Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) by David Lundgren Read Free Book Online

these jars aren’t the b-“
    “He bought vinehoney?” interrupted Wesp.
    “Well… yes.”
    “He was from Miern?”
    “Yes, like most traders who visit. He was very complimentary about the vinehoney, actually. He wanted some for his trip back to the city. He said it was for a party, I think. Or a banquet, maybe.”
    Wesp hit the side of the wagon with a fist and growled furiously.
    Leiana tried to placate him, saying, “That’s right, yes, a banquet. Nothing to do with trade, W-”
    “- the Gerent’s banquet! The same banquet I bought the honey for!”
    “No need to get so worked up, y-“
    “I’ve bought it for nothing! This other trader will be there before me! You said -” His eyes suddenly narrowed and he raised a finger to point it at Raf and then Tarvil. “You knew! You knew all along.” His eyes stared around. “I’ve been tricked… Give me back my money, forester!”
    Tarvil shook his head. “The deal is made and we are bound to it. Isn’t that how you said it, Mr. Tunrhak?”
    “No!” hissed Wesp. “I must have that money back. I have items here to sell, rare and beautiful objects. Tools from the famous smithies of north Almia, books and medicines.” He rummaged desperately through his chests as the villagers watched him.
    “I’m afraid the trading for today has come to an end,” said the Foreman. “Come, Council, let us depart and discu-”
    “No! I have more! Things you have never dreamt of. Weapons of Miernan steel, -”
    “We have no need of weapons here.”
    “Maps? Dyes?” Wesp was frantically throwing things out of trunks onto the wagon floor. “Wait! I have something you will most certainly be interested in. It’s an instrument made of a rare, fine wood, a piece of art of such intricate beauty you will hardly believe it real…” He whipped his hand up in the air, holding the instrument. Madam Ottery, who was standing at the rear, murmured in appreciation.
    “Orfea!”
    Every set of eyes swiveled to rest on Raf who covered his mouth as soon as the word left it.
    “Raf?” asked his mother.
    “Uh… nothing, sorry,” replied Raf, blushing furiously.
    “Who’s this Orfea?”
    “Her name… I mean, it’s the name of the instrument.”
    “Really?” puzzled Tarvil. He turned to Madame Ottery. “Have you heard of one of those before, Resma?” She shook her head.
    “Yes, that’s right! An orfea!” said Wesp.
    “How do you know that, Raf? Where have you seen one before?” asked Tarvil.
    “Well… I... I think I made it,” stuttered Raf, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.
    “Ha! Made this? You? This beautiful piece of artwork?” Wesp sneered.
    Tarvil approached him, frowning. “None of your pranks now, Raf.”
    “I’m not lying, Dad, I did make it. I lost it a few days ago on the northern path. The trader must’ve found it.”
    “Can you prove it’s yours?” asked the Foreman. ”Have you carved your name on it or anything like that? Do you have another one like it? Anything that would stand as proof? I want to believe you, but I must be fair.”
    Raf looked down nervously. “No. I mean, I could… maybe play it for you?”
    “That might do,” said the Foreman with a nod.
    Wesp snorted and held the instrument out, sneering at Raf with a withering look. Raf took Orfea and held her in his hands, smiling faintly.
    “Well?” came the harsh voice of Wesp. “What are you smiling about, boy? Called your bluff now, have I? This is no simple forester pipe; this takes a master musician to play.”
    Raf shook his head as he covered the holes with his fingers, drew a breath and lifted it to his mouth. A soft, sweet, mellow note flew out of Orfea, followed by more as he trilled a fluid reprise of the farwelayre .
    “Well, I think that’s settled,” said the Foreman, giving Raf a quick approving look.
    “What do you mean settled?” said Wesp. “That proves nothing.”
    “I believe him.”
    “I don’t care what you believe, I want that pipe