Sorcerer's Son by Phyllis Eisenstein Read Free Book Online Page A

arms were not yet strong enough to wield it for long. Yet its haft fit his grip well, for though his body was not full grown, his hands were already man-sized.
    “It is large for you,” said the steward.
    “Not for the man I will be.” He slid the blade into its scabbard and set the two atop the blank shield. “Steward, how long have you been with this house?”
    “All my life, young sir. And my father before me.”
    Cray folded the chain mail into a manageable bundle, and the links chinked softly under his bands. “Thirteen years ago, my father may have stopped at this fortress. He was perhaps twenty years in age, and the device on his shield was three red lances interlocked upon a white field. Do you remember him?“
    “You spoke of him to my lord, did you not? My lord did not recall him.”
    “Your lord is a man whose attention must be consumed by greater things. A steward, though, might notice one insignificant traveler.”
    The steward plucked thoughtfully at his beard. “We have few visitors. But, no.” He shook his head. “I have no memory of such a one. Are you certain he came this way?”
    Cray sighed. “No.”
    “Perhaps he passed us, not wishing to stop with strangers.”
    “Perhaps.“
    “If you wish, I will ask a few others who were here at that time. There may be someone who remembers him.”
    Cray smiled. “That would be kind of you.”
    The steward signaled one of the armory guards to come over and pick up Cray’s bundle of knightly accoutrements. “We will pack these in your saddlebags, if there is nothing more you desire from this room.”
    “These are sufficient,” said Cray.
    “I have ordered a pallet laid for you in the main hall, that you may have a good sleep before you leave us.”
    “I thank you, steward. Now all we are left with is the matter of price.”
    “Ah
    price.” He waved the guard away, with instructions to ask the captain of the guard which animal was Cray’s. “My lord said a fair price, but in truth I don’t know what a fair price would be for these things. They are not new. And their loss is not significant to us, as you can easily see. I might say
    six pieces of silver for the lot.”
    “That seems a small price,” said Cray.
    “Ah, doubtless you could conjure up whatever amount I asked. I hope it would not turn to ash as soon as you passed beyond the horizon.”
    Cray pulled the purse from his belt and spilled six silver pieces into his hand. “My mother does not deal in magic metals,” he said, “else I would not need to buy my armor from you, steward.”
    The steward nodded once. “A good point indeed.”
    “The money is real, I promise you.” Cray offered the coins on his open palm. “You have set the price, sir. Take it.”
    Gingerly, the steward took it. After he had closed the money in his fist, he said, “I must confess, young sir, that I have never trafficked with a sorcerer before.”
    Cray smiled to hear himself so described, but he made no attempt to explain that he scarcely knew a hundredth of his mother’s magic. “I will not harm you. You have dealt fairly with me. More than fairly.”
    The steward turned toward the door. “If you will follow me, then, I will show you to your bed.”
    The pallet was not as comfortable as his bed at home, but it was softer than a mossy pad under a tree. Cray was tired, and not even the snoring of other sleepers in the hall or the occasional bark of a restless dog could keep him awake. He roused at last to morning streaming through the high windows and a group of pages walking among the sleepers to announce breakfast and to clear the floor of pallets. The page who dragged Cray’s pallet to a storage place in a far corner was not much younger than Cray himself. Cray wondered if the boy were bound to be a knight or if, like the steward, he would always remain a servant of the House. The boy was slight. If he planned to be a knight, he had not yet started training. Cray compared his own youthful muscles to the page’s slenderness, and he felt he was well-begun in