report. It was a mistake the scholar would regret, he’d see to that. A few minutes later Master Fridrick entered his study. Duke Thorold deliberately ignored him. Finally the scholar coughed slightly to make his presence known.
“You wished to see me, my Lord?” The old scholar was wearing a long gray tunic with various smudges and ink stains. His hair was plastered to his head and pale scalp showed through as Fridrick stood before him, head bowed low.
“Yes, I did.” Thorold said.
Fridrick straightened but kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. Thorold smiled and gazed steadily at his scholar until the man swallowed nervously.
“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” Thorold asked.
“You wish to discuss any progress I’ve had on the ancient weapons?” Fridrick’s voice trembled slightly.
“Correct. And I wish to hear it from you! Not some stuttering youngster.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord. There was nothing new and I thought not to waste your time.” The scholar bowed low again.
“I will decide what wastes my time, not you.”
“Yes my Lord Duke. I assure you, I am doing all I can to uncover the secrets to the ancient weapons. Since we found that family history that referenced the Brotherhood of the Throne, I’ve had no luck finding any living relatives. It seems that the old man who died of the fever truly was the last of his line. None of the interviews with his neighbors has turned up anything of interest. As I indicated previously, the weapons that have been collected all seem to date from the time of King Wolde to about the time of King Marto.”
“And you think that there is some significance to this?”
“I must do more research, my Lord, but it seems that all these weapons were forged before the Church of the One-God was present in Soule.”
Thorold nodded at the scholar. “Made for followers of the old gods, yes, that fits. Especially since a few of these weapons have been found in the hands of Aruntian witches.” And one of the oldest weapons they’d found was the knife he himself had taken from a witch.
“Exactly so, my Lord.”
When Fridrick sighed with relief, Thorold smiled at him. “That was not so tedious, was it Master Fridrick?”
“No my Lord Duke. I will not send a servant in my stead again.” Fridrick bowed to him and backed away.
“Good.” Thorold waited until the scholar was almost to the door. “That boy you sent, who is he?”
Fridrick looked up quickly. “He is my niece’s son, my Lord.”
“As a reminder to you of your failure he is now my indentured servant,” Thorold said.
Fridrick closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped.
“I will, of course, allow him to serve you for as long as it pleases me.”
Fridrick bowed his head. “And if I may ask, my Lord, what price is his bond? I must inform my niece.”
“Can’t you guess my good scholar? The price of the lad’s bond is the solution to the puzzle of the ancient steel. Now, be off. I’m sure you are eager to get back to your tasks.”
After the scholar shuffled from the room, Thorold looked at the cache of weapons on the wall behind his desk. These were among the oldest of the ancient weapons he’d been collecting. And then there was the first one he’d collected, the one hidden in his desk drawer. He opened the drawer and flicked the catch to release the false bottom. He idly traced a finger over the hilt of the knife that lay in the drawer. It was very old, and magic. He’d felt that magic himself, used against him. But the knife had killed its owner effectively enough in the end. He supposed he should thank the witch, in a way. It was her knife that had started him down this path.
It was over six years ago. And though at first he’d simply wanted to find a weapon with magic that he could use, the discovery of that family history had changed his plans. If the old man’s sword hadn’t been of interest to him he’d never have bothered with the documents. But he needed to
“You wished to see me, my Lord?” The old scholar was wearing a long gray tunic with various smudges and ink stains. His hair was plastered to his head and pale scalp showed through as Fridrick stood before him, head bowed low.
“Yes, I did.” Thorold said.
Fridrick straightened but kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. Thorold smiled and gazed steadily at his scholar until the man swallowed nervously.
“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” Thorold asked.
“You wish to discuss any progress I’ve had on the ancient weapons?” Fridrick’s voice trembled slightly.
“Correct. And I wish to hear it from you! Not some stuttering youngster.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord. There was nothing new and I thought not to waste your time.” The scholar bowed low again.
“I will decide what wastes my time, not you.”
“Yes my Lord Duke. I assure you, I am doing all I can to uncover the secrets to the ancient weapons. Since we found that family history that referenced the Brotherhood of the Throne, I’ve had no luck finding any living relatives. It seems that the old man who died of the fever truly was the last of his line. None of the interviews with his neighbors has turned up anything of interest. As I indicated previously, the weapons that have been collected all seem to date from the time of King Wolde to about the time of King Marto.”
“And you think that there is some significance to this?”
“I must do more research, my Lord, but it seems that all these weapons were forged before the Church of the One-God was present in Soule.”
Thorold nodded at the scholar. “Made for followers of the old gods, yes, that fits. Especially since a few of these weapons have been found in the hands of Aruntian witches.” And one of the oldest weapons they’d found was the knife he himself had taken from a witch.
“Exactly so, my Lord.”
When Fridrick sighed with relief, Thorold smiled at him. “That was not so tedious, was it Master Fridrick?”
“No my Lord Duke. I will not send a servant in my stead again.” Fridrick bowed to him and backed away.
“Good.” Thorold waited until the scholar was almost to the door. “That boy you sent, who is he?”
Fridrick looked up quickly. “He is my niece’s son, my Lord.”
“As a reminder to you of your failure he is now my indentured servant,” Thorold said.
Fridrick closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped.
“I will, of course, allow him to serve you for as long as it pleases me.”
Fridrick bowed his head. “And if I may ask, my Lord, what price is his bond? I must inform my niece.”
“Can’t you guess my good scholar? The price of the lad’s bond is the solution to the puzzle of the ancient steel. Now, be off. I’m sure you are eager to get back to your tasks.”
After the scholar shuffled from the room, Thorold looked at the cache of weapons on the wall behind his desk. These were among the oldest of the ancient weapons he’d been collecting. And then there was the first one he’d collected, the one hidden in his desk drawer. He opened the drawer and flicked the catch to release the false bottom. He idly traced a finger over the hilt of the knife that lay in the drawer. It was very old, and magic. He’d felt that magic himself, used against him. But the knife had killed its owner effectively enough in the end. He supposed he should thank the witch, in a way. It was her knife that had started him down this path.
It was over six years ago. And though at first he’d simply wanted to find a weapon with magic that he could use, the discovery of that family history had changed his plans. If the old man’s sword hadn’t been of interest to him he’d never have bothered with the documents. But he needed to
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