The Apprentice Read online

  Rowan thought it rude to ignore a guest for so long, but he said nothing.

  They continued to wait, and just as Rowan was beginning to grow weary of it, a large bearded man came outside, coughing to clear his throat.

  He was well built and seemed large, despite standing at least a head shorter than Baird. The man’s shoulders and arms were thick with muscle and his body was covered in sweat. He took a dirty rag from his belt and wiped his face, which was only slightly dirtier than the rag itself. When finished, he tucked the rag back where it came from and looked about, shading his eyes from the sun.

  His gaze found Rowan and Baird standing across the street and he grinned.

  “Baird,” Jared exclaimed, stepping forwards and widening his arms in greeting. “It is always good to see you, though you do not stop by very often.”

  “It is good to see you as well, Jared. Though you are not quite as tall as I remember you being the last time I visited. Have you grown shorter?”

  “You take that back!” Jared’s shout only made Baird grin.

  “We used to be of a similar height,” Baird whispered to Rowan. “Then I grew taller and stronger and he did not.”

  Rowan looked up at his master and then over at the smith. Baird was certainly larger, but Rowan doubted that anyone would consider the smith a small man.

  “I am as I always have been, Baird. And you are still the size of a small mountain.”

  Jared the smith now stood only a few paces away. The man was about a full hand taller than Rowan. His black hair was pulled back out of his face.

  “What is the reason for this visit?” Jared asked. “I am a busy man and I have work to do.”

  “This is my apprentice, Rowan,” Baird said. “I came to ask you to forge a blade for him.”

  Jared ignored Baird as he spoke and focused on Rowan, who was reeling from what his master had just said. “Perhaps we should go inside where we can speak at length. It seems that we have much to catch up on.”

  * * *

  “How long has it been since I saw you last—two years? Three?” Jared stared at Baird from where he stood leaning against a work bench. He had taken them in off the streets, to a house of sorts built behind the forge. It was a small building, with a small front room that was meant for dining and a larger back room with several cots, presumably where the apprentices slept.

  Rowan sat at the table with Baird, having kept silent since Baird had announced him as his apprentice. At the time, Jared had seemed interested in Rowan—in Baird’s apprentice—yet now he was focused solely on Baird.

  “It has been less than three years,” Baird said, “of that I am certain. That would have been around the time that I returned from the South. I visited you often after I returned from the Grey; I remember gifting you that stone.”

  “I remember that. Smooth as glass and black as the night. You told me it had fallen from the sky.”

  “It was the truth,” Baird said, though Rowan could tell that the smith remained skeptical.

  “So where have you been since then? Last I heard, you were in the East heading to Lauratrea. Something about a diplomatic mission or some other business. Now I find that you are back in Estoria and you have an apprentice. There is much that I am missing.”

  “Lauratrea.” Baird spoke the name of the country as though it told the story for itself. It took him a moment before he spoke again.

  “I was in Lauratrea. For a time.” Something about the way Baird spoke told Rowan that the time his master had spent in Lauratrea had been significant. He spoke as though he had many memories that had been forgotten. “That was some time ago; at least two years. I returned to Estoria. To the king and to my duties.”

  “I don’t have time for a saga, Baird. Do not spin me a tale like a bard, just tell me how you have come to have an apprentice.” Jared spoke with agitation, though it was clear that he was interested in what Baird had to say.

  “As you wish. It will be easier this way, I suppose, for I will not have to delve into details that are best left unspoken.”

  So Baird told the tale of how he met with Rowan. He offered many more details that he had left out when telling others, but he did not tell everything. Baird spoke of travelling to the North, but he gave no reason for his trip nor offered any details of what he did and Jared did not ask.

  When Baird finished, Jared turned to face Rowan.

  “So you are going to be Baird’s apprentice.”

  “Rowan is my apprentice.” Baird interjected. “I have been teaching him for some time now and I have already talked with King Alden. His apprenticeship is official.”

  “I’ve been telling you to take on an apprentice for years. I’ve already got three or four myself,” Jared said, indicating the figures that were working in the front. “And I was not the first to give you that advice. Yet you always refused, preferring to be alone. What made you change your mind?”

  “I felt as though the time was right, and then I found Rowan.”

  “Bah. That is no answer,” Jared said. He stared at Rowan. “It is obvious that you are no lordling—you hold yourself differently and you have none of their arrogance. Yet you don’t look very much like the soldier type, boy. Can you even handle a sword?”

  “Of course I can use a sword,” Rowan said.

  “Is that so?” Jared moved forward and looked Rowan up and down, inspecting his body. “It would appear that you have begun training, as your master said. But have you ever used a real blade before? Do you know what it means to wield something so fine that it could be an extension of your very body?”

  Rowan hesitated. “No,” he admitted, ashamed. “I have never fought with an actual sword.”

  “You have never fought before at all, with or without a blade. I do not fault you for that, for we are living in an era of peace where a man is not made, or unmade, by the blade and his skill with it.” Jared turned to Baird. “You expect me to make this boy a blade? Do you have any idea how much time and energy it takes to forge a custom weapon?”

  “Yes, I do. And as my apprentice, Rowan will require such a blade. Since you are the best sword smith in the country, I came to you with my request.”

  “No. I don’t have the time to waste making a sword for some boy who has not even used a blade before. I am sorry, Baird, but you will have to find someone else to forge him a weapon.”

  Jared turned to walk away, but Baird stopped him.

  “Do this for me.”

  “I said no, Baird.” Jared pushed past Baird and walked back outside to the forge.

  “You owe me, Jared,” Baird called after him, standing and moving to follow. Rowan could tell his master was frustrated. “If you forge me a blade then I will consider your debt paid.”

  Rowan and Baird waited outside the back of the forge but there was no response from inside.

  “Let’s leave, master. It was a kind gesture, but I don’t want to be the cause of trouble between you and your friend.”

  Rowan was sincere in his gesture, but his spirits were crushed. A blade was something that could mark him as Baird’s apprentice. It was a symbol that would define him, and although he could get one elsewhere, it would have been nice to have it forged by the same man who had created Baird’s sword, Sidia.

  “You are right,” Baird replied, crushing Rowan’s spirits with a response that was expected. “Jared is a good friend but he is stubborn. I should have requested the blade on my own to avoid getting your hopes up.”

  Rowan did not say anything as they made their way back out to the street. They turned and walked away, leaving the forge behind them.

  Neither one said anything as they walked back towards the castle. The sun had risen above the horizon and the streets were now crowded with people. Rowan saw another pair of boys fighting each other with pretend swords, perhaps the same ones as before.

  They were walking up to the castle gates when someone called out to them. Baird ignored the call but Rowan turned around. A blackened
form was jogging towards them.

  “Baird,” Rowan said, gaining his master’s attention. Baird turned around and stopped, allowing the figure to catch up. It was not Jared, as Rowan had thought it might be when he first saw the blackened figure.

  “Master Jared asked me to find you,” the boy said, panting. He took a moment to catch his breath and then continued. “He says that he considers his debt to be paid in full. He also requests that you return tomorrow.”

  Baird smiled. “We will do so. Tell my friend that he has my thanks.”

  Chapter 16

  When they made their return trip to the forge, Rowan was hard pressed to stay calm. The prospect of receiving his own blade was exciting, though Baird had warned him that Jared would not have a blade ready and waiting for him.

  Rowan accepted that news with only minor disappointment. He was consumed by the thought of his own sword. It would be something to truly mark him as apprentice to a great knight, and it would be entirely his.

  Rowan and Baird arrived early to a scene similar to the previous day. The forge was hot and alive with activity as the apprentices went about their work. Hammers sounded in a discordant rhythm and heat emanated from the fires of the workplace. Even standing outside, Rowan could feel the heat from within, the warmth washing over him.

  One boy, tall and strong, swung a large hammer to strike a piece of metal being held over an anvil. The man holding the tongs reached out, tapped the metal with a smaller hammer, and the apprentice swung again to strike the indicated spot. Rowan watched as they worked.

  Soon he would have a blade just like that one.

  Jared did not come out to greet them immediately, but he did not make them wait long. The smith finished his work and passed it to another, coming to meet them outside.

  “Baird and Rowan! Greetings,” Jared said, acknowledging them as though their visit was unexpected yet welcome. It was a very different greeting from the previous day, when the smith had been distracted and terse. “It is good to see the two of you again.”

  “Hello.”

  Baird nodded to his friend and Rowan gave a slight bow.

  “Baird, you will owe me for this,” Jared said seriously. “There is much to do and I am quite busy. I have a number of lords who have requested blades from me, and all of them want their weapons to be elegant and artistic. They want weapons to display, and those require a lot of work. I actually have to pay attention to those blades because certain expectations must be met, and lords are very particular.”

  Baird said nothing, but Jared did not seem to expect any kind of response. He continued talking, though this time he was focused on Rowan.

  “The reason I had you return is to find out what kind of blade I need to make for you, Rowan. It is not so difficult to make a sword, most of my apprentices could do so without my assistance, but if a blade is not made for a purpose then it will never be utilized.”

  Rowan nodded. The smith’s words made little sense to him but he was not going to argue. The man was going to make him a sword.

  Jared took a step forward and grabbed Rowan’s wrist, pulling his arm forward and brushing the sleeve back.

  “What—,” Rowan tried to pull away but the smith had a strong grip and held him tightly.

  “Calm down, boy. I’m just examining your arm.” Jared pulled at Rowan’s wrist, angling his arm this way and that, studying it intently. “You have a good amount of muscle in your arm and in your wrist.” He turned to Baird. “You said you have been training him to use a sword, correct?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. That will make things somewhat easier.” Jared released Rowan’s arm. “I still wish the boy could have some experience using an actual sword so that he would know the weight, but I’ll just have to deal with what we have.”

  “Will it make much difference whether or not I know how much a true sword weighs?” Rowan asked.

  Jared spun around. “Of course it does! If you don’t know how much a sword weighs then you can’t tell me what feels right. I won’t know how heavy or light, how big or small, how long or short to make the sword. But the fact that you’ve at least practiced the art of swordsmanship will help me know what kind of blade to forge. Follow me.”

  Jared led Rowan through his shop and into the open area out back. Baird followed.

  As they passed through the workshop, Rowan felt the incredible heat of the forge and he was glad that he did not have to remain there. It was a wonder that anyone could stand to work in such heat while wearing the sturdy apron and heavy layers required when working with hot metals.

  The smith retrieved two wooden blades from a rack. One was tossed to Rowan, who was not ready and almost failed to catch it. The other was given to Baird.

  “I want to see how you fight. Baird, allow Rowan to lead so that I can better observe his style.”

  Baird nodded but Rowan remained unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do.

  “You just want me to spar with Baird?” Rowan asked.

  “Yes. Don’t do anything fancy that you wouldn’t normally do. I am not watching to judge your skill, I just want to get a sense of your style of combat. Do not show off.”

  “Alright,” Rowan replied.

  Though there was no reason for it, he felt slightly nervous about being watched. It was an added pressure he found difficult to ignore.

  Rowan held his weapon out in front of him, testing its weight. For the duration of his journey with Baird, they had sparred with wooden sticks that were light and straight. After arriving in Estoria, they had switched to wooden practice blades similar to the one he held now. But the wooden sword felt strange in his hands, different from the ones they had sparred with at the castle. This one was thinner and not as wide, but somehow it was heavier.

  Rowan shifted his grip slightly and took a practice swing. Despite the weight, it felt better to hold.

  “It feels heavy for a wooden sword. Good, but heavy.”

  Baird’s mouth tugged up in a grin. He seemed pleased that Rowan had spoken.

  “The sword is only wooden on the outside,” Jared said. “The core is weighted with metal so that it has a more realistic weight and feel to it. It is good that you noticed. Had you not been able to identify such a simple thing, I would have regretted my promise of making you a blade.”

  Looking closer, Rowan could see a circular seam on the bottom of the hilt where the wood had been hollowed to allow for the weight to be inserted.

  “Attack when you are ready, Rowan.” Baird stood on guard, waiting patiently for Rowan to initiate.

  Gripping the blade tightly, Rowan lunged towards Baird.

  The space available to them was small. Though he had no intention of retreating, it felt odd to attack knowing that he would not be able to give ground. He knew that fighting against Baird would be more difficult when forced into close quarters, though Baird’s extended reach would make him slightly slower.

  Rowan hoped that would be enough to allow for a somewhat even fight. He did not wish this to earn him extra bruises.

  He closed the distance between him and his master in a single lunge. He was pleased that the weighted sword did not slow him down very much. It was heavy but his arms were strong and had grown used to holding a makeshift blade.

  His master easily parried the blow but Rowan struck again before Baird could attack. He could almost match his master for speed, and with a shorter reach in close quarters, he was able to act quickly.

  Baird parried several blows and responded with his own attacks. The pair went on trading blows, landing several but not stopping.

  All thought of being observed left Rowan as he fought. It was not quite the same as when he sparred with his master, for Baird was not attacking as he usually did. He held his strength in check, though he moved as quickly as ever.

  Rowan was focused on nothing but the dance of blades as he moved and responded.

  Their bout did not last and only a few blows were landed, but it was enough
to cause Rowan to break out into a light sweat. Concentrating as he was, it seemed like only moments had passed before Jared halted them. When he did, Rowan was still breathing evenly.

  “That’s good enough. I have seen what I need to see.”

  “Good,” Baird said. He tossed his stick to Jared, who caught it deftly.

  Rowan chose to walk over and hand his weapon to the smith, who took both instruments and returned them to their proper places.

  “It was never truly an option, but I wanted to make sure that you would need a true blade like Sidia, a traditional blade rather than something small like a rapier or heavy like a great sword or a claymore.”

  “You considered a claymore?” Baird seemed ready to laugh at the idea. “Jared, you are a master sword smith yet you speak as though you are a novice.”

  “Not all great swords are the same,” the smith said defensively. “When I make a blade, it is made specific to the man who will wield it. It is how I distinguish my work. If he had fought as you do, using power and strength and little else, I would have forged a great sword to fit him.”

  As he spoke, the smith paced back and forth. Occasionally he would stop and stare at nothing, scratching his beard as he did so, though he did not seem to notice the motion.

  “The blade-work clearly shows your master’s teachings.” The smith began thinking aloud. “The style is different from the master’s. Fluid and quick, with less power behind the blows. His size must be taken into account as well. Maybe…no, that would not fit quite right. Perhaps a one-handed sword?”

  Rowan watched Jared pace, muttering to himself as though he was entirely oblivious to the presence of either Rowan or Baird. After a short while, Jared stopped pacing and went inside. He returned with several swords, which he lay on a table.

  “Try this.”

  Rowan took the sword offered to him. It was short, but its weight surprised him. He held it tightly and examined it. The grip would only allow for one hand.

  “May I try swinging it?”

  “Of course. Why else would I have given it to you?” Jared replied.