As of this moment, youre a free man, Edvalt Tasman. He turned to Reinhardt. Find a scribe and have him write a free passage for Edvalt
And for Mila, interrupted the smith.
Who? asked Daylon.
My woman, Mila.
Daylon assumed he referred to one of the many camp followers, or a local girl from the city, but saw an opportunity. Have you wed her without leave?
Edvalt stiffened. As a bound man he should have sought permission to marry. He hesitated, then said, Not before a priest. We pledged to each other. We have a daughter.
Your woman is of no concern to me, said Daylon, but your daughter is, by law, my property. She was born in bondage.
The slight shift in Edvalts posture and expression were signs that both Daylon and Reinhardt recognised instantly. They showed that the smith was ready to fight with his bare hands against sword if need be.
Daylon mustered all the wisdom he had left and waved away Edvalts rising anger. He let out a long sigh and said, Ill not take your child from you, Edvalt. But in exchange you must give me your pledge.
Edvalts eyes narrowed as he said, To what end, my lord?
Ill answer that question in a moment, but first, where will you go?
Without a moments hesitation, Edvalt said, The Narrows. Ill find a village in need of a smith and begin my new life in the Covenant lands. I can forge ploughshares, carve coulters, shoe horses and mules. If I must, I will repair a blade or forge a new one He shrugged. But should I never make another weapon, Ill be content.
Daylon weighed his answer. The finest weapon-smith he had ever known would not, at least, seek service with a rival lord. The Narrows was free of armed conflict, for the time being, so Edvalt would find little demand for weapons there.
Very well, said the Baron of Marquensas, then we have no issue, but for the pledge: if you find an apprentice who trains to be your equal, you will send him to me.
Ill not put another in bondage, answered Edvalt.
Annoyed by the answer, Daylon snapped, I would not take a freeman into service against his will. You were a captive in war, and it was my right to put you to death or sell you as a slave. I did neither. Both men knew his largesse was solely due to Edvalts talent, and not any generosity of spirit on Daylons part. I will ask him to serve freely, and reward him greatly if he agrees.
But the weapon-smith seized the moment. Should I find such a lad, I will send him to you first, agreed Edvalt. If he willingly takes your service, that is his choice, but should he wish to make his own way in the world, that is also his right?
Daylon nodded. Agreed. Then we are done. Take your woman and child and travel safely. He nodded to Reinhardt. See that they are given safe conduct. As an afterthought, he said, Find him a serviceable wagon or cart, as well, so he might carry his tools with him, and give him half a weight of gold.
The captain nodded and said, As you command, my lord. He signalled to Edvalt to follow him.
Taken aback by Daylons unexpected generosity, Edvalt muttered, I thank my lord, and the two men departed.
Daylon stood alone at the entrance of his pavilion watching the finest sword maker he had ever encountered walk away. He knew the day approached when he would need many fine weapons. He was just grateful it was not today. He turned and pulled aside the canvas flap.
Stepping inside his tent, Daylon found the clean clothing set out for him by his body man, Balven. He was constantly amused by the fact that the only person he truly trusted in this life was his bastard half-brother. Balven had come to their fathers castle as a boy, to be a companion for the young heir. When their father died, Daylon had kept Balven close at hand as his body servant, but in truth he was a more trusted adviser than any of Daylons official advisers.
Balven waited beside a wooden bucket of fresh water and a heavy towel. A proper bath would have to wait until he reached home, but he could at least remove the worst of the mess from his body.
As Balven began to strip off Daylons armour, the Baron of Marquensas wondered again about the Firemane baby. What if there was a child out there, destined to plague the sleep of the four remaining kings?
Balven was the younger brother by two years, but he had been with Daylon since the age of six and could read his moods well. Daylons mother had done all she could to put a wedge between the half-brothers, but all that she had succeeded in doing was bringing them closer. Daylon had possessed a rebellious nature as a child, and he dared not reveal it to their father, so his poor mother had borne the brunt of it. As a result, the two men were far closer than master and servant.
Balven was an average-looking man of middle height, with close-cropped brown hair and dark eyes; his appearance was unremarkable, but he resembled Daylon in small ways, the set of his jaw, his brow and nose, and how he carried himself. Balven studied his brothers face as he soaped his body. You are troubled? he asked softly. He had anticipated his masters changeable mood and had a girl waiting in the corner of the tent rather than in Daylons bed, as he knew that his brothers disposition could swing in either direction after a battle. The girls brown eyes were fixed upon the Baron of Marquensas, silently awaiting his order.