Erik half expected to hear Owen say they had come to arrest him, but instead the Baron’s Swordmaster took Erik by the arm and steered him away from the soldiers. “Your father. He suffered another seizure. We turned around yesterday afternoon, and now we must stop. His chirurgeon says he will not live to reach Darkmoor. He’s being taken to the Peacock’s Tail”—the most lavish inn in Ravensburg—“and the rest of the men will be quartered in the other inns around the town. Another company rides all night to Darkmoor to fetch the Baroness. Your father will not live more than a few days.”
Erik felt surprisingly devoid of any feeling at the news of his father’s impending death. The message from him had made whatever childish fantasies about the man evaporate, to be replaced by a distant image of a man unable to do the right thing by a common woman and his own child. The closest feeling Erik could muster was pity. At last he spoke. “I don’t know what to say, Owen.”
“Have you given thought to our last conversation?”
“Mother and I are leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Keep out of the town square tonight, and see you are on the coach when it leaves. Stefan and Manfred are understandably distressed, and there’s no telling what that hothead Stefan’s capable of doing. As long as the Baron’s alive, he’ll probably remain close at hand, so if he doesn’t catch sight of you, all should be well.” Glancing at the soldiers, he said, “I will stay here, with this guard, until I’m summoned to the Baron’s side.”
Erik knew that Greylock had intentionally chosen to bring his own contingency of guards to the Inn of the Pintail, against the possibility of trouble, and he said, “Thank you, Owen.”
“Just doing as my lord would want, Erik. Now go inside and tell Milo I need all his rooms.”
Erik did as he was asked, and soon the inn was busy, with Rosalyn, Freida, and Milo all hurrying to get every room ready for guests. Each soldier saw to his own mount, but Erik and Nathan had plenty to do fetching fodder into the barn and the large corral on the north side of the barn where twelve of the twenty mounts were herded.
Erik finished bringing in the last bale of hay for the horses, and washed up in the forge. Nathan came to stand behind him and said, “I am sorry to hear about your father, Erik.”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t have much feeling about this, Nathan. Milo’s been the only father I’ve ever known, though he acts more like an uncle. You’ve treated me more like a son in the last five months than Otto did my entire life. I don’t know what I should be feeling.”
Nathan put his hand on Erik’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “There is no ‘should’ to it, lad. You feel what you feel, and there’s no right or wrong. Otto was your father, but you never knew him.”
His voice was quiet and calm as he went on, “It’s changing diapers when the wife’s too busy with another child’s illness, or listening to the child prattle after a long tiring day because it’s your child’s prattle, that makes a father, not getting a girl pregnant. Any fool can do that. It’s holding a child who’s frightened at night, or tossing one in the air to make her giggle. You’ve had none of that from Otto. I can understand how you could feel little at his passing.”
Erik turned to regard the burly smith. “I shall miss you, Nathan. I mean what I said. You helped me understand what a father should be like.”
He embraced the older man, and they hugged for a long moment. Nathan said, “And you’ve given me a chance to imagine what it would have been like had my sons lived, Erik. I’ll treasure that.” Then, with a harsh barking laugh: “And you’ve made it hell to be my next apprentice, lad. You’re a talent and you’ve got years of experience under your belt. I may be short-tempered with some tangle-footed boy of fourteen who has never stepped inside a forge before.”
Erik shook his head. “I somehow doubt that, Nathan. You’ll be fair with him.”
“Well, let’s not dwell on partings. Let’s go inside and grab some food before those soldiers eat everything in sight.”
Erik laughed at that and realized he was hungry, despite the prospect of leaving the place of his birth and never returning, and the specter of his father’s death at any hour.
They entered the kitchen to find Freida busy preparing food, as if it were just another night at the inn, and Rosalyn hurrying between the kitchen and the common room, while Milo fetched ale and wine from the taproom.
Erik and Nathan washed up and entered the commons. Instead of the usual loud talk, the soldiers were quietly eating and drinking, keeping their voices low. Owen sat alone at a corner table and motioned Erik and Nathan to join him.
They did, and Milo brought over three large glass goblets of wine. When he had left, Owen said, “Where are you bound for tomorrow, Erik?”
“Krondor,” he said. “To the guild office for another apprenticeship.”
“So it’s west, then?”
“Yes. The Far Coast or the Sunset Islands.”