Free Shadow of a Dark Queen by Raymond E. Feist Page A

dismounted.
    â€œSwordmaster!” said Erik. “She’s not lame again, is she?”
    â€œNo,” said Owen, indicating that Erik should see for himself.
    Erik ran his hand along the horse’s left foreleg as Nathan approached, then motioned the youngster to stand aside. Nathan examined the horse’s leg. “This is the horse you told me of?”
    Erik nodded.
    â€œYou say it was this suspensor tendon, was it?”
    Greylock looked on with approval as Erik said, “Yes, Master Smith. She had pulled it slightly.”
    â€œSlightly!” said Greylock. He had an angular face, made even more stern by a severe hairstyle—high bangs, with most of the rest cut straight around the nape of his neck—which split into a smile, serving to make him even more unattractive, for his teeth were uneven and yellowing. “Totally blown, I should say, Master Smith. Puffed up to the size of my thigh, and the mare could barely stand to put weight on it. I thought I’d have to send for the knackers, for certain. But Erik had a way, and I’d seen his work before, so I gave him the chance and he didn’t disappoint.” Shaking his head in mock astonishment, he said, “ ‘Slightly.’ The lad’s too modest for his own good.”
    â€œWhat did you do?” Nathan asked Erik.
    â€œI wrapped her leg in hot compresses at first. There’s a drawing salve the healing priest at the Temple of Killian makes that makes your skin feel hot. I used that on her leg. I hand-walked her and wouldn’t let her pull again, even if she got rammy. She’s spirited and wanted to bolt more than once, but I put a stud chain over her nose and let her know I’d have none of it.” Erik reached over and patted the mare on the nose. “We became pretty fair friends.”
    Nathan stood and shook his head, obviously impressed. “For the four months I’ve been here, Swordmaster, I’ve been hearing of this lad’s skill with horses. Some of it I took to be local pride felt by his friends.” Turning to Erik, he smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t say this lightly, lad. Perhaps you should put aside your apprenticeship as a smith and turn your hand to healing horses. I am self-admitted indifferent in healing animals, though I will put my shoeing work up against any man’s, but even I can see this horse is completely sound, as if she had never been injured.”
    Erik said, “It’s a useful skill, and I like to see the horses healthy, but there’s no guild . . .”
    Nathan was forced to agree. “True enough. A guild is a mighty fortress and can shelter you when no amount of skill can save you from”—he suddenly remembered the Baron’s Swordmaster was standing a few feet away—“many unexpected ends.”
    Erik smiled. He knew what the smith had been about to say had to do with the long-standing rivalry between the nobility and the guilds. Started as a means to certify workmen and guarantee a certain minimum standard of skill, the guilds had become a political force in the Kingdom over the last century,to the point of having their own courts to adjudicate matters within each guild, much to the irritation of the King’s courts and the courts of the other nobles. But the nobles were too dependent upon the quality assurance of the many guilds to do more than grumble about flouting authority. But often one of the craft guilds had saved a member from some injustice at the hands of a noble. Despite a long tradition of responsible nobility in the Kingdom, there were always one or two minor earls or barons who thought they could simply ignore a debt. Having a patent of arms from the King did not ensure wealth, and more than one noble had attempted to use rank and position rather than coin of the realm to settle his
debts.
    Erik distracted Greylock. “Swordmaster, what cause brings you to