The Blacksmith’s Son

Chapter 11

Return Home

Regarding the differences in power between a mage and a channeler, otherwise known as a ‘saint’. A mage is, in most cases a free agent, given that his power comes from within, while a channeler is beholden to the source of his power. Although both achieve their effects through the use of aythar a mage must rely upon his own control and his own reserves. A channeler is partly controlled by his deity, therefore his control is provided in large degree by his god and his reserves are much less limited. The channeler is largely restricted by two other factors: his credos, for he may not act against the wishes of his god, and his human frailty, a factor scholars refer to as ‘burnout’. If too much power is channeled one may destroy one’s health and possibly the ability to channel as well. A wizard’s own power is rarely great enough for burnout to be a possibility although some exceptions have been known.

~Marcus the Heretic,

On the Nature of Faith and Magic

I rose early for a change and for the first time in days I felt as if my mind and body were in harmony. I have lived according to a dawn to dusk schedule for most of my life, so the late nights had really thrown my body out of whack. I also had a plan, things to be a’doing. The feeling of purpose gave me renewed vigor.

I hadn’t told anyone yet but I had decided the night before to return home today. I had already begun to feel some homesickness. After all I was just the son of a humble blacksmith. The politics and intrigue of court life wore on my nerves. I had no stamina for it. I wasn’t going to spend the night however; I intended to ride back before nightfall. The idea that I had the night before required a lot of wide open space, and I wanted a place where I wouldn’t create a panic with my experiment.

My home suited that purpose perfectly, out in the country we had no close neighbors and if anyone did happen to be in the vicinity, the smithy was often the source of odd noises. I would have to explain matters to my parents beforehand though. Even had I not planned my ‘test’ I needed to do that. My sudden departure had left my parents in the dark.

I borrowed a horse from Dorian’s father, there being fewer questions that way, and began riding home. It took me close to an hour but the weather was nice and the palfrey I was riding had a smooth gait. I was in a fine mood by the time I got there. My only worry was how my parents would react to my new abilities. I’m pretty sure that it's not every day your son comes home to tell you he’s developed a knack for magic. I guessed my mom would have the most trouble, she has difficulty with surprises. Dad would probably ask me if it would help with the metal somehow. He was very practical that way.

I found my father hard at work. He saw me come in and nodded at me, directing me to the bellows with a glance. I got to pumping. Half an hour later he set the piece he was working on aside to cool slowly. Annealing it was called, to take the temper out. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be back for a few more days,” he said.

“A lot has happened, I’m going back this evening, but I need to talk to you and mom,” I replied.

“She’s in the house I think, let me wash up and we’ll go in. She’ll probably want to feed you some of our leftovers.” His face was still but his voice had a smile in it.

A while later, after some bacon and hash-browns; we sat at the table together. Slowly I began to tell them of the things that had happened to me. It took more time than I thought, even with me leaving out the parts about Penny. I didn’t feel it was my place to discuss what had happened to her. Throughout all of it my father sat quietly, his stern face deep in thought. Mother looked as though she might interrupt a few times but he shushed her and she held her peace. When I finished she got up, “I have to hang the wash out. I’ll be back in a bit.” Her tone was tense.

“What’s wrong with mom?” I asked.

“She’s just having trouble facing the future, she’ll be ok in a little while,” he answered me. “Go on and do your ‘test’. Just make sure its far enough away from the cows that you don’t sour their milk.”

“I’ll try.”

He thumped me on the back, “Go on, I’ll talk to your mother. We’ll have more to say when you get back. We just need some time to chew on all this.” I had to love him. He might be quiet and taciturn, but it would take a lot more than learning his son was a mage to make my Dad lose his calm demeanor.

I walked away from the house and when I looked back I could see them talking. Their discussion looked rather heated, at least for Mom. I kept walking, I’d find out what was wrong when I came back. Once I had gone a long way I checked around to make sure our few cows were elsewhere. After I had reassured myself of that I thought about what I planned to do.

The fireworks had given me the idea. I would combine the spell for light with something to produce a loud noise. I thought of it as a ‘flashbang’. Some people tell me I’m terrible with names. I checked myself to make sure I was still shielded. Then I started.

I focused on a point about thirty yards away and gathered my will, “Lyet ni Bierek!” I used my will like a whip, snapping quickly at the point I had chosen. The result surprised me.

A flash of light blinded me, accompanied with a sound like a cannon, a deep cracking boom so loud and sudden that it made me stumble back. Dad was right to worry about the cows, I thought to myself. What I had accomplished was creating an effect similar to an explosion, but without the damage. I repeated my experiment, this time placing it close to the ground, to see if it made any impression on the earth. It didn’t. I continued, making them further away each time, since my ears were already ringing. It seemed I could place them a great distance away. Possibly over a hundred yards or more, although it became more of a strain the further out I put them.

After an hour I had thoroughly scared all the wildlife into finding more peaceful areas to relocate to. I returned to the house, wondering what Mom might think of my war against the quiet of the countryside. I found them sitting in the house, back at the table. It didn’t look good.

My mother was flushed and her eyes were puffy. She had been crying. Dad looked tired, his eyes focused on a small box on the kitchen table. “Is everything ok?” I asked.

I expected Dad to answer, given how Mom looked but she spoke instead, “No. It isn’t ok, but your Father has convinced me that it is time to show you this.” Her eyes looked at the box.

“Does this have something to do with my new abilities?” I was worried, whatever was in that box had upset my mother in a way that I had never seen anything else do. Whatever it was might change everything.

“Well sort of…” my father started.

“Hush Royce! She gave this to me. You may have decided for all of us, but it’s my responsibility!” Mom was in tears but she gave me a direct look, “Mordecai, this is from your mother, your real mother. She trusted this to me to give to you when you were older, when you needed to know. She and I both hoped you would be grown before you saw it.” She glared at my father as if he had sprouted horns.

“What’s in it?” I asked uncertainly.

“A letter, from her to you. She wrote it here, in this room when you were just a baby. It’s the last thing she did before she died. It’s yours.” Her voice sounded as if the world were ending.

I reached for the box and my father put his hand over mine, “Son, what you’ll find in that box is your mother’s love for a son she couldn’t raise. You will also find her pain.” He uncovered my hand and looked away. I had never seen my father cry, but his eyes were wet when he told me that.

I lifted the wooden lid. It was attached by two delicate hinges, my father’s work. Inside the box was lined with velvet and a heavy surcoat lay folded neatly. It was a dark maroon color, with golden trim and a golden hawk spreading its wings in the center. Later I would come to know that its posture was called, ‘rampant’.

“It’s your mother’s tabard,” said Mom. “She was a daughter of the House of Cameron.”

I nodded dumbly and pulled it out, letting it unfold. I tried to imagine the woman who had been wearing it.

“She was tall,” said my father. “Nearly as tall as I am, and strong limbed; she had blond hair and blue eyes. Eyes like yours son, though I guess you get your hair from your father.”

Underneath it was a folded piece of parchment. I lifted it carefully and unfolded it. Then I began to read:

My Son,

It pains me that these will be the only words you ever receive from me. Trust me when I tell you that your father and loved you dearly and told you so often when you were yet a babe. I am entrusting you to Meredith Eldridge as I will not survive more than a few days at most. She is a good woman and I have come to respect her while she has cared for me here. I hope that you grow loving her as I have loved you, as I still love you.

My name is Elena di’Cameron and I was married to a great man, your father, Tyndal Ardeth’Illeniel. He was the last and best wizard of his line. Given your parentage you may well inherit his powers, but he will not be there to guide you. What knowledge he might have shared is gone now, lost in the fire that consumed Castle Cameron, my childhood home.

The household was poisoned, and assassins came in the night, the Children of Mal’goroth if I am right. A fanatical cult obsessed with one of the dark gods. Your father and I fought to preserve you that night, but we failed in protecting ourselves. I failed. I was bound by oath and bond to protect your father. I was Anath’Meridum, one of the special guards that have guarded the old lines of mageblood over the generations. That is how I met him, but our love could not be contained in a simple bond, and so we married. You are the result.

At your father’s request I forsook my vows and left him that night, taking you to safety, or so I hope. There is so much more to say, but I have not the strength to write it all. I told Miri as much as I could in the time I have had. I have also informed the Duke of Lancaster so that he might look over you from afar. Now that you have read this you may wish to seek him out, he will know more than I could possibly write here.

Above all, do not be angry with Miri. I begged her not to tell you these things until you were older. None of this has been her fault. She and Royce were simply kind enough to care for a stranger, thinking nothing of the risk they put themselves into. They are good people, the salt of the earth, the sort of folk your father always sought to protect. Now they protect you, and for that I am eternally grateful.

All my love,

Elena di’Cameron

I stared into space. My world was coming apart and being reformed in ways that I could not recognize. There was much more in Elena’s letter than I ever hoped for, and much less. I cannot describe the emotions running through me at that time. I don’t even have names for them. “Is that it?” I asked finally.

“No Mordecai, there’s more.” My mother spoke now, “Your mother had very little time with us but she told us of the night she sought to escape with you,” and she proceeded to tell me. Her words faltered a time or two as there were things in them that were hard to say. It isn’t easy to tell someone of the death of their parents, even if they never knew them.

As she went on I began to ask questions. We talked until late in the afternoon. At last there was nothing more she could tell me. Meredith Eldridge looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, unsure how I might view her now.

My feelings were such that I didn’t know how to express them, but a few things hadn’t changed. Meredith and Royce Eldridge were still my parents. “Mom, stop looking at me like that. I still love you. You will always be my mother. I just have an extra one now.” I looked at my father, “and I am still the blacksmith’s son.” There was a lot of hugging after that. My Dad, who is normally very reserved, put his arms around both of us.

“I need to go.” I said.

“What will you do,” asked my father.

“Nothing for now, I will talk to the Duke and see what he can add. I am not going to go mad seeking revenge if that’s what you’re afraid of, I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Yet, I added mentally. I put the letter back in the box, but I kept the tabard. I had plans for that. I went outside and started saddling the horse I had borrowed. My father walked behind me and as I started to mount he put his hand on my shoulder.

“Wait, I have something for you,” he said, and he led me to the smithy.

“Your mother had a sword with her when I found her. She told me it was the blade of one of the men who slew your father. She wanted nothing to do with it, her own sword was gone, but I kept it.” He walked to the back and drew out a long iron bound box.

“I am not a sword smith, but even I could tell the blade was poorly made. I took the metal and melted it down for bar stock.” That surprised me. Normally my father bought his stock iron from the foundries in Albamarl. It was difficult and expensive for a small smithy like ours to do its own smelting. He had taken a lot of trouble to do this. “I did not have the skills, so it took me years, but I thought you might want something like this one day.”

He opened the box and nestled inside was a sword. It was a simple thing, straight and true, the edges finely honed. The guard was plain but the steel pommel was inset with the Cameron arms. The base of the blade carried the maker’s mark of Royce Eldridge. As far as I knew it was the only weapon he had ever crafted aside from knives and similar tools. He was not fond of violence.

“I did not make this for your vengeance. I did this to show that even from the ashes of wickedness and tragedy something of beauty can arise. I made this hoping the same for you. Use it for yourself; use it for defending those who cannot protect themselves, as your true father would have. Do not shame either of us.” Then he hugged me, again. Twice in one day, surely he must be getting senile. I didn’t complain though.

He sheathed it with a scabbard that had been stored alongside it in the box and gave it to me. I buckled it on, feeling awkward for I had never worn a sword, much less learned to use one. Then at last I got mounted and began to ride slowly away. Before I crossed the rise that would block the view of our house from my sight I looked back. He still stood there in the yard, watching me. Royce Eldridge is a blacksmith, and his work had made him strong, but at that moment he seemed old to me.

I rode on to Lancaster with the twilight casting deep shadows about me.