Magician: Apprentice Read online

  Pug looked around. The other boys all wore their best, for this was one of the most important days of their young lives. Each would stand before the assembled Craftmasters and members of the Duke’s staff, and each would be considered for an apprentice’s post. It was a ritual, its origins lost in time, for the choices had already been made. The crafters and the Duke’s staff had spent many hours discussing each boy’s merits with one another and knew which boys they would call.

  The practice of having the boys between eight and thirteen years of age work in the crafts and services had proved a wise course over the years in fitting the best suited to each craft. In addition, it provided a pool of semiskilled individuals for the other crafts should the need arise. The drawback to the system was that certain boys were not chosen for a craft or staff position. Occasionally there would be too many boys for a single position, or no lad judged fit even though there was an opening. Even when the number of boys and openings seemed well matched, as it did this year, there were no guarantees. For those who stood in doubt, it was an anxious time.

  Pug scuffed his bare feet absently in the dust. Unlike Tomas, who seemed to do well at anything he tried, Pug was often guilty of trying too hard and bungling his tasks. He looked around and noticed that a few of the other boys also showed signs of tension. Some were joking roughly, pretending no concern over whether they were chosen or not. Others stood like Pug, lost in their thoughts, trying not to dwell on what they would do should they not be chosen.

  If he was not chosen, Pug—like the others—would be free to leave Crydee to try to find a craft in another town or city. If he stayed, he would have to either farm the Duke’s land as a franklin, or work one of the town’s fishing boats. Both prospects were equally unattractive, but he couldn’t imagine leaving Crydee.

  Pug remembered what Megar had told him, the night before. The old cook had cautioned him about fretting too much over the Choosing. After all, he had pointed out, there were many apprentices who never advanced to the rank of journeyman, and when all things were taken into account, there were more men without craft in Crydee than with. Megar had glossed over the fact that many fishers’ and farmers’ sons forsook the Choosing, electing to follow their fathers. Pug wondered if Megar was so removed from his own Choosing he couldn’t remember that the boys who were not chosen would stand before the assembled company of Craftmasters, householders, and newly chosen apprentices, under their gaze until the last name was called and they were dismissed in shame.

  Biting his lower lip, Pug tried to hide his nervousness. He was not the sort to jump from the heights of Sailor’s Grief should he not be chosen, as some had done in the past, but he couldn’t bear the idea of facing those who had been chosen.

  Tomas, who stood next to his shorter friend, threw Pug a smile. He knew Pug was fretting, but could not feel entirely sympathetic as his own excitement mounted. His father had admitted that he would be the first called by Swordmaster Fannon. Moreover, the Swordmaster had confided that should Tomas do well in training, he might be found a place in the Duke’s personal guard. It would be a signal honor and would improve Tomas’s chance for advancement, even earning him an officer’s rank after fifteen or twenty years in the guard.

  He poked Pug in the ribs with an elbow, for the Duke’s herald had come out upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The herald signaled to a guard, who opened the small door in the great gate, and the Craftmasters entered. They crossed to stand at the foot of the broad stairs of the keep. As was traditional, they stood with their backs to the boys, waiting upon the Duke.

  The large oaken doors of the keep began to swing out ponderously, and several guards in the Duke’s brown and gold darted through to take up their positions on the steps. Upon each tabard was emblazoned the golden gull of Crydee, and above that a small golden crown, marking the Duke a member of the royal family.

  The herald shouted, “Hearken to me! His Grace, Borric conDoin, third Duke of Crydee, Prince of the Kingdom; Lord of Crydee, Carse, and Tulan; Warden of the West; Knight-General of the King’s Armies; heir presumptive to the throne of Rillanon.” The Duke stood patiently while the list of offices was completed, then stepped forward into the sunlight.

  Past fifty, the Duke of Crydee still moved with the fluid grace and powerful step of a born warrior. Except for the grey at the temples of his dark brown hair, he looked younger than his age by twenty years. He was dressed from neck to boot in black, as he had been for the last seven years, for he still mourned the loss of his beloved wife, Catherine. At his side hung a black-scab-barded sword with a silver hilt, and upon his hand his ducal signet ring, the only ornamentation he permitted himself.

  The herald raised his voice. “Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Lyam conDoin and Arutha conDoin, heirs to the House of Crydee; Knight-Captains of the King’s Army of the West; Princes of the royal house of Rillanon.”

  Both sons stepped forward to stand behind their father. The two young men were six and four years older than the apprentices, the Duke having wed late, but the difference between the awkward candidates for apprenticeship and the sons of the Duke was much more than a few years in age. Both Princes appeared calm and self-possessed.

  Lyam, the older, stood on his father’s right, a blond, powerfully built man. His open smile was the image of his mother’s, and he looked always on the verge of laughter. He was dressed in a bright blue tunic and yellow leggings and wore a closely trimmed beard, as blond as his shoulder-length hair.

  Arutha was to shadows and night as Lyam was to light and day. He stood nearly as tall as his brother and father, but while they were powerfully built, he was rangy to the point of gauntness. He wore a brown tunic and russet leggings. His hair was dark and his face clean-shaven. Everything about Arutha gave one the feeling of quickness. His strength was in his speed: speed with the rapier, speed with wit. His humor was dry and often sharp. While Lyam was openly loved by the Duke’s subjects, Arutha was respected and admired for his ability, but not regarded with warmth by the people.

  Together the two sons seemed to capture most of the complex nature of their sire, for the Duke was capable of both Lyam’s robust humor and Arutha’s dark moods. They were nearly opposites in temperament, but both capable men who would benefit the Duchy and Kingdom in years to come. The Duke loved both his sons.

  The herald again spoke. “The Princess Carline, daughter of the royal house.”

  The slim and graceful girl who made her entrance was the same age as the boys who stood below, but already beginning to show the poise and grace of one born to rule and the beauty of her late mother. Her soft yellow gown contrasted strikingly with her nearly black hair. Her eyes were Lyam’s blue, as their mother’s had been, and Lyam beamed when his sister took their father’s arm. Even Arutha ventured one of his rare half smiles, for his sister was dear to him also.

  Many boys in the keep harbored a secret love for the Princess, a fact she often turned to her advantage when there was mischief afoot. But even her presence could not drive the day’s business from their minds.

  The Duke’s court then entered. Pug and Tomas could see that all the members of the Duke’s staff were present, including Kulgan. Pug had glimpsed him in the castle from time to time since the night of the storm, and they had exchanged words once, Kulgan inquiring as to his well-being, but mostly the magician was absent from sight. Pug was a little surprised to see the magician, for he was not properly considered a full member of the Duke’s household, but rather a sometime adviser. Most of the time Kulgan was ensconced in his tower, hidden from view as he did whatever magicians do in such places.

  The magician was deep in conversation with Father Tully, a priest of Astalon the Builder and one of the Duke’s oldest aides. Tully had been adviser to the Duke’s father and had seemed old then. He now appeared ancient—at least to Pug’s youthful perspective—but his eyes betrayed no sign of senility. Many a keep boy had been impaled upon the pointed gaze of those clear grey eyes. His wit and tongue
were equally youthful, and more than once a keep boy had wished for a session with Horsemaster Algon’s leather strap rather than a tongue-lashing from Father Tully. The white-haired priest could nearly strip the skin from a miscreant’s back with his caustic words.

  Nearby stood one who had experienced Tully’s wrath upon occasion, Squire Roland, son of Baron Tolburt of Tulan, one of the Duke’s vassals. He was companion to both Princes, being the only other boy of noble birth in the keep. His father had sent him to Crydee the year before, to learn something of the management of the Duchy and the ways of the Duke’s court. In the rather rough frontier court Roland discovered a home away from home. He was already something of a rogue when he arrived, but his infectious sense of humor and ready wit often eased much of the anger that resulted from his prankish ways. It was Roland, more often than not, who was Princess Carline’s accomplice in whatever mischief she was embarked upon. With light brown hair and blue eyes, Roland stood tall for his age. He was a year older than the gathered boys and had played often with them over the last year, as Lyam and Arutha were frequently busy with court duties. Tomas and he had been boyish rivals at first, then fast friends, with Pug becoming his friend by default, because where Tomas was, Pug was certain to be nearby. Roland saw Pug fidgeting near the edge of the assembled boys and gave him a slight nod and wink. Pug grinned briefly, for while he was as often the butt of Roland’s jokes as any other, he still found himself liking the wild young Squire.

  After all his court was in attendance, the Duke spoke. “Yesterday was the last day of the eleventh year of the reign of our Lord King, Rodric the Fourth. Today is the Festival of Banapis. The following day will find these boys gathered here counted among the men of Crydee, boys no longer, but apprentices and freemen. At this time it is proper for me to inquire if any among you wishes to be released from service to the Duchy. Are there any among you who so wish?” The question was formal in nature and no response was expected, for few ever wished to leave Crydee. But one boy did step forward.

  The herald asked, “Who seeks release of his service?”

  The boy looked down, clearly nervous. Clearing his throat, he said, “I am Robert, son of Hugen.” Pug knew him, but not well. He was a netmender’s son, a town boy, and they rarely mixed with the keep boys. Pug had played with him upon a few occasions and had a sense the lad was well regarded. It was a rare thing to refuse service, and Pug was as curious as any to hear the reasons.

  The Duke spoke kindly. “What is your purpose, Robert, son of Hugen?”

  “Your grace, my father is unable to take me into his craft, for my four brothers are well able to ascend to the craft as journeymen and masters after him, as are many other netmender’s sons. My eldest brother is now married and has a son of his own, so my family no longer has room for me in the house. If I may not stay with my family and practice my father’s craft, I beg your grace’s leave to take service as a sailor.”

  The Duke considered the matter. Robert was not the first village boy to be called by the lure of the sea. “Have you found a master willing to take you into his company?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Captain Gregson, master of the ship Green Deep from Margrave’s Port is willing.”

  “I know this man,” said the Duke. Smiling slightly he said, “He is a good and fair man. I recommend you into his service and wish you well in your travels. You will be welcomed at Crydee whenever you return with your ship.”

  Robert bowed, a little stiffly, and left the courtyard, his part in the Choosing done. Pug wondered at Robert’s adventuresome choice. In less than a minute the boy had renounced his ties with his family and home and was now a citizen of a city he had never seen. It was custom that a sailor was considered to owe his loyalty to the city that was his ship’s home port. Margrave’s Port was one of the Free Cities of Natal, on the Bitter Sea, and was now Robert’s home.

  The Duke indicated the herald should continue.

  The herald announced the first of the Craftmasters, Sailmaker Holm, who called the names of three boys. All three took service, and none seemed displeased. The Choosing went smoothly, as no boy refused service. Each boy went to stand next to his new master.

  As the afternoon wore on and the number of boys diminished, Pug became more and more uncomfortable. Soon there were only two boys besides Pug and Tomas standing in the center of the court. All the Craftmasters had called their apprentices, and only two of the Duke’s household staff beside the Swordmaster had not been heard from. Pug studied the group on the top of the steps, his heart pounding with anxiety. The two Princes regarded the boys, Lyam with a friendly smile, Arutha brooding on some thought or another. The Princess Carline was bored by the entire affair and took little pains to hide the fact, as she was whispering to Roland. This brought a disapproving look from Lady Marna, her governess.

  Horsemaster Algon came forth, his brown-and-golden tabard bearing a small horsehead embroidered over his left breast. The Horsemaster called the name of Rulf, son of Dick, and the stocky son of the Duke’s stableman walked over to stand behind the master. When he turned, he smiled condescendingly at Pug. The two boys had never gotten along, the pock-scarred boy spending many hours taunting and tormenting Pug. While they both worked in the stable under Dick, the stableman had looked the other way whenever his son sprang a trap on Pug, and the orphan was always held responsible for any difficulty that arose. It had been a terrible period for Pug, and the boy had vowed to refuse service rather than face the prospect of working next to Rulf the rest of his life.

  Housecarl Samuel called the other boy, Geoffry, who would become a member of the castle’s serving staff, leaving Pug and Tomas standing alone. Swordmaster Fannon then stepped forward, and Pug felt his heart stand still as the old soldier called, “Tomas, son of Megar.”

  There was a pause, and Pug waited to hear his own name called, but Fannon stepped back and Tomas crossed over to stand alongside him. Pug felt dwarfed by the gaze of all upon him. The courtyard was now larger than he had ever remembered it, and he felt ill fashioned and poorly dressed. His heart sank in his chest as he realized that there was no Craftmaster or staff member present who had not taken an apprentice. He would be the only boy uncalled. Fighting back tears, he waited for the Duke to dismiss the company.

  As the Duke started to speak, sympathy for the boy showing clearly in his face, he was interrupted by another voice. “Your Grace, if you would be so kind.”

  All eyes turned to see Kulgan the magician step forward. “I have need of an apprentice and would call Pug, orphan of the keep, to service.”

  A wave of murmuring swept through the assembled Craftmasters. A few voices could be heard saying it wasn’t proper for a magician to participate in the Choosing. The Duke silenced them with a sweep of his gaze, his face stern. No Craftmaster would challenge the Duke of Crydee, the third-ranking noble in the Kingdom, over the standing of one boy. Slowly all eyes returned to regard the boy.

  The Duke said, “As Kulgan is a recognized master of his craft, it is his right to choose. Pug, orphan of the keep, will you take service?” Pug stood rigid. He had imagined himself leading the King’s army into battle as a Knight-Lieutenant, or discovering someday he was the lost son of nobility. In his boyish imaginings he had sailed ships, hunted great monsters, and saved the nation. In quieter moments of reflection he had wondered if he would spend his life building ships, making pottery, or learning the trader’s skill, and speculated on how well he would do in each of those crafts. But the one thing he never thought of, the one dream that had never captured his fantasies, was that of becoming a magician.

  He snapped out of his shocked state, aware the Duke patiently awaited his response. He looked at the faces of those before him. Father Tully gave him one of his rare smiles, as did Prince Arutha. Prince Lyam nodded a slight yes, and Kulgan regarded him intently. There were signs of worry upon the magician’s face, and suddenly Pug decided. It might not be an entirely proper calling, but any craft was better than none. He stepped f
orward and caught his own heel with his other foot, and landed face down in the dust. Picking himself up, he half scrambled, half ran to the magician’s side. The misstep broke the tension, and the Duke’s booming laughter filled the courtyard. Flushing with embarrassment, Pug stood behind Kulgan. He looked around the broad girth of his new master and found the Duke watching, his expression tempered by a kind nod at the blushing Pug. The Duke turned back to those who stood waiting for the Choosing to end.

  “I declare that each boy present is now the charge of his master, to obey him in all matters within the laws of the Kingdom, and each shall be judged a true and proper man of Crydee. Let the apprentices attend their masters. Until the feasting, I bid you all good day.” He turned and presented his left arm to his daughter. She placed her hand lightly upon it and they passed into the keep between the ranks of the courtiers, who drew aside. The two Princes followed, and the others of the court. Pug saw Tomas leave in the direction of the guard barracks, behind Master Fannon.

  He turned his attention back to Kulgan, who was standing lost in thought. After a moment the magician said, “I trust neither of us has made a mistake this day.”

  “Sir?” Pug asked, not understanding the magician’s meaning. Kulgan waved one hand absently, causing his pale yellow robe to move like waves rippling over the sea. “It is no matter, boy. What’s done is done. Let us make the best of things.”

  He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come, let us retire to the tower where I reside. There is a small room below my own that should do for you. I had intended it for some project or another, but have never managed to find the time to prepare it.”

  Pug stood in awe. “A room of my own?” Such a thing for an apprentice was unheard of. Most apprentices slept in the workrooms of their master, or protected herds, or the like. Only when an apprentice became a journeyman was it usual for him to take private quarters.