“Heir? Birthright?” Samuel took a step back in shock. If hearing about his father out of nowhere after all these years had been a surprise, it was nothing compared to this news. He expected to feel anger, excitement, or even horror at the pronouncement. Instead, he just felt disbelief.
“Why me?” He asked, his face finally settling into a suspicious frown. “What makes me so special out of all the children he’d had?”
His confusion was mirrored on Arthur’s face now. “Other children? You were his only child, Samuel.”
He let out a snort of laughter at that. He knew bards and their propensity to bed women in every tavern they visited. The chances that he was the only one sired from the man’s lust was so preposterous as to be funny. Arthur’s face darkened at his laugh, and he immediately regretted his reaction. The man looked dangerous enough. He had a forged sort of strength that belied his plain steward’s robes.
“Sorry,” Samuel said, reigning in his laughter with an effort. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Now Arthur was the one who looked regretful. He took half a step back so that the doorway was actually clear once again, but Samuel didn’t close it. Arthur offered a slight bow of his head. “No, there is no need for you to apologize to me. It was I who stepped out of line. You are, of course, perfectly entitled to feel how you do.”
Samuel, thrown by the unexpected reversal of the man’s mood, now felt even more abashed. He stepped back as well, waving Arthur past him. “Please, come in.”
Arthur hesitated a moment, then strode smoothly across the threshold, taking in the interior of the simple house. He had no note of judgment in his eyes, which came as a surprise. The man had served a noble for most of his life, but he looked faintly interested as he inspected Samuel’s home, even slightly approving.
“This is about the size of my home as a boy,” he offered when he noticed Samuel watching him. “My mother was exceptionally well off for a peasant, and our home was rather larger than the others in the outer residential district.”
“Is it a big city, Milagre?” Samuel asked, genuinely curious. “I heard once that over a hundred thousand people live there.”
“Over a million, actually,” Arthur corrected. He grinned at Samuel’s surprise. “You’ll see. It’s four miles from end to end, and the city grows every year. They say that Milagre never truly sleeps, and it’s true. The Night Market is especially lively.”
“So,” Samuel said, bringing them back on track. “You’re supposed to take me to Milagre?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. All the explanation is in that scroll there. Your father wrote it for you especially.”
He looked down at the tightly furled scroll again, this time noting that it was sealed. A hawk was stamped into the splodge of ink keeping it closed. Unbroken. So at least Arthur had integrity, he thought, breaking the wax seal open and unrolling it.
Samuel,
I know that no written letter can fully explain or justify the way I treated you early in life, nor will I attempt to. I can only offer my sincere words and hope that this gift I give at the end of my life can go some small way to making up for it.
I did not want to have a child, you see. I’ve always been rather against the idea, even as a young man myself. There are too many great places in this world to see for me to be tied down with a child. As you know, there is also magic in this world. I lost myself for nearly a full year in my life, and I have no memory of what happened in that time. When I finally came to, I found that I not only had a wife, but also a newborn child.
You looked so much like me that it pained me to leave, but I knew that I couldn’t stay with a family that had been forced upon me. Still, I remembered my one and only son for all of my life, and these past twenty years have been dedicated to building a lasting legacy that I can hand down to you and your mother. As I write this, I am an old man, and I can feel my end coming.
So while I could not have been there to watch you grow, I know you were cared for by a truly exceptional woman. I believe I could have been happy with Elena, in another life where I could make my own choices. So please, accept this paltry offering I make. I hope it gives you many opportunities that I may have never had in life.
Furthermore, please do me the small favor and keep Arthur within your staff at the manor. It is your right as the new lord to change the personnel, but I hope you do not. Arthur joined my service when I first became a Lord. I was a beggar noble, and he kept me safe through many trials and dangers. He is very loyal and returns any respect given a hundredfold. He is also, I know from personal experience, an exceptional warrior, even with his advancing years.
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Farewell, Samuel. I regret that I could not know you in your life, but I hope that you enjoy what I have built for you.
-George A. Bragg
Samuel lowered the scroll, his head spinning with more questions than he’d had when he’d started. He expected the letter from his late father to explain why he’d been absent all his life. In a way, it had, but he had no idea what his father meant by these words. The very idea that magic could cloud a man’s mind for so long was both terrifying and preposterous. Deciding not to waste his precious sanity on trying to decipher the words, he looked up at Arthur.
“It seems that your services come highly recommended,” he said. “My father values you quite highly.”
Arthur bowed again, and that small expression of grief returned. “Lord Bragg was not just my master, but my truest friend. He took me in when I was young, and I have tried to serve him faithfully for many years.”
“Do you have any idea what he might have written in this letter?” Samuel asked, waving the parchment.
“I do not. I found it strange that Lord Bragg kept me away while he wrote it, but I respected his wishes. He told me it was to be delivered to your hand directly, and that none was ever to read it again.”
“And if I were to tell you?”
“Please do not, sir. He was very strict on the matter. He made it clear that you were to read the letter, and nobody else.”
So either the words scratched onto its surface were true, and George Bragg didn’t want anyone to think he was mad, or the letter was only intended for Samuel’s eyes in order to fool him. He didn’t care either way, personally. Even if the words were true, they weren’t enough to let him forgive the crimes. He doubted anything would do that. Instead, he decided, he’d accept this opportunity. It was unexpected but also the answer to all his problems. He could attend the College and learn magic. He could travel the world if he wanted to. He could do anything now.
“Very well, Arthur,” he said, rolling up the scroll. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to speak like a lord, but he wasn’t going to make the effort. “My father asked me to keep you on when I inherit his estate, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”
If he was offended by the idea that it could have ever been an option, no hint of it showed in the warrior’s face. Instead, he lowered himself to one knee. “You honor me, Lord Bragg. I shall devote my life to you as I did to your father. I will protect you, and take care of your affairs.”
“Please, there’s no need to bow,” Samuel said, the feeling of awkwardness increasing. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as you wish, my lord,” Arthur said, rising to his feet again. “If you require assistance packing, we have a few of the household staff with us. They are very eager to meet you, and they would be delighted to help you.”
“No, that’s fine. I don’t own much. But we cannot leave today. I made a promise to visit the village today, and there are people I want to say farewell to.”
“Excellent, my lord. Shall we go to the village now, then?”
“I will in a bit,” Samuel said, glancing around his home. “You can wait for me in the inn. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Are you sure, my lord?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be quite safe walking to the village. I’ve lived here for twenty-two years.”
Arthur dipped his head one more time and turned to leave at once. He paused in the doorway as Samuel called to him. “Arthur?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Don’t call me ‘my lord’. I may be inheriting a noble estate, but I’m just a common mapmaker.”
He expected Arthur to resist the order, but instead, a slow smile spread over the old man’s face. “You’re more like your father than just in appearance, sir. George never liked to be called a lord, either.”
He strode out of the house then, leaving Samuel perplexed. Oddly, that information slightly improved the mental image of his father that Samuel had maintained. Of course, it couldn’t change twenty-two years of no presence in his life. He closed the door, catching a final glimpse of Arthur striding his way down the dusty track back to Harlest, his stride even and his appearance prompt. He looked distinctly odd without a sword at his waist, Samuel thought.
He’d spoken the truth to Arthur about his possessions, or lack thereof. He owned very little in life, most of it made of parchment. He returned to his room and grabbed the thick leather rucksack he’d bought nearly two years prior, nothing more than a hopeful gesture at the time. Well, it would serve a purpose now, he thought contentedly, carefully placing his stacks of notes inside. Next were the dozen books he owned, and finally, he crammed his clothes inside, wrapping the books and papers in a protective layer of fabric. This completed, he made his way back to the desk on which he’d worked for the past years. It bore only the small chest he used to store his coins and precious materials. He scooped up the coins, a small mound of coppers, and two silver, and deposited them into a pouch which he tied at his waist. The ink bottle was placed into a cotton-filled packet of leather for its protection.
Lastly, he took down the portrait of his mother that hung over the fireplace. He’d gotten it for her as a gift in her last year, right after she’d fallen ill. A passing artist had been in the village, and Samuel had spent his savings to get a portrait of his mother. She’d loved the painting, as it was a physical representation of her son’s love for her. It was no bigger than any of his books, but it was still the most valuable thing in the home. He took it out of its frame and carefully stowed it inside his pack, then paused to look around his home once more.
Small and dingy though it was, he’d never known any other place but this. And now that he was leaving, he knew he’d miss it. He was fond of every part of this house, even that small hole in his bedroom wall because it was his. As excited as he was to move on, he knew he’d never forget this place.
“No point in lingering,” he told himself firmly with a deep breath. “I can’t stay in this village forever. I have to move along.”
He closed and locked the front door, then took the bronze key - slung on a leather thong, out. It was a strange experience, stepping away from his front door, knowing that he’d likely never return. He slipped the leather thong over his neck, leaving the key to peek out of the top of his blue robe. Then, with one last thought of his mother and his life spent in the small building, he finally forced himself to turn around and make his way down the dusty track to Harlest and his new life.