Every great story needs an author.

It was the thought above all that drove Samuel to do what he did, outside of work. When he wasn’t studiously copying the maps he owned for resale, Samuel Bragg found and read any stories he could get his hands on. Sadly, though, most of the stories in existence were shared orally, meaning that he could only hear them directly from the few bards or storytellers that passed through the small village of Harles where lived.

So whenever a stranger came to his village, carrying great stories for telling, he would studiously take notes and record details, so that he could later put them in proper writing. He’d already gathered over a hundred of these stories, a three-foot stack of parchment that lay in a corner of his room. He yearned to leave Harlest and seek more stories amongst the bigger cities, but he was unable to. Traveling that far required a lot of gold, and he simply didn’t have much to his name. His work as a mapmaker barely earned him enough to survive, and even then, he had to supplement his income with the odd job as a farmhand, doing dull tedious work that infuriated him.

As day after day of monotonous routine passed him by, Samuel gradually became more resentful of his bland life. His daily routine of sitting at his desk was only broken by those few times he could take a break to record a new story. With all this, he gladly welcomed any distraction from his repetitive work, even the extremely strange distraction that came one day, which would change his life forever.

Like the countless days before, Samuel woke up on his simple bed, staring up at the grey ceiling of his room. He didn’t move at first, but simply lay still, working up the willpower to move. He thought about the dream he’d had that night as he did, a fairly normal dream for him, in which he’d managed, mysteriously, to get his hands on a large sack of gold, and set out on an exciting journey. He’d traveled to huge unknown cities, and heard great stories. He vaguely remembered that he’d been a well-known author in his dream, and a wry smile touched his lips as he thought of that. He liked to think that he was a reasonably good writer, but his chances of being recognized outside of Harlest were too slim to bet on.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, stretching his stiff muscles slowly. His bed was little more than two inches of padding on the hardwood of his floor, and as such was not the most comfortable. His morning routine usually consisted of stiff sour muscles being forced to move before he even attempted breakfast. With this grueling exercise out of the way, he changed out of his patched sleeping robe and slid on his thin but well-kept dark blue robe.

It wasn’t a long trip from his room to the small area that served as his combined kitchen and dining room. When he could spare a few coppers, he would change out his routine of plain porridge for a hot meal of eggs and bacon at the village inn, but this month had been especially hard, and he had to live a bit more frugally. As such, he made himself a healthy serving of the thick white tasteless muck, and sat down at his desk, moodily slurping down the scalding mixture. As he ate, he stared, without really looking, at the small collection of papers he’d left out the previous night.

As was only to be expected, the great majority of the papers were maps he’d been copying, but there were a few other items mixed in, almost as if in an attempt for variety. A notice, provided free of charge to all the residents of Harlest, was filled with vague details of roaming bandits and highwaymen that were waylaying travelers, robbing them of their possessions, and in some cases, even their lives. The notice warned the residents to avoid traveling alone, and not to leave the village at night. A useless warning, Samuel thought, as he had no real reason or means to venture out.

The most curious of all the papers, and the one that had captured his attention the previous night, was a bit of news that had traveled across the country with a royal courier. The Mage’s College, located in the capital city of Milagre, was looking for new recruits to join its ranks. Samuel had never been particularly interested in the pursuit of learning magic, but the advertisement had sparked a potentially fantastic idea in his mind.

The Mage’s College had stated that, upon acceptance, they would pay for apprentices to travel to Milagre, and would provide room and board while they were trained. For several hours that night, Samuel had considered applying, in the vague hope that he’d be accepted, and finally, be able to escape Harlest. His chances were slim, he knew, as there were millions of people in the country of Tyrman, with hundreds of thousands of potentially talented recruits vying for the chance to join. But it was still an idea that had taken hold of him, a faint possibility that maybe he could do something different with his life.

Scooping the last of his plain breakfast into his mouth, Samuel carried his empty bowl and spoon over to the small wooden bucket where he stacked his empty dishes. He noted dully that the bucket was nearly full, and sighed as he realized that he would have to take the implements to the river to wash them. But that could wait until later, he told himself, as he moved back to his desk. His final preparations for the day were to clear his desk of all papers except for the maps, which he organized into a neat stack, and retrieve the small chest he used to store the coin he earned. Then, he walked to his front door, opened it, and flipped the sign hanging on the door around, to signal that he was now open for business for the day.

These preparations complete, Samuel entered into several hours of inactivity, where he stared unseeingly at the smooth wood surface of his desk. About once an hour, he would rearrange and look through each of his copied maps, more for something to do than because he really needed to. When mid-day finally came around, he ate some bread and cheese pulled from his pantry as he read through his notes on a story that a bard had told him last week. It had been a particularly riveting tale, coming all the way from the Isles of Nihon-Ja, an exotic country to the far southeast.

The bard had told him the story of a young noble boy who had been usurped by a warlord from another noble family. Apparently, the young boy had been considered for the position of emperor, the supreme ruler of the country. However, he had been forced to go into hiding when the rebel warlord attacked his family estate, killing everyone that lived there. Through sheer luck, the boy and his elder brother managed to escape to safety.

All looked bleak for the boys, the bard had whispered dramatically, but they were tough and smart. They had managed to survive and avoid detection until they were adopted by a old and wise master of the sword, who raised the boys into adulthood while teaching them the skills of a swordsman. Armed with these new skills, the boys had gathered about them a group of loyal companions, and begun to seek revenge for their murdered family.

Samuel had been slightly disappointed to learn that the bard didn’t know the details of their campaign, merely proclaiming boldly that they spent nearly two years fighting against the warlord, who had been made emperor in their absence, and taking down the corrupt family one head at a time. After a long period of grueling battles, the two young men had finally claimed victory, putting an end to the family’s tyrannical reign and restoring peace to Nihon-Ja.

Gaping holes in the story aside, Samuel had still been drawn in by the fantastic tale and had been more than willing to throw the bard a copper coin for his efforts. As with all the stories he heard, he’d recorded the details onto parchment, and he read through his notes as he ate his lunch, beginning to formulate a plan on how he would record the story in a more permanent format.

As several more hours passed, and the sun outside began to slide behind the horizon, Samuel debated closing down early. It was unlikely that he would get a customer today, and with a sigh, he began to gather up his spare papers and slip them into the bag. Then, he went to his door and flipped the wooden sign back over to indicate that he was finished for the night. As he began to close his door, a sudden voice called out to him, causing him to hesitate and look back down the road to Harlest.

Coming down the lane towards him was a man in an intricate robe. As Samuel's house was at the end of a fairly long dirt road, and there wasn't another building nearby for almost a kilometer, there could be no mistake that the man was looking for his house. He opened the door wide again and waited for the man to come nearer. As he approached, Samuel noticed, with a pleasant sense of excitement, that the man had the appearance of a steward.

He knew that most nobles had their stewards complete their shopping for them, and he felt a brief surge of satisfaction that perhaps he would make a fair amount of business today. Nobles very rarely traveled as far east as this, but when they did, they were always in need of maps of the countryside, and his services were well sought after in this field. There were no other mapmakers in the region, ensuring that travelers had to come to him for the charts they needed.

“My apologies for calling on you so late, master cartographer.” The man said breathlessly as he finally came within speaking distance.

Samuel made a small hand movement dismissing the need for an apology. “No worries, friend. How may I help you this evening?”

He waved the man inside his home, and sat back down at his desk, pulling his selection of maps back out so the stranger could view them. Surprisingly, the man seemed to pay little attention to them but instead took in the plain surroundings with a look of interest on his face. Unlike those from most noble families, he didn't seem to regard them with disdain, but merely a great sense of curiosity, and even, Samuel fancied, a faint look of recognition.

“I'm looking for a man named Samuel Bragg. The village headman told me I might find him here?” His question tailed off, giving the impression that he was sure he'd found who he had been searching for.

Samuel smiled graciously, hiding his expression of puzzlement at the man's strange question. Customers didn't normally know his name when they came, merely referring to him as “the mapmaker” or sometimes, as the man had, “master cartographer”.

“I am Samuel Bragg. If I may ask, what caused you to look for me?”

The man looked him up and down as if taking in his features and confirming something in his own mind. “I am Arthur, steward of the Bragg estate, loyal servant of nearly eighteen years to the late Lord Bragg.”

Samuel looked at him in polite incredulity. He'd never once heard of any noble family sharing his name. Beginning to think this was some kind of joke or prank, he offered a puzzled smile.

“Lord Bragg? I'm sure there are no lords with that name. I'd have heard of it, surely.”

The steward tilted his head, pondering Samuel. “This is a surprise to me. I thought you would know that your father was a lord. You carry such a striking resemblance to him, after all.”

Now Samuel's puzzlement deepened, mixed with a brief flare of irritation that occurred every time his wayward father was mentioned. “No, I did not know he was a Lord. He left my mother before I could really get to know him.”

A slight look of awkwardness crossed Arthur's face. “Ah, yes... That was always one of Lord Bragg's greatest regrets. He spoke often of his family in Harlest, which he missed more than anything.”

“If he really missed us, he could have easily come back,” Samuel replied shortly. “It's in a bard's nature to travel, isn't it? And if he was a lord, he could have easily afforded the trip.”

Now there was an almost pitying look on the steward's face, which did nothing to improve Samuel's rapidly souring mood. “It is very difficult for a noble family to leave their lands. Nearly constant attention is required to maintain it, and the estates are highly sought after. Leaving them would have surrendered everything he'd worked towards in life.”

An awkward silence developed between them as the steward waited patiently for Samuel to respond. For his part, Samuel was having trouble controlling his features. He'd been excited to expect a bit of business for the day, but now it seemed he had to endure a long, praising oration on the man who had abandoned him and his mother. Samuel was of half a mind to tell Arthur to leave, to walk back to wherever he came from, and to leave him in peace. Deciding that he should at least attempt a peaceful resolution, however, he seized on something Arthur had said.

“You said the late Lord Bragg. I take it that means that my father is dead?” He tried to sound curious, to keep the scorn out of his voice as much as possible. Despite the roiling anger in his chest, he thought he pulled off the ploy well.

“Yes, he has passed away,” Arthur stated, with a display of emotion on his face that Samuel deemed a bit excessive. “And I am here fulfilling his last will and testament.”

Samuel made a small motion of surprise. He hadn't expected this turn of events, and his face said as much. “How do I fit into this will?”

Arthur pulled a small scroll from a pouch at his belt and unfurled it. “Your father has named you heir to his estate, including his manor, possessions, and personal wealth. He also bid me come find you, and escort you personally to Milagre. I have hired an armed caravan, to ensure your safe passage through the countryside.”

Samuel was silent for a few more moments, his head spinning. “Why me? Didn't he have other children he could have left it to?”

It was common knowledge that bards seduced many women in their travels, and Samuel still found it hard to believe that his father had remembered his mother so clearly outside of the score or more that he had inevitably met.

For an instant, Arthur almost seemed offended, but his features were hastily rearranged into a sympathetic mask. He did understand the young man's thoughts and opinion, as he had lived most of his life away from his father, unable to hear the recollections of his lord as he spoke fondly of the family he had left behind in Harlest. His tone was solemn and serious as he replied.

“Lord Bragg only had one child, young master. That was you.”

Samuel had had a retort planned in response to whatever Arthur might say, but he hesitated now, unsure of his ground. All of a sudden he realized, with an uncomfortable surge of guilt, that he had been unnecessarily rude to the steward. It was not his fault, after all, that Samuel's father had abandoned him and his mother. He was merely a faithful servant of the man, doing his best to act out the last will of his lord. Samuel may have felt that his pride and compassion for the man was misplaced and unfounded, but that was hardly a reason to insult him.

“My apologies, Arthur. I did not mean to offend you.” He said quietly, his emotions showing through in his words.

Instantly the steward's face showed embarrassment and slight panic. He held out his hands to forestall further comment from Samuel. “Please, young master, there is no need for an apology. You are quite within your right to speak your mind. The pain must be a great burden, I am sure.”

Samuel didn't know how to respond to this sentiment, so he changed tack. “Why do you call me young master? Surely you can speak plainly to me. I'm just a poor mapmaker.”

Arthur shook his head quickly, and definitely. “Oh no, young master. As the new lord of the estate, you must be addressed appropriately. It is only fitting.”

“I understand that I now own the house and whatever else my father owned, but I'm no Lord. You owe me nothing.”

“Ah, but in fact, young master,” Arthur replied with a tone of respect, “I do. Just as I loyally served the late Lord Bragg, I too now serve you. It is my job to uphold the honor and reputation of the Bragg family, and to offer myself, body and mind, to any with the name.”

Another awkward silence stretched between them until Samuel finally found his voice once more. “Well, alright then. But how am I to travel to Milagre? I have almost no money to my name, and no caravan will accept the promise of a future payment.”

Arthur waved his hand briefly in dismissal. “That is already taken care of, young master. As I said, I have hired a caravan. We will be ready to depart as soon as you are ready.”

Samuel had not expected this. He had been prepared to have to find his own way to the city of Milagre, where he would finally be allowed to take up residence in the manor home that he now owned. Yet Arthur had presented him with the very thing that Samuel had longed for the past few years. A safe, affordable way to leave his tiny village, and travel elsewhere.

“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. “Thank you.”

He wasn't sure if it was fitting of a noble to thank his steward, but he felt it was only to be expected. His mother had raised him to be courteous to others until given a reason to act otherwise, and so far the man had done nothing outright to offend him.

For the first time, the steward smiled warmly. “You are too kind, young master. Though you may not remember him, you take after your father more than you may realize. He too was kind to those around and under him.”

Hearing this small fact about his father, though not a source of pride, did nonetheless slightly improve his vision of the man, who had always held a disdainful, uncaring, and despicable role in his mind. For years, he had begrudged being related to the man, thinking of how he had left them in poverty as he traveled around the country. The thought that he had such compassion was surprisingly comforting.

“Would you like to join the caravan with me now, young master? Or would you prefer to join us in the morning?”

Samuel considered his response for a long moment before speaking. As eager as he was to leave Harlest as quickly as possible, he knew that he should make his farewells to the village before departing.

“I will meet with you and the caravan tomorrow after I have had a chance to pack my belongings. But I will need another day to make my farewells. I will miss quite a few of the people of Harlest, and I expect they will want to make their own goodbyes as well.”

His response seemed to be no less than Arthur had expected, and the man gave a brief bow. “Very well, young master. I will see you in the morning, then. Rest well.”

Samuel nodded in response and watched as the man walked back down the dusty track to the village until he vanished from sight. Then he closed his door against the cool night air and walked to his room. He lay in his uncomfortable bed for some hours, pondering the strange ending to his day. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he even hoped for something like this to happen. He was still marveling silently at this unexpected turn to his luck when sleep finally came over him.