Free Shadow of a Dark Queen by Raymond E. Feist

“Otto never returned. He sent a messenger, your friend Owen Greylock, with news that the King had denied his petition and had instructed him to wed the daughter of the Duke of Ran. ‘For the good of the Kingdom,’ Greylock said. Then he said the King had ordered the Great Temple of Dala in Rillanon to declare the wedding annulled, and had the order placed under Royal Seal, so as not to embarrass Mathilda or any sons she might bear. Iwas advised to find a good man and forget Otto.” Tears ran down her cheeks as she said, “What a shock good Master Greylock got then when I told him I was with child.”
    She sighed and reached over and gripped her son’s arm. “As my time neared, rumors circulated about who was your father, this merchant or that grower. But when you were born, and quickly became the image of your father in his youth, no one denied you were Otto’s boy. Not even your father will deny it publicly.”
    Erik had heard the story a dozen times before, but never told quite this way. Never before had he thought of his mother as a young girl in love or of the bitter rejection she must have felt when news of Otto’s marriage to Mathilda had come. Still, there was no profit in living for yesterday. “But he never acknowledged me, either,” said Erik.
    â€œTrue,” agreed his mother. “Yet he left you this much: you have a name, von Darkmoor. You may use it with pride, and should any man challenge your right you may look him in the eye and say, ‘Not even Otto, Baron von Darkmoor, denies me my night to this name.’ ”
    Erik reached up and awkwardly took his mother’s hand. She glanced at him and smiled her stiff, unforgiving smile, but there was a hint of warmth in it as she squeezed his huge hand, then released it. “This Nathan: I think he may be a good man. Learn what you can from him, for you’ll never have your birthright.”
    Erik said, “That was your dream, Mother. I know little of politics, but what I have heard in the taproom leads me to believe that should you have had theHigh Priest of Dala himself as witness in the chapel that night, it would count for little. The King, for reasons known best to him, wished my father married to the daughter of the Duke of Ran, and thus it was, and thus it would always have been.”
    Erik stood. “I will need to spend some extra time with Nathan, letting him know what I can do, and finding out what he wishes me to do. I think you’re right: he’s a good man. He could have sent me packing, but he’s trying to do right by me, I think.”
    Impulsively, Freida threw her arms around her son’s neck, hugging him closely. “I love you, my son,” she whispered.
    Erik stood motionless, uncertain how to respond. She spared him the need by letting go and turning quickly into the kitchen; shutting the door behind her.
    Erik stood a moment, then slowly turned and moved toward the barn.
    As the months passed, things fell into a routine at the Inn of the Pintail. Nathan blended in quickly, and after a while it was hard to recall what the inn had been like with Tyndal as smith. Erik found his new master a fount of information, as much of what Tyndal had taught him had been basic, solid smithing but Nathan knew much that made the work above-average, even exceptional. His knowledge of the different requirements for weapons and armor opened a new area for Erik, for Nathan had been the Baron Tolburt’s own armorer in Tulan at one time.
    One day the sound of hooves upon cobbles caused Erik to look up from where he held a hot plow blade Nathan was hammering for a localfarmer. The slender figure of Owen Greylock, the Baron’s Swordmaster, appeared as he rode his mount around the barn from the rear court of the inn.
    Nathan took away the blade and plunged it into water, then set it aside as Erik came to stand next to the horse, holding her bridle as Greylock