Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  The sun stood high overhead, but Pug felt little of its warmth, for a cold wind blew down from the heights of the Grey Towers. Pug hqard Kulgan’s voice some distance behind. “As long as the wind is from the northeast, we’ll have no snow, as any moisture will have fallen on the peaks. Should the wind shift and come from the west, or northwest, from off the Endless Sea, we’ll have more snow.”

  Pug panted as he scrambled along the rocks, balancing on the slippery surface “Kulgan, must we have lessons, too?”

  Several men laughed, and momentarily the grim tension of the last two days lessened. They reached a large flat, before another upward rise, and the Duke ordered a halt. “Build a fire and slaughter an animal. We’ll wait here for the last rear guard.”

  Gardan quickly sent men to gather wood in the trees, and one was given two of the horses to lead away. The high-strung mounts were footsore, tired, and unfed, and in spite of their training, Gardan wanted them removed from the smell of blood.

  The chosen horse screamed, then was suddenly silent, and when the fires were ready, the soldiers placed spits over the flames. Soon the aroma of roasting meat filled the air. In spite of his anticipated distaste, Pug found his mouth watering at the smell. In a while he was handed a stick, with a large piece of roasted liver on it, which he wolfed down. Nearby, Tomas was doing equal justice to a portion of sizzling haunch.

  When they were done eating, the still-hot meat left over was wrapped with strips from horse blankets and torn tabards, then divided among the men.

  Pug and Tomas sat by Kulgan as men broke camp, putting out fires, covering signs of passing, and readying for the resumption of the march.

  Gardan came to the Duke. “My lord, the rear guard is overdue.”

  Borric nodded. “I know. They should have returned a half hour ago.” He peered down the hillside, toward the huge forest, mist shrouded in the distance. “We’ll wait five more minutes, then we will go.”

  They waited in silence, but the guards didn’t return. Finally Gardan gave the order. “All right, lads. Off we go.”

  The men formed up behind the Duke and Kulgan, and the boys fell in at the rear. Pug counted. There were only ten soldiers left.

  Two days later the howling winds came, icy knives ripping at exposed flesh. Cloaks were gathered around each figure tramping slowly northward, leaning into the wind. Rags had been torn and tied around boots in a feeble attempt to hold off frostbite Pug tried vainly to keep his eyelashes free of ice, but the harsh wind made his eyes tear, and the drops quickly froze, blurring his vision.

  Pug heard Kulgan’s voice above the wind. “My lord, a storm comes. We must find shelter or perish.” The Duke nodded and waved two men ahead to seek shelter. The two set pff at a stumbling run, moving only slightly faster than the others, but valiantly putting their remaining meager strength into the task.

  Clouds began to roll in from the northwest, and the skies darkened. “How much time, Kulgan?” shouted the Duke over the shrieking wind.

  The magician waved his hand above his head, as the wind blew his hair and beard back from his face, exposing his high forehead. “An hour at most.” The Duke nodded again and exhorted his men to move along.

  A sad sound, a neighing cry, pierced the wind, and a soldier called out that the last horse was down. Borric stopped and with a curse ordered it slaughtered as quickly as possible. Soldiers butchered the animal, steaming hunks of meat being cut away, to chill in the snow where they were cast before they could be wrapped. When they were done, the meat was divided among the men.

  “If we can find shelter, we will build a fire and cook the meat,” the Duke shouted.

  Silently Pug added that if they couldn’t find shelter, they’d have little use for the meat. They resumed their march.

  A short time later the two guards returned with the news of a cave less than a quarter mile distant. The Duke ordered them to show the way.

  Snow began to fall, whipped by the driving wind. The sky was now dark, limiting visibility to only a few hundred feet Pug felt light-headed and had to struggle to pull his feet from the resisting snow. Both hands were numb, and he wondered if he was frostbitten.

  Tomas looked slightly better, being somewhat hardier by nature, but he also was too exhausted to speak. He just plodded along beside his friend.

  Suddenly Pug was lying face down in the snow feeling surprisingly warm and sleepy. Tomas knelt beside the fallen magician’s apprentice. He shook Pug. and the nearly unconscious boy groaned.

  “Get up,” Tomas shouted. “It’s only a little way farther.”

  Pug struggled upright, aided by Tomas and one of the soldiers. When he was standing, Tomas indicated to the soldier he could take care of his friend. The soldier nodded, but stayed near. Tomas loosened one of the main strips of blanket tied around him for warmth, knotted one end to Pug’s belt, and half guided, half pulled the smaller boy along.

  The boys followed the guard who had helped them around an outcropping of rock and found themselves at the mouth of a cave. They staggered forward a few steps into the sheltering darkness, then fell to the stone floor. In contrast to the biting wind outside, the cave seemed warm, and they lapsed into an exhausted sleep.

  Pug awoke to the smell of cooking horse meat. He roused himself and saw it was dark outside, beyond the fire. Piles of branches and deadwood were heaped nearby. and men were carefully feeding the fire Others stood by. roasting pieces of meat. Pug flexed his fingers and found them painfully sore, but as he peeled off his tattered gloves, he saw no signs of frostbite. He nudged Tomas awake, and the other boy raised himself up on his elbows, blinking at the firelight.

  Gardan stood on the other side of the fire, speaking with a guard. The Duke sat nearby, in quiet conversation with his son and Kulgan. Beyond Gardan and the guard, Pug could see only blackness. He couldn’t remember what time of day it had been when they found the cave, but he and Tomas must have slept for hours.

  Kulgan saw them stirring and came over. “How do you feel?” he asked, a look of concern on his face. The boys indicated they felt all right, considering the circumstances Pug and Tomas doffed their boots at Kulgan’s orders, and he was pleased to report they had suffered no frostbite, though one of the soldiers, he said, hadn’t been as lucky.

  “How long were we asleep?” asked Pug.

  “Throughout last night and all this day,” said the magician with a sigh.

  Then Pug noticed signs that a lot of work had been done. Besides the brush being cut, he and Tomas had been covered by some of the blankets. A pair of snared rabbits hung near the cave mouth with a row of freshly filled waterskins stacked near the fire. “You could have woken us,” Pug said, a note of worry in his voice.

  Kulgan shook his head. “The Duke wouldn’t have moved until the storm had passed, and that was only a few hours ago. In any event, you and Tomas weren’t the only tired ones here. I doubt even the hearty sergeant there could have gone more than another few miles with only one night’s rest. The Duke will see how things stand tomorrow. I expect we shall leave then, if the weather holds.”

  Kulgan stood and, with a small gesture indicating the boys should return to sleep if possible, went to stand beside the Duke. Pug was surprised that, for someone who had slept the day around, he was again tired, though he thought he would fill his stomach before seeking more sleep. Tomas nodded at his unspoken question, and the two scooted over by the fire. One of the soldiers was busy cooking meat and handed them hot portions.

  The boys wolfed down the food and after they were done sat back against one wall of the large cave. Pug started to speak to Tomas but was distracted when he caught sight of the guard by the cave’s mouth. A queer look passed over the man’s face as he stood talking to Sergeant Gardan, then his knees buckled. Gardan reached out to catch him, lowering him to the floor. The big sergeant’s eyes widened as he saw the arrow protruding from the man’s side.

  Time seemed suspended for an instant, then Gardan shouted, “Attack!”


  A howling cry sounded from outside the cave’s mouth, and a figure came bounding into the light, jumping over the low brush, then again bounding over the fire, knocking down the soldier cooking meat. It landed a short way from the boys and spun to face those it had leapt past. It was wrapped in a coat and trousers of animal furs. On one arm it bore a battle-scarred buckler-size shield, and in the other a curved sword was held high.

  Pug staved motionless as the creature regarded the company in the cave, a snarl on inhuman lips, eyes glowing with reflected firelight and fangs bared Tomas’s training asserted itself, and the sword he had clung to over the long march was out of its scabbard in an instant. With a show the creature swung downward at Pug, who rolled sideways, avoiding the blow. The blade rang out as it struck the ground, and Tomas made an off-balance lunge, awkwardly taking the creature low in the chest. It fell to its knees and gurgled as blood filled its lungs, then fell forward.

  Other attackers were leaping into the cave and were quickly engaged by the men from Crydee. Curses and oaths sounded, and swords rang out in the close confines of the cave. Guards and attackers stood face-to-face, unable to move more than a few feet. Several of the Duke’s men dropped swords and pulled daggers from their belts, better for close fighting.

  Pug grabbed his sword and looked for an attacker, but found none. In the dancing light of the fire, he could see the attackers were outnumbered by the remaining guards, and as two or three men of Crydee grappled with each attacker, it was quickly down and killed.

  Suddenly the cave was quiet, save for the heavy breathing of the soldiers. Pug looked and saw only one man down, the one who had taken the arrow. A few others sported light wounds. Kulgan hurried among the men, checking the wounds, then said to the Duke, “My lord, we have no other serious injuries.”

  Pug looked at the dead creatures. Six of them lay sprawled upon the cave floor. They were smaller than men, but not by much. Above thick browndges, their sloping foreheads were topped by thick black hair. Their blue-green tinged skins were smooth, save for one who had something like a youth’s beard upon his cheeks. Their eyes, open in death, were huge and round, with black irises on yellow. All died with snarls upon their hideous faces, showing long teeth that came close to being fangs.

  Pug crossed to Gardan, peering into the gloom of the night for signs of more of the creatures. “What are they, Sergeant?”

  “Goblins, Pug Though I can’t fathom what they are doing this far from their normal range.”

  The Duke came to stand next to him and said, “Only a half dozen, Gardan I have never heard of goblins attacking armed men except when the advantage was theirs. This was suicide.”

  “My lord, look here,” came Kulgan’s call, as he knelt over the body of a goblin. He had pulled away the dirty fur jacket worn by the creature and pointed to a poorly bandaged long, jagged wound on its chest. “This was not made by us. It is three, four days old and healing badly.”

  Guards inspected the other bodies and reported three others also bore recent wounds, not caused by this fight One had a broken arm and had fought without a shield.

  Gardan said, “Sire, they wear no armor Only the weapons in their hands.” He pointed to a dead goblin with a bow slung over its back, and an empty quiver at its belt. “They had but the one arrow they used to wound Daniel.”

  Arutha glanced at the carnage. “This was madness. Hopeless madness.”

  Kulgan said, “Yes, Highness; madness. They were battle weary, freezing, and starved. The smell of cooking meat must have driven them mad. From their appearance I’d say they’ve not eaten in some time. They preferred to gamble all on one last, frantic assault than to watch us eat while they froze to death.”

  Borric looked at the goblins again, then ordered his men to take the bodies outside the cave. To no one in particular, he said, “But who have they been fighting?”

  Pug said, “The Brotherhood?”

  Borric shook his head. “They are the Brotherhood’s creatures, or when not allied against us, they leave one another alone. No, it was someone else.”

  Tomas looked around as he joined those by the entrance. He wasn’t as comfortable speaking to the Duke as Pug, but finally he said, “My lord, the dwarves?”

  Borric nodded “If there’s been a dwarven raid on a nearby goblin village, it would explain why they were unarmored and unprovisioned. They would have grabbed the nearest weapons and fought their way free, fleeing at first chance. Yes, perhaps it was the dwarves.”

  The guards who had carried the bodies off into the snow ran back into the cave. “Your Grace,” one of them said, “we hear movement in the trees.”

  Borric turned to the others. “Get ready!”

  Every man in the cave quickly readied his weapons. Soon all could hear the tread of feet crunching through the icy snow. It grew louder as they waited, getting closer. Pug stood tensely, holding his sword, pushing down a churning feeling inside.

  Suddenly the sounds of footfalls stopped, as those outside halted. Then the sound of a single pair of boots could be heard coming closer. Appearing out of the dark came a figure directly toward the cave Pug craned his neck to see past the soldiers, and the Duke said, “Who passes this night?”

  A short figure, no more than five feet tall, pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing a metal helm sitting over a shock of thick brown hair. Two sparkling green eyes reflected the firelight. Heavy brows of brown-red hair came together at a point above a large hooked nose. The figure stood regarding the party, then signaled behind. More figures appeared from out of the night, and Pug pressed forward to get a better view, Tomas at his side. At the rear they could see several of the arrivals leading mules.

  The Duke and soldiers visibly relaxed, and Tomas said, “They’re dwarves!”

  Several of the guards laughed, as did the closest dwarf. The dwarf fixed Tomas with a wry gaze, saying, “What were you expecting, boy? Some pretty dryad come to fetch you away?”

  The lead dwarf walked into the firelight. He stopped before the Duke and said, “From your tabard, I see you to be men of Crydee.” He struck himself upon the chest and said, formally, “I hight Dolgan, chief of village Caldara, and Warleader of the Grey Towers dwarven people.” Pulling a pipe out of his cloak, from under a long beard that fell below his belt, he filled his pipe as he looked at the others in the cave. Then in less formal language he said, “Now, what in the name of the gods brings such a sorry-looking party of tall folk to this cold and forlorn place?”

  NINE - Mac Mordain Cadal

  The dwarves stood guard.

  Pug and the others from Crydee sat around the campfire as they hungrily ate the meal prepared by Dolgan’s men. A pot of stew bubbled near the fire. Hot loaves of trail bread, thick hard crust broken to reveal dark sweet dough thick with honey, were quickly being devoured Smoked fish, from the dwarves’ pack animals, provided a welcome change from the diet of horse meat of the last few days.

  Pug looked from where he sat beside Tomas, who was hard at work consuming his third portion of bread and stew. Pug watched as the dwarves worked efficiently about the camp. Most were outside the cave’s mouth, for they seemed less inconvenienced by the cold than the humans. Two tended the injured man, who would live, while two others served the hot meal to the Duke’s men, and another filled ale cups from a large skin filled with the bubbling brown liquid.

  There were forty dwarves with Dolgan. The dwarven chief was flanked by his sons, Weylin, the older, and Udell. Both showed a striking resemblance to their father, though Udell tended to darkness, having black hair rather than red-brown. Both seemed quiet compared to their father, who gestured expansively with a pipe in one hand and a cup of ale in the other as he spoke with the Duke.

  The dwarves had been on some sort of patrol along the edge of the forest, though Pug gained the impression a patrol this far from their villages was unusual. They had come across the tracks of the goblins who had attacked a few minutes before and were following closely behind, otherwise they
would have missed the Duke’s party as the night’s storm obliterated all tracks of the men from Crydee’s passage.

  “I remember you, Lord Borric,” said Dolgan, sipping at his ale cup, “though you were scarcely more than a baby when I was last at Crydee. I dined with your father. He set a fine table.”

  “And should you come again to Crydee, Dolgan, I hope you’ll find my table equally satisfactory.” They had spoken of the Duke’s mission, and Dolgan had remained mostly silent during the preparation of the meal, lost in thought. Suddenly he regarded his pipe, which had gone out. He sighed forlornly, putting it away, until he noticed Kulgan had pulled out his own and was producing respectable clouds of smoke. Brightening visibly, he said, “Would you be having the requirement of an extra pipe upon you, master magician?” He spoke with the deep, rolling burr the dwarves made when speaking the King’s Tongue.

  Kulgan fetched out his tabac pouch and handed it across to the dwarf “Providentially,” said Kulgan, “my pipe and pouch are two items always kept upon my person at all times. I can withstand the loss of my other goods—though the loss of my two books troubles me deeply—but to endure any circumstance without the comfort of my pipe is unthinkable.”

  “Aye,” agreed the dwarf as he lit up his own, “you have the right of it there. Except for autumn’s ale-—and my loving wife’s company or a good fight, of course—there’s little to match the pipe for pure pleasure.” He drew forth a long pull and blew out a large cloud of smoke to emphasize his point. A thoughtful look crossed his rugged face, and he said, “Now to the matter of the news you carry. They are strange tidings, but explain away some mysteries we have been tussling with for some time now.”

  Borric said, “What mysteries?”

  Dolgan pointed out of the cave mouth. “As we told you, we’ve had to patrol the area hereabouts. This is a new thing, for in years past the lands along the borders of our mines and farms have been free from trouble.” He smiled. “Occasionally a band of especially bold bandits or moredhel—the Dark Brothers you call them—or a more than usually stupid tribe of goblins troubles us for a time. But for the most part things remain pretty peaceful.