Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  Caldric looked at Borric calmly. “And will you be branded traitor to the crown?”

  Borric slapped the table with his hand. “Curse the day that villain was born. I regret that I must acknowledge him kinsman.”

  Caldric waited for a minute until Borric calmed down, then said, “I know you better than you know yourself, Borric You would not raise the war banner of the West against the King, though you might happily strangle your cousin Guy. It was always a sad thing for me that the Kingdom’s two finest generals could hate each other so.”

  “Aye, and with cause. Every time there is a call to aid the West, it is cousin Guy who opposes. Every time there is intrigue and a title is lost, it is one of Guy’s favorites who gains. How can you not see? It was only because you, Brucal of Yabon, and I myself held firm that the congress did not name Guy regent for Rodric’s first three years. He stood before every Duke in the Kingdom and called you a tired old man who was not fit to rule in the King’s name. How can you forget?”

  Caldric did look tired and old as he sat in the chair, one hand shading his eyes, as if the room light were too bright. Softly he said, “I do see, and I haven’t forgotten. But he also is my kinsman by marriage, and if I were not here, how much more influence do you think he would have with Rodric? As a boy the King idolized him, seeing in him a dashing hero, a fighter of the first rank, a defender of the Kingdom.”

  Borric leaned back in his chair. “I am sorry, Caldric,” he said, his voice losing its harsh edge. “I know you act for the good of us all. And Guy did play the hero, rolling the Keshian Army back at Deep Taunton, all those years ago. I should not speak of things I have not seen firsthand.”

  Arutha sat passively through all this, but his eyes showed he felt the same anger as his father. He moved forward in his chair, and the dukes looked at him. Borric said, “You have something to say, my son?”

  Arutha spread his hands wide before him. “In all this the thought has bothered me: should the Tsurani come, how would it profit Guy to see the King hesitate?”

  Borric drummed his fingers on the table. “That is the puzzle, for in spite of his scheming, Guy would not peril the Kingdom, not to spite me.”

  “Would it not serve him,” said Arutha, “to let the West suffer a little, until the issue was in doubt, then to come at the head of the Armies of the East, the conquering hero, as he was at Deep Taunton?”

  Caldric considered this. “Even Guy could not think so little of these aliens, I would hope.”

  Arutha paced the room “But consider what he knows. The ramblings of a dying man. Surmise on the nature of a ship that only Pug, here, has seen, and I caught but a glimpse of as it slid into the sea. Conjecture by a priest and a magician, both callings Guy holds in little regard. Some migrating Dark Brothers. He might discount such news.”

  “But it is all there for the seeing,” protested Borric.

  Caldric watched the young Prince pace the room. “Perhaps you are right. What may be lacking is the urgency of your words, an urgency lacking in the dry message of ink and parchment. When he arrives, we must convince him.”

  Borric nearly spat his words. “It is for the King to decide, not Guy!”

  Caldric said, “But the King has given much weight to Guy’s counsel. If you are to gain command of the Armies of the West, it is Guy who must be convinced.”

  Borric looked shocked. “I? I do not want the banner of the armies. I only wish for Erland to be free to aid me, should there be need.”

  Caldric placed both hands upon the table. “Borric, for all your wisdom, you are much the rustic noble. Erland cannot lead the armies. He is not well. Even if he could, the King would not allow it. Nor would he give leave for Erland’s Marshal, Dulanic. You have seen Rodric at his best, of late. When the black moods are upon him, he fears for his life. None dare say it, but the King suspects his uncle of plotting for the crown.”

  “Ridiculous!” exclaimed Borric. “The crown was Erland’s for the asking thirteen years ago. There was no clear succession Rodric’s father had not yet named him heir apparent, and Erland’s claim was as clear as the King’s, perhaps more so. Only Guy and those who sought to use the boy pressed Rodric’s claim. Most of the congress would have sustained Erland as King.”

  “I know, but times are different, and the boy is a boy no longer. He is now a frightened young man who is sick from fear. Whether it is due to Guy’s and the others’ influence or from some illness of the mind, I do not know. The King does not think as other men do. No king does, and Rodric less than most. Ridiculous as it may seem, he will not give the Armies of the West to his uncle. I am also afraid that once Guy has his ear, he will not give them to you either.”

  Borric opened his mouth to say something, but Kulgan interrupted. “Excuse me, Your Graces, but may I suggest something?”

  Caldric looked at Borric, who nodded. Kulgan cleared his throat and said, “Would the King give the Armies of the West to Duke Brucal of Yabon?”

  Comprehension slowly dawned on Borric’s and Caldric’s faces, until the Duke of Crydee threw back his head and laughed. Slamming his fist on the table, he nearly shouted, “Kulgan! If you had not served me well in all the years I have known you, tonight you have.” He turned to Caldric. “What do you think?”

  Caldric smiled for the first time since entering the room “Brucal? That old war dog? There is no more honest man in the Kingdom. And he is not in the line of succession. He would be beyond even Guy’s attempts to discredit. Should he receive the command of the armies . . .”

  Arutha finished the thought “He would call Father to be his chief adviser. He knows Father is the finest commander in the West.”

  Caldric sat up straight in his chair, excitement on his face. “You would even have command of the armies of Yabon.”

  “Yes,” said Arutha, “and LaMut, Zun, Ylith, and the rest.”

  Caldric stood. “I think it will work. Say nothing to the King tomorrow. I will find the proper time to make the ‘suggestion.’ Pray that His Majesty approves.”

  Caldric took his leave, and Pug could see that for the first time there was hope for a good ending to this journey. Even Arutha, who had fumed like black thunder all week, looked nearly happy.

  Pug was awakened by a pounding on his door. He sleepily called out for whoever was out there to enter, and the door opened. A royal steward peeked in. “Sir, the King commands all in the Duke’s party to join him in the throne room. At once.” He held a lantern for Pug’s convenience.

  Pug said he would come straight away and hurriedly got dressed. Outside it was still dark, and he felt anxious about what had caused this surprise summons. The hopeful feeling of the night before, after Caldric had left, was replaced by a gnawing worry that the unpredictable King had somehow learned of the plan to circumvent the arrival of the Duke of Bas-Tyra.

  He was still buckling his belt about his tunic when he left his room. He hurried down the hall, with the steward beside him holding a lantern against the dark, as the torches and candles usually lit in the evening had all been extinguished.

  When they reached the throne room, the Duke, Arutha, and Kulgan were arriving, all looking apprehensively toward Rodric, who paced by his throne, still in his night-robes. Duke Caldric stood to one side, a grave expression on his face. The room was dark, save for the lanterns carried by the stewards.

  As soon as they were gathered before the throne, Rodric flew into a rage. “Cousin! Do you know what I have here?” he screamed, holding out a sheaf of parchment.

  Borric said he didn’t. Rodric’s voice lowered only a little. “It is a message from Yabon! That old fool Brucal has let those Tsurani aliens attack and destroy one of his garrisons. Look at these!” he nearly shrieked, throwing the parchments toward Borric. Kulgan picked them up and handed them to the Duke. “Never mind,” said the King, his voice returning to near-normalcy. “I’ll tell you what they say.

  “These invaders have attacked into the Free Cities, near Wahnor. They have attac
ked into the elven forests. They have attacked Stone Mountain. They have attacked Crydee.”

  Without thinking, Borric said, “What news from Crydee?”

  The King stopped his pacing. He looked at Borric, and for a moment Pug saw madness in his eyes. He closed them briefly, then opened them, and Pug could see the King was himself again. He shook his head slightly and raised his hand to his temple. “I have only secondhand news from Brucal. When those messages left six weeks ago, there had only been one attack at Crydee. Your son Lyam reports the victory was total, driving the aliens deep into the forest.”

  Caldric stepped forward. “All reports say the same thing. Heavily armed companies of foot soldiers attacked during the night, before the snows had melted, taking the garrisons by surprise. Little is known save that a garrison of LaMutians near Stone Mountain was overrun. All other attacks seem to have been driven back.” He looked at Borric meaningfully. “There is no word of the Tsurani’s using cavalry.”

  Borric said, “Then perhaps Tully was right, and they have no horses.”

  The King seemed to be dizzy, for he took a staggering step backward and sat on his throne. Again he placed a hand to his temple, then said, “What is this talk of horses? My Kingdom is invaded. These creatures dare to attack my soldiers.”

  Borric looked at the King. “What would Your Majesty have me do?”

  The King’s voice rose. “Do? I was going to wait for my loyal Duke of Bas-Tyra to arrive before I made any decision. But now I must act.”

  He paused, and his face took on a vulpine look, as his dark eyes gleamed in the lantern light. “I was considering giving the Armies of the West to Brucal, but the doddering old fool can’t even protect his own garrisons.”

  Borric was about to protest on Brucal’s behalf, but Arutha, knowing his father, gripped his arm, and the Duke remained silent.

  The King said, “Borric, you must leave Crydee to your son. He is capable enough, I should think. He’s given us our only victory so far.” His eyes wandered and he giggled. He shook his head for a moment, and his voice lost its frantic edge. “Oh, gods, these pains I think my head will burst.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Borric, leave Crydee to Lyam and Arutha, I’m giving you the banner of the Armies of the West, go to Yabon. Brucal is sorely pressed, for most of the alien army strikes toward LaMut and Zun. When you are there, request what you need. These invaders must be driven from our lands.”

  The King’s face was pale, and perspiration gleamed on his forehead. “This is a poor hour to start, but I have sent word to the harbor to ready a ship. You must leave at once. Go now.”

  The Duke bowed and turned Caldric said, “I will see His Majesty to his room. I will accompany you to the docks when you are ready.”

  The old Chancellor helped the King from the throne, and the Duke’s party left the hall. They rushed back to their rooms to find stewards already packing their belongings. Pug stood around excitedly, for at last he was returning to his home.

  They stood at dockside, bidding farewell to Caldric. Pug and Meecham waited, and the tall franklin said, “Well, lad. It will be some time before we see home again, now that war is joined.”

  Pug looked up into the scarred face of the man who had found him in the storm, so long ago. “Why? Aren’t we going home?”

  Meecham shook his head. “The Prince will ship from Krondor through the Straits of Darkness to join his brother, but the Duke will ship for Ylith, then to Brucal’s camp somewhere near LaMut. Where Lord Borric goes, Kulgan goes. And where my master goes, I go. And you?”

  Pug felt a sinking in his stomach. What the franklin said was true. He belonged with Kulgan, not with the folk at Crydee, though he knew if he asked, he would be allowed to go home with the Prince. He resigned himself to another sign that his boyhood was ending. “Where Kulgan goes, I go.”

  Meecham clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well, at least I can teach you to use that bloody sword you swing like a fishwife’s broom.”

  Feeling little cheer at the prospect, Pug smiled weakly. They soon boarded the ship and were under way toward Salador, and the first leg of the long journey west.

  FOURTEEN - Invasion

  The spring rains were heavy that year.

  The business of war was hampered by the ever-present mud. It would stay wet and cold for nearly another month before the brief, hot summer came.

  Duke Brucal of Yabon and Lord Borric stood looking over a table laden with maps. The rain hammered on the roof of the tent, the central part of the commander’s pavilion. On either side of the tent two others were attached, providing sleeping quarters for the two nobles. The tent was filled with smoke, from lanterns and from Kulgan’s pipe. The magician had proven an able adviser to the dukes, and his magical aid helpful. He could detect trends in the weather, and his wizard’s sight could detect some of the Tsurani’s troop movements, though not often. And over the years his reading of every book he encountered, including narratives of warfare, had made him a fair student of tactics and strategy.

  Brucal pointed to the newest map on the table. “They have taken this point here, and another here. They hold this point”—he indicated another spot on the map—” in spite of our every effort to dislodge them. They also seem to be moving along a line from here, to here.” His finger swept down a line along the eastern face of the Grey Towers. “There is a coordinated pattern here, but I’m damned if I can anticipate where it’s going next.” The old Duke looked weary. The fighting had been going on sporadically for over two months now, and no distinct advantage could be seen on either side.

  Borric studied the map. Red spots marked known Tsurani strongholds: hand-dug, earthen breastworks, with a minimum of two hundred men defending. There were also suspected reinforcement companies, their approximate location indicated with yellow spots. It was known that any position attacked was quick to get reinforcements, sometimes in a matter of minutes. Blue spots indicated the location of Kingdom pickets, though most of Brucal’s forces were billeted around the hill upon which the commander’s tent sat.

  Until the heavy foot soldiers and engineers from Ylith and Tyr-Sog arrived to man and create permanent fortifications, the Kingdom was fighting a principally mobile war, for most of the troops assembled were cavalry. The Duke of Crydee agreed with the other man’s assessment. “It seems their tactics remain the same: bring in a small force, dig in, and hold. They prevent our troops from entering, but refuse to follow when we withdraw. There is a pattern. But for the life of me, I can’t see it either.”

  A guard entered. “My lords, an elf stands without, seeking entrance.”

  Brucal said, “Show him in.”

  The guard held aside the tent flap, and an elf entered. His red-brown hair was plastered to his head, and his cloak dripped water on the floor of the tent. He made a slight bow to the dukes.

  “What news from Elvandar?” Borric asked.

  “My Queen sends you greetings.” He quickly turned to the map. He pointed at the pass between the Grey Towers on the south and Stone Mountain on the north, the same pass Borric’s forces now bottled up at its east end. “The outworlders move many soldiers through this pass. They have advanced to the edge of the elven forests, but seek not to enter. They have made it difficult to get through.” He grinned. “I led several a merry chase for half a day. They run nearly as well as the dwarves. But they could not keep up in the forest.” He returned his attention to the map. “There is word from Crydee that skirmishes have been fought by outriding patrols, but nothing close to the castle itself. There is no word of activity from the Grey Towers, Carse, or Tulan. They seem content to dig in along this pass. Your forces to the west will not be able to join you, for they could not break through now.”

  “How strong do the aliens appear to be?” asked Brucal.

  “It is not known, but I saw several thousand along this route.” His finger indicated a route along the northern edge of the pass, from the elven forests to the Kingdom camp. “The dwarves of Stone Mou
ntain are left alone, so long as they do not venture south. The outworlders deny them the pass also.”

  Borric asked the elf, “Has there been any report of the Tsurani’s having cavalry?”

  “None. Every report refers only to infantry.”

  Kulgan said, “Father Tully’s speculation on their being horseless seems to be borne out.”

  Brucal took brush and ink in hand and entered the information on the map. Kulgan stood looking over his shoulder.

  Borric said to the elf, “After you’ve rested, carry my greetings to your mistress, and my wish for her good health and prosperity. If you should send runners to the west, please carry the same message to my sons.”

  The elf bowed. “As my lord wishes. I shall return to Elvandar at once.” He turned and left the tent.

  Kulgan said, “I think I see it.” He pointed to the new red spots on the map. They formed a rough half circle, through the pass “The Tsurani are trying to hold this area here. That valley is the center of the circle I would guess they are attempting to keep anyone from getting close.”

  Both the dukes looked puzzled Borric said, “But to what purpose? There is nothing there of any value militarily. It is as if they are inviting us to bottle them up in that valley.”

  Suddenly Brucal gasped “It’s a bridgehead. Think of it in terms of crossing a river. They have a foothold on this side of the rift, as the magician calls it. They have only as many supplies as their men can carry through. They don’t have enough control of the area for foraging, so they need to expand the area under their control and build up supplies before they launch an offensive.”

  Brucal turned to the magician. “Kulgan, what do you think? This is more in your province.”