The Princess and the Weaver

By David Vater

Christopher, a peasant weavers son, is tired of his humdrum life and longs for adventure. Although nothing extraordinary often happens in his town, Christopher cant help but dream of a life beyond that of being a weaver. But one night, as Christopher is out at the pub with his friends, he meets a mysterious, beautiful young woman named Silvia who claims that she is a long-lost princess.

Christopher isnt sure whether he believes Silvias story, but he agrees to help her find the truth. With the help of the thief-lorda local outlaw with a price on his headChristopher sets out on a journey to discover the truth about Silvias past and about the king, Silvias supposed father. As Christopher travels, he meets Rodrick, a man who claims to be Silvias real father, and quickly learns that not all is what it seems.

When Silvia is taken prisoner by a duke, intent on becoming king himself, Christopher sets off again to rescue her. In the end, Christophers biggest challenge might not be rescuing Silvia, but surviving long enough to find the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462044634

David Vater

David Vater has been writing stories and poetry for over thirty years. He has had essays published in newsletters for the University of Puerto Rico and often makes up stories to tell his sons at bedtime. His other hobbies include songwriting, singing, and game programming. Vater currently lives in Battle Creek, Michigan, with his wife and four sons.

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The Princess And The Weaver

DAVID VATER

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

The Princess And The Weaver

Copyright © 2011 by David Vater.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery ©Thinkstock.

Interior Illustrations by the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4620-4462-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-4464-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-4463-4 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 09/19/2011

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

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Chapter 1

Christopher sat at his loom, flexing his fingers. It was late morning. It would not be time to stop and eat something for a while yet. He was fifteen years old, and already he was tired. It was not a simple tiredness of hard work, but a deep tiredness of the soul. He longed to run out in the sunshine, to explore, as he did when he was a child, but he was a man, now, and men worked. He was tempted to ask his father how he did it; how he could stay at his loom, hour after hour, day after day; never sad, but never happy.

He would not ask; Christopher knew better. He and his father had never had conversations that ran more deeply than the fact that Christopher had duties and must attend to them. The young man sighed and stretched, then went back to his loom. Strand after strand went into the loom; minute after minute slipped by.

From time to time he would hear the sounds of faint conversation outside, or of children running and playing. Occasionally, he would drift off into some daydream of heroic adventure, but never for too long; his father was strict on the quality of the weaving. More often than not, after slaying some foul beast or rescuing a princess, he was forced to undo a few strands that had suffered during the quest.

Noon-time came, and his family sat wordlessly down at a crude, wooden table to eat dry bread and gruel. As he ate, Christopher surveyed his parents. They bore no expression, good or bad, on their worn faces. This was just another meal, on yet another day, like so many thousands before. They asked no questions and made no comments.

After the meal, it was back to the loom. The afternoon also dragged on, dull and dreary. At one point, the stillness was broken by a loud commotion near his window. A witch! A witch! some children were shouting. Christopher leaped up from his loom and strode quickly out the door. A small mob of children, of various ages, was surrounding a hooded and cloaked figure in the middle of the street. They were playing some sort of game where one would step in, tug on the cloak, and then dart away. The person in the cloak would turn to catch the culprit, and then another behind her would do the same thing again.

Here now! said Christopher, angrily, Off with you! The children scattered, and under the hood, two sparkling eyes turned to examine him. The face was slightly hidden but, even so, he could tell that this was a young lady of striking appearance. He felt his pulse quicken, and he stammered out an apology.

What for? inquired a soft voice.

The children. They shouldn’t bother you like that. Her soft smile made a tingle run up his spine and, as she murmured thanks and then continued down the street, he sighed.

His father was still at his own loom when he returned to the room. One disapproving glance flickered across his face, and then the dry hands returned to the threads in perfect rhythm. Christopher went back to his weaving, but another daydream soon followed. This time, the princess had a face, and eyes that sparkled.

As the sunlight started to fade, Christopher finally got up from his seat, clenching his fists several times to ease the strain on his fingers. He quickly downed another bowl of gruel before heading out the door. Tomorrow we begin early, his father reminded him.

Truly? thought Christopher. As if it was ever any different. He didn’t go out every night, or even every other night. This night, however, he was headed into the city to meet with some of his childhood friends. At least that’s what he usually went for, and it was what he told himself it was for tonight. Deep down, though, he hoped to see the strange, young lady again.

The tavern that he and his friends normally met at was called The Gray Dog, and it belonged to the father of his friend, Michael. Michael’s father would not give any free drinks or food to the young men, but at least he didn’t drive them out to make room for paying customers; not that there were many paying customers vying for room there.

Michael was there, and Debra, his sister. Joseph and Anthony were there as well. Joseph was a blacksmith’s son, and Anthony was son to a wheelwright. Anthony had a funny story to tell of a runaway cart and scattered vegetables, and Joseph had gotten into a fist-fight, again, but in general, each had the same story to tell of a usual day of work. Finally, Christopher leaned forward, and began to tell about the young lady he had seen.

A girl, Michael started to say, wearily, That’s the most exciting part of your day?

Well, yes, Christopher shrugged, flushing a little. Then he stopped, and looked at the door in amazement. A hooded and cloaked figure had just stepped inside and waited a little to the side of the doorway. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew without a doubt that it was the girl. She sat down alone at a table, and Debra went to wait on her.

The other young men looked at Christopher.