productivity had fallen a little.

Soon, it would reduce significantly. It was a simple fact of life. If he lived in a big city, a craftsman like Edvalt could still do well, fashioning small, valuable items, mostly armour and arms; but here in Oncon? For every sword commissioned, he had to make hundreds of horseshoes and bridal bits, repair wagon tongues and wheel rims, fix or fashion rakes or hoes, and create all the other village items that devoured the days and returned little in payment.

Declan weighed his choices. Edvalt would expect an answer soon, perhaps even within days. He knew that should he stay and buy the smithy, the transition would be an easy one, for he would simply continue to work as he had all his life, paying Edvalt a portion of his due until he owned the smithy outright. It was an appealing plan, for this was the only home he had ever really known.

Yet there was a curiosity within him, a desire to see some of the world. Garn was a vast place with diverse peoples and foreign ways. Not only were there many alien places on the twin continents and the surrounding islands, there were distant lands across the sea few men had visited. During Declan’s life, many travellers had passed through Oncon and they had piqued his interest about such imagined destinations.

A master smith, even one as young as Declan, would be assured a good life and prosperity in the right town, and with the patronage of a local baron he might even expect wealth. Who knew if there were master smiths beyond the sea? Or even if anyone across the oceans knew of jewel steel?

The lure of the unknown and the comfort of the familiar pulled at him equally. He let out a slight sigh and realised that though he would have to decide between them soon, he did not have to make a decision this very minute.

Marius, the proprietor of the room that passed for a tavern in the village, three tables and a tiny bar where only four close friends could stand, came over and said, ‘Bit early for you, Declan.’

‘Edvalt …’ he began, then decided not to go into detail and finished, ‘… gave Jusan and me the afternoon to ourselves. Work’s been hard and I thought an ale would soften the evening.’

‘Well, I guess,’ answered Marius. He was a slender man of fading years, as close to a man of means as one might find in this village. He had a steady business in ale and wine but also lent money, and as a result owned tiny interests in several local enterprises; and while Oncon had no formal inn, for a few coppers, Marius would allow travellers to sleep on the floor of the tavern room, or in the shed. He even traded in some luxuries, if asked, and had items shipped in from nearby cities. ‘You want another?’ he asked.

Declan regarded his half-finished ale and considered the question. He wasn’t much of a drinking man, and on the rare occasions he had overindulged, he had always awakened sick and miserable. Declan shook his head and said, ‘I’m good.’

The sound of a wagon rolling up before the inn caught Declan’s attention just as a familiar voice shouted, ‘Marius! Get your saggy ass out here and help me unload!’

‘Rozalee!’ said Declan with a laugh.

Marius looked annoyed, because he knew heavy lifting would be involved. ‘Declan, help that harridan unload and your ale is free.’

Declan nodded and said, ‘One more after we’re done, for both of us?’

With a feigned resignation Marius agreed, and Declan hurried outside to see one of his favourite people climbing down from the wagon’s seat. Rozalee stood almost as tall as Declan, her face lined by the sun and the wind, nights sleeping out in fair weather and foul, and most of all from laughing. Rozalee laughed a great deal.

She wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat, secured by a chin tie, and she cast it back as she threw her arms around Declan and hugged him hard without ceremony, lifting him off the ground. She was not a heavy woman, but she was muscular from years of driving mules, loading and unloading wagons. She grabbed his buttocks playfully, with both hands, and squeezed hard. ‘How’s my favourite apprentice smith?’ she asked as she let Declan go.

Laughing as he disentangled himself, Declan said, ‘It’s been years since I was an apprentice, Roz.’

Smacking his arse, she said, ‘I wasn’t talking about you, fool. I meant Jusan. He’s turning into a lovely young man.’

Declan laughed again as he moved to the rear of the wagon. It was a converted dray Declan had worked on a few times. The sides and rear boards could be removed if Rozalee needed to lash down large crates or other cargo, as they could be held in place by the iron bolts Edvalt had fashioned for it years ago. With the sides and rear boards attached, a variety of goods could be transported.

Rozalee untied a series of ropes threaded through the iron eyelets set in the heavy oiled canvas on top of the wagon. With a nimble leap she mounted the cart and rolled back the covering. Declan admired the way she moved.

No one would call Rozalee pretty – she was somewhat long-faced and her unremarkable light brown hair was now turning grey – but she possessed a confidence that attracted men like honey drew bears, and she was open about her appreciation of the attention.

She handed down the first crate to Declan, who put it next to the doorway. From the aroma it contained some variety of fresh fruit. Besides the berries found in the hills, fruit was rare in Oncon and Marius charged a lot for it. Edvalt’s wife, Mila, had been threatening to plant fruit trees behind their home for years but never had; everyone knew that this close to the sea, there was too much salt in the soil to grow anything but the heartiest of plants.

When they had unloaded three more cases, Rozalee said, ‘That’s the last of the fruit, I think until next spring.’ She handed Declan a large crate of meat and said, ‘Freshly butchered, but needs to go into the cold cellar now.’

Declan nodded and lifted the heavy crate onto his shoulder. Mutton and chicken were usually available in the village, and pork after piglets were weaned, but beef had to be shipped in: another rarity that Marius charged well for.

Declan entered the inn to find Marius conspicuously absent – the tavern keeper avoided heavy lifting as much as possible – then he moved through the small common room to the rear yard. The only structure in the ill-kept yard was a ramshackle run-in shed rarely used for horses; the few that did end up in Oncon were usually stabled at Edvalt’s place. To the left of the inn door, steps led down to the cold cellar located deep under the building. Once again Declan felt annoyed that Marius was too stingy to have built a staircase inside the inn, but quickly dismissed the feeling: it was like being upset with the tide for rising in the afternoon; it was simply the man’s nature.

Declan set down the crate and opened the unlatched wooden door, admitting just enough light so he could see. He carried the crate down the steps into the underground cellar, found a cool back corner for the meat, and set the crate down. A quick glance around told him Marius wasn’t stocking much that wasn’t local. He moved a crate of withering vegetables near the door so it would be used before turning completely. Marius wasted nothing, so Declan knew the tavern stew should be avoided for the next two or three days.

He returned to the wagon and carried several more crates down to the cold cellar, then, when he was finished, Declan found Rozalee tossing the canvas into the wagon bed. As she raised the tailgate and locked it down, she said, ‘You heading back to the smithy?’

‘I’m finishing my ale and have one for you. Marius is buying.’

‘Then I’m drinking,’ Rozalee said with a chuckle. She climbed up to the driver’s seat and turned the mules around. The animals had been to Oncon village numerous times and knew that they were only a short journey from being unhitched from their traces, watered, and fed, so the often-recalcitrant animals were eager to please as she drove off.

Declan nursed his ale until Rozalee came back. He fetched two fresh mugs of ale from Marius, who passed them over the bar with a scowl but said nothing.

Once he was seated opposite Rozalee, he asked, ‘What news?’

After taking a long pull of the ale, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, ‘The usual. War in the east; Sandura is moving against a couple of the free lords who have done something to displease Lodavico. And rumours of bandits, emboldened by the turmoil, raiding in the Covenant.’

Declan nodded. ‘You’re not the first to warn us. Though, there’s not much booty in the Covenant, so I don’t see the reason.’

‘Food, rape, a few trinkets, and little risk …’ She paused, then said, ‘Consider the men who would be tempted by that.’

Declan shrugged. ‘You’re widely travelled, you’ve seen much. I only know what I’ve experienced here. Still, you hear things. The king of Sandura can dare much in his little wars, but the first ruler to move on the Narrows will find three other kings and most of the free barons opposing him.’ He tried not to grin but couldn’t help himself.

Rozalee’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve been in a bit of an odd mood since I got here. I’ve not heard you use this tone before. What has happened?’

Declan tried not to smile. ‘I finished my masterpiece. Edvalt gave me a master’s rank.’

Rozalee stood and leaned across the table, grabbing Declan’s face between her hands, and gave him a deep kiss. Sitting down, she slapped her hand on the table and said, ‘I am going to fuck you tonight. Jusan can wait until my next visit.’

Declan didn’t know what to do other than laugh. Like several of the young men in the region, he had lost his virginity to Rozalee. It had been a rite of passage, and Rozalee was generous in her gifts but not profligate. She had rebuffed more advances than she had accepted; when she chose a young man, it was considered a mark of honour.

Declan stopped laughing and said, ‘You are serious.’

She nodded. ‘You’re a good man, Declan. And truth to tell, I’ve missed you lately.’

Feeling emboldened by the drink, he said, ‘I’ve never asked, well, because stories precede you, but … your husband, doesn’t he care about … this?’ He made a small hand motion between himself and Rozalee.

She replied, ‘My husband, if you must know, was an old man when he took me for his wife and I had barely matured enough to bear children. That was twenty-five years ago. Now he’s content to nod off after a massive midday meal and several cups of wine. His cock might rise occasionally and require the attention of one of the town girls, but many are willing because he has wealth and is generous.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘To keep them from telling anyone he lasts but a minute, then falls back to sleep.’

Rozalee looked sad. ‘It was never a meaningful union. We never had children.’ Then she brightened. ‘But I have been given the freedom to travel, as he hates to leave home; conduct our business, as he has no head for it; and do as I please with whomever I please.’ She squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes and said, ‘What troubles you?’

Declan said, ‘Do I stay, or go?’

‘Now the town has two master smiths, and needs but one.’

‘The truth is it needs only a journeyman, which will be Jusan in a few more years, and while he’s not brilliant, he is good enough. We rarely receive commissions for arms or weapons, so much of what Edvalt has taught is …’ He shrugged. ‘I liked learning the craft of armoury, but the art of making steel …’ He sighed. ‘It’s a difficult skill, and has little value when most who come to the smith need only a plough blade mended or a wagon rim replaced …’ He shrugged again, letting his sentences finish themselves. ‘It’s the craft of it that I like.’ He let his gaze wander past her, as if trying to peer into the future.

‘To go, or to stay,’ she echoed. Again putting her hand on his, she said, ‘Have you taken to a particular girl here?’

Declan laughed. ‘I have not. Most fathers in Oncon would love to see their daughters married to the smith, almost as much as they would the miller over in Trosh. In a village of fishermen and vegetable farmers, I will be considered a wealthy man in time.’

‘So no fun?’

He gave a small smile and said, ‘I didn’t say that, but a little fun during a drunken festival is not a betrothal, and I don’t know if I’m interested yet. A wife, children …’ He shrugged.

She studied his face, then said, ‘You will be. It’s buried in your nature to be a husband and father.’ She sat back. ‘But you are the type to settle down first, so you can provide well for them. If you leave, have you put away enough to start your own smithy?’

‘A little, and Edvalt will no doubt make a small gift of coin to me; it’s a smiths’ tradition.’ He looked at her, admiring how she was still the most attractive woman he knew. She had an uncommon bearing and, despite her age, a muscled and strong, lithe body. ‘And you?’ Declan asked. ‘Have you enough put by?’

She laughed loudly, then turned towards Marius and waved for two more mugs. ‘Are you worried for me?’

He shrugged. ‘You travel alone in dangerous times. Your husband is an old man, as you say. Things can happen.’

‘You’re a sweet man at heart, Declan. My husband never had a head for business. So when I married him, I made a bargain with Jack.’

Declan said, ‘His name is Jack? I just realised in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never spoken his name.’

With a wry smile, Rozalee said, ‘I try not to. Anyway, I learned the business and after a few years convinced him to let me travel with him. A year later I was travelling without him. I built up the business, so it was easy to convince him he needed to stay at home and take care of things there. To this day I don’t think he realises that I only did it to spend as little time with him as possible.’ She stopped speaking when Marius brought over their mugs.