Shadow of a Dark Queen by Raymond E. Feist Page A

your own, and become an independent smith. With your talentyou’ll make a living. But without a guild badge you’ll never set up shop in any but the rudest villages, unless you wish to travel to the frontier. For no noble will trust his horses and armor to any but a guildmaster, and the rich common folk to no less than a guild journeyman. And that means, no matter how gifted you are, you’ll always be nothing more than a common tinker.”
    Erik remained silent, and after a moment Nathan said, “Thoughtful, is it? That’s good. Now, here’s the choice of it: you can stay and learn and perfect your skills and I’ll count myself a lucky sod for having a second pair of trained hands around, belonging to someone I don’t have to teach every tiny thing. Or you can brood and be resentful, and think you know as much as I, and be useless to us both. There’s only room for one master in this forge, boy, and I am he. So there’s the end of it, and there’s the choice. Do you need time to think on this?”
    Erik paused, then said, “No. I need no time to think about it, Master Nathan.” Sighing, he added, “You are correct. There is only one master in a forge. I . . .”
    â€œSpit it out, boy.”
    â€œI have been responsible around here for so long I feel as if it is my forge, and that I should have been given it by the guild.”
    Nathan nodded once. “That’s understandable.”
    â€œBut it’s not your fault Tyndal was a slacker and my time here counts for nothing.”
    â€œNone of that, boy—”
    â€œErik. My name is Erik.”
    â€œNone of that, Erik,” said Nathan; then suddenly he swung hard and connected a roundhouse right thatknocked Erik onto his backside. “And I told you, interrupt me again and I’d cease being civil. I am a man of my word.”
    Erik sat rubbing his jaw, astonishment on his face. He knew the smith had pulled the blow, but he could feel the sting of it anyway. After a moment he said, “Yes, sir.”
    Nathan put out his hand and Erik took it. The smith pulled Erik to his feet. “I was about to say that any time spent learning a craft counts. You only lack credentials. If you’re as good as you think you are, you’ll be certified in the minimum seven years. You’ll be older than most journeymen when you seek your own forge, but you’ll be younger than some, trust me on that. There are slower lads that don’t leave their master’s forge until they are in their late twenties. Remember this: you may be coming late to your office, but your learning started four years earlier than most boys’ as well. Knowledge is knowledge, and experience is experience, so you should have a far shorter time of it from journeyman to master. In the end, it will all work out.”
    Turning slowly, as if examining the smithy once again, he said, “And from what I see here, if you can keep your head right, we’ll get along fine.”
    There was an open friendliness in that remark which caused Erik to forget his stinging jaw. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    â€œNow, show me where I sleep.”
    Without being told, Erik picked up the smith’s travel bag and cloak, and motioned. “Tyndal had no family, so he slept here. There’s a small room around back, and I sleep in the loft up there.” Erik pointed to the only place he’d called his own for the last sixyears. “I never thought about moving into Tyndal’s room—habit, I guess.” He led the smith out the rear door and to the shed that Tyndal had used for his bedroom.
    â€œMy former master was drunk most of the time, so I fear this room is likely to be . . .” He opened the door.
    The smell that greeted them almost made Erik gag. Nathan only stood a moment, then stepped away as he said, “I’ve worked with drunkards before, lad, and that’s the smell