Vergence Read Online Free Page B

Outside, he changed his mind, and headed back to the stables. A ride as far as Conant village, by himself, would help him think more clearly on the decision.
    A brisk shore breeze had replaced the chilly northerly of the morning, penetrating the edges of the woods, and blending the scent of sea salt with evergreens.
    Ebryn avoided the main lane to Conant village. He preferred to follow wild animal trails between the trees, relying on Soren's sure hooves, enjoying the freedom from curious eyes.

Sarl

    B RIGHT RED SPARKS leapt and skipped along the surface of the anvil with each blow, fading to nothing as they tumbled to the dark floor. Sarl's work had achieved a rhythm now as he hammered the end section of a lengthy iron stanchion into a curve around the horn of the anvil.
    In the dimly reflected light of the furnace Ebryn could see his face and arms shining with sweat, breath coming in grunts to match the high ringing strikes from his hammer.
    Ebryn sat on the edge of his stool, in a dark corner of the forge, leaning forward slightly to watch. It was not yet clear what design Sarl was working to, and he would not ask.
    There was a saying amongst artisans and craftsmen of Goresyn: “Virtue is not divided”. It expressed the commonly held belief that each thing should be fashioned once, to make it true, and a thing fashioned with words should therefore not be made in another form.
    Sarl had a heavy build with a deep chest and powerful arms. Thick dark curling hair and beard, along with heavy inwardly angled eyebrows, conspired to give him a permanently severe expression. Although of average height his imposing physicality seemed to diminish those around him. In the dim light of the forge the flickering shadows lent him the appearance of some long forgotten mythical creature of stone, and darkness.
    Ebryn had once offered to light the interior but Sarl, after a long pause, refused, saying there was space for only one mastery in his forge. In some peculiar way he had found the rejection obscurely pleasing. For the first time. his burgeoning skills had been acknowledged, and he'd been recognised as possessing a distinct position in the world. Sarl had not sought to spare his feelings but instead responded to him as to an equal.
    Watching showers of bright red embers from the stoking furnace dancing in the hot air, Ebryn was reminded of their first meeting. Between the departure of his first tutor and the arrival of his second, in his tenth year, Ebryn had accompanied Dollard, the old horse master, to Conant village half a furlong inland from the boundary of Lord Conants' estate.
    Sarl's forge was the second but last building at the northern end of the village, where the muddy lane from the estate met the deeply rutted forest road. Even at that age it was obvious to Ebryn that the location had been well chosen to service the passing woodsmen, miners and traders journeying through the village.
    Two shaggy-coated wood-hounds had greeted them as they arrived, heads low and growling, but with a soothing word and a touch he'd had them licking his hand. He arrived in Conant village for the first time in a strange procession with Dollard in the lead, and two pony-sized dogs following placidly behind.
    On their return journey Ebryn and Dollard had passed the farmer, cursing and beating his dogs. He'd broken off, red-faced, to glare at Ebryn as they passed. The wood-hounds were fighting dogs, Dollard told him, so the farmer punished them for weakness and disloyalty.
    Ebryn waited until Sarl finished the piece he'd been hammering, and slid it into the water-filled quenching trough. When the steam cleared, Sarl examined the surface of the metal carefully, brushing away stray bits of dirt, before returning it to the flame on the far side of the anvil.
    “A man came to see me,” Ebryn said.
    Sarl nodded without looking up.
    “He came from Vergence to test me, to see if I should become a caster, and travel to Vergence to be