Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  They reached a gigantic branch and left the stairs. Calin began to warn him about not looking down, for he knew humans had difficulty on the high pathways, but Tomas stood near the edge, looking down with no sign of discomfort or vertigo.

  “This is a marvelous place,” he said. The three elves exchanged questioning glances, but no words were spoken.

  They set off again, and when they came to an intersection of branches, the two elves turned off the path, leaving Tomas and Calin to travel alone Deeper and deeper they moved, Tomas as surefooted on the branch road as the elf, until they reached a large opening. Here a circle of trees formed a central court for the Elf Queen. A hundred branches met and merged into a huge platform. Aglaranna was sitting upon a wooden throne, surrounded by her court. A single human, in the grey of a Natalese Ranger, stood near the Queen, his black skin gleaming in the night glow. He was the tallest man Tomas had ever seen, and the young man from Crydee knew this must be Long Leon, the ranger Grimsworth had spoken of.

  Calin led Tomas into the center of the clearing and presented him to Queen Aglaranna. She showed slight surprise as she saw the figure of the young man in white and gold, but quickly composed her features. In her rich voice she welcomed Tomas to Elvandar, and bade him stay as long as he wished.

  The court adjourned, and Dolgan came to where Tomas stood. “Well, laddie, I am glad to see you recovered. It was an undecided issue when we left you I hated to do so, but I think you understand. I was in need of getting word on the fighting near Stone Mountain.”

  Tomas nodded. “I understand. What news?”

  Dolgan shook his head. “Bad, I fear. We are cut off from our brethren. I think we will be staying with the elvenfolk for a while, and I have little love for these heights.”

  Tomas broke into open laughter at that. Dolgan smiled, for it was the first time since the boy had donned the dragon’s armor he had heard the sound.

  SIXTEEN - Raid

  Wagons groaned under heavy loads.

  Whips cracked and wheels creaked as lumbering oxen pulled their burdens down the road toward the beach. Arutha, Fannon, and Lyam rode before soldiers protecting the wagons traveling between the castle and the shore. Behind the wagons a ragged crowd of townspeople followed. Many carried bundles or pulled carts, following the Duke’s sons toward the waiting ships.

  They turned down the road that split off from the town road, and Arutha’s gaze swept over the signs of destruction. The once-thriving town of Crydee was now covered in an acrid blue haze. The sounds of hammering and sawing rang through the morning air as workmen labored to repair what they could of the damage.

  The Tsurani had raided at sundown two days before, racing through the town, overwhelming the few guards at their posts before an alarm was raised by terrified women, old men, and children. The aliens had run riot through the town, not pausing until they reached dockside, where they had fired three ships, heavily damaging two. The damaged ships were already limping toward Carse, while the undamaged ships in the harbor had moved down the coast to their present location, north of Sailor’s Grief.

  The Tsurani had put most of the buildings near the quay to the torch, but while heavily damaged, they were repairable. The fire had spread into the heart of town, resulting in the heaviest loss there. The Hall of the Craftmasters, the two inns, and dozens of lesser buildings were now only smoldering ruins. Blackened timbers, cracked roof tiles, and scorched stones marked their locations. Fully one third of Crydee had burned before the fire had been brought under control.

  Arutha had stood on the wall, watching the hellish glow reflected on the clouds above the town as the flames spread. Then at first light he had led the garrison out, finding the Tsurani already vanished into the forests.

  Arutha still chafed at the memory. Fannon had advised Lyam not to allow the garrison out until dawn—fearing it was a ruse to get the castle gates open or to lure the garrison into the woods where a larger force waited in ambush—and Lyam had acceded to the old Swordmaster’s request. Arutha was sure he could have prevented much of the damage had he been allowed to rout the Tsurani at once.

  As he rode down the coast road, Arutha was lost in thought. Orders arrived the day before instructing Lyam to leave Crydee. The Duke’s aide-de-camp had been killed, and with the war beginning its third year this spring, he wished Lyam to join him at his camp in Yabon. For reasons Arutha didn’t understand, Duke Borric had not given command to him as expected; instead Borric had named the Swordmaster garrison commander. But, thought the younger Prince, at least Fannon will be less ready to order me about without Lyam’s backing. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to dislodge his irritation. He loved his brother, but wished Lyam had shown more willingness to assert himself Since the beginning of the war, Lyam had commanded in Crydee, but it had been Fannon making all the decisions. Now Fannon had the office as well as the influence.

  “Thoughtful, brother?”

  Lyam had pulled his own horse up and was now beside Arutha, who shook his head and smiled faintly. “Just envious of you.”

  Lyam smiled his warmest at his younger brother. “I know you wish to be going, but Father’s orders were clear. You’re needed here.”

  “How needed can I be where every suggestion I make has been ignored?”

  Lyam’s expression was conciliatory. “You’re still disturbed by Father’s decision to name Fannon commander of the garrison.”

  Arutha looked hard at his brother. “I am now the age you were when Father named you commander at Crydee. Father was full commander and second Knight-General in the West at my age, only four years shy of being named King’s Warden of the West. Grandfather trusted him enough to give him full command.”

  “Father’s not Grandfather, Arutha. Remember, Grandfather grew up in a time when we were still warring in Crydee, pacifying newly conquered lands. He grew up in war. Father did not. He learned all his warcraft down in the Vale of Dreams, against Kesh, not defending his own home as Grandfather had. Times change.”

  “How they change, brother,” Arutha said dryly “Grandfather, like his father before him, would not have sat behind safe walls. In the two years since the war began, we have not mounted one major offensive against the Tsurani. We cannot continue letting them dictate the course of the war, or surely they will prevail.”

  Lyam regarded his brother with concern mirrored in his eyes. “Arutha, I know you are restless to harry the enemy, but Fannon is right in saying we dare not risk the garrison. We must hold here and protect what we have.”

  Arutha cast a quick glance at the ragged townspeople behind. “I’ll tell those who follow how well they’re protected.”

  Lyam saw the bitterness in Arutha. “I know you blame me, brother. Had I taken your advice, rather than Fannon’s . . .”

  Arutha lost his harsh manner. “It is not your doing,” he conceded “Old Fannon is simply cautious. He also is of the opinion a soldier’s worth is measured by the grey in his beard. I am still only the Duke’s boy. I fear my opinions from now on will receive short shrift.”

  “Curb thy impatience, youngster,” he said in mock seriousness. “Perhaps between your boldness and Fannon’s caution, a safe middle course will be followed.” Lyam laughed.

  Arutha had always found his brother’s laughter infectious and couldn’t repress a grin. “Perhaps, Lyam,” he said with a laugh.

  They came to the beach where longboats waited to haul the refugees out to the ships anchored offshore. The captains would not return to the quayside until they were assured their ships would not again come under attack, so the fleeing townspeople were forced to walk through the surf to board the boats. Men and women began to wade to the boats, bundles of belongings and small children held safely overhead. Older children swam playfully, turning the event into sport. There were many tearful partings, for most of the townsmen were remaining to rebuild their burned homes and serve as levies in the dukes’ army. The women, children, and old men who were leaving would be carried down the co
ast to Tulan, the southernmost town in the Duchy, as yet untroubled by either the Tsurani or the rampaging Dark Brothers in the Green Heart.

  Lyam and Arutha dismounted, and a soldier took their horses. The brothers watched as soldiers carefully loaded crates of messenger pigeons onto the sole longboat pulled up on shore. The birds would be shipped through the Straits of Darkness to the dukes’ camp Pigeons trained to fly to the camp were now on their way to Crydee, and with their arrival some of the responsibility for carrying information to and from the dukes’ camp would be lifted from Martin Longbow’s trackers and the Natalese Rangers. This was the first year mature pigeons raised in the camp—necessary for them to develop the homing instinct—were available.

  Soon the baggage and refugees were loaded, and it was time for Lyam to depart. Fannon bid him a stiff and formal farewell, but it was apparent from his controlled manner that the old Swordmaster felt concern for the Duke’s older son. With no family of his own, Fannon had been something of an uncle to the boys when they were growing, personally instructing them in swordsmanship, the maintenance of armor, and the theories of warcraft. He maintained his formal pose, but both brothers could see the genuine affection there.

  When Fannon left, the brothers embraced. Lyam said, “Take care of Fannon.” Arutha looked surprised. Lyam grinned and said, “I’d not care to think what would happen here should Father pass you over once more and name Algon commander of the garrison.”

  Arutha groaned, then laughed with his brother. As Horsemaster, Algon was technically second-in-command behind Fannon. All in the castle shared genuine affection for the man, and deep respect for his vast knowledge of horses, but everyone conceded his general lack of knowledge about anything besides horses. After two years of warfare, he still resisted the idea the invaders came from another world, an attitude that caused Tully no end of irritation.

  Lyam moved into the water, where two sailors held the longboat for him. Over his shoulder he shouted, “And take care of our sister, Arutha.”

  Arutha said he would. Lyam leaped into the longboat, next to the precious pigeons, and the boat was pushed away from shore. Arutha watched as the boat dwindled into the distance.

  Arutha walked slowly back to where a soldier held his mount. He paused to stare down the beach. To the south, the high bluffs reared, dominated by Sailor’s Grief, which stood upthrust against the morning sky. Arutha silently cursed the day the Tsurani ship crashed against those rocks.

  Carline stood atop the southern tower of the keep, watching the horizon, gathering her cloak around her against the sea breeze. She had stayed at the castle, bidding Lyam good-bye earlier, not wishing to ride to the beach. She preferred that her fears not becloud Lyam’s happiness at joining their father in the dukes’ camp. Many times over the last two years she had chided herself over such feelings. Her men were soldiers, all trained since boyhood for war. But since word had reached Crydee of Pug’s capture, she had remained afraid for them.

  A feminine clearing of the throat made Carline turn. Lady Glynis, the Princess’s companion for the last four years, smiled slightly and indicated with a nod of her head the newcomer who appeared at the trapdoor leading down into the tower.

  Roland emerged from the doorway in the floor. The last two years had added to his growth, and now he stood as tall as Arutha. He was still thin, but his boyish features were resolving into those of a man.

  He bowed and said, “Highness.”

  Carline acknowledged the greeting with a nod and gestured that Lady Glynis should leave them alone. Glynis fled down the stairway into the tower.

  Softly Carline said, “You did not ride to the beach with Lyam?”

  “No, Highness.”

  “You spoke with him before he left?”

  Roland turned his gaze to the far horizon. “Yes, Highness, though I must confess to a foul humor at his going.”

  Carline nodded understanding. “Because you have to stay.”

  He spoke with bitterness, “Yes, Highness.”

  Carline said gently, “Why so formal, Roland?”

  Roland looked at the Princess, seventeen years old just this last Midsummer’s Day. No longer a petulant little girl given to outbursts of temper, she was changing into a beautiful young woman of thoughtful introspection. Few in the castle were unaware of the many nights’ sobbing that issued from Carline’s suite after news of Pug had reached the castle. After nearly a week of solitude, Carline had emerged a changed person, more subdued, less willful. There was little outward to show how Carline felt, but Roland knew she carried a scar.

  After a moment of silence, Roland said, “Highness, when . . .” He halted, then said, “It is of no consequence.”

  Carline placed her hand upon his arm. “Roland, whatever else, we have always been friends.”

  “It pleases me to think that is true.”

  “Then tell me, why has a wall grown between us?”

  Roland sighed, and there was none of his usual roguish humor in his answer. “If there has, Carline, it is not of my fashioning.”

  A spark of the girl’s former self sprang into being, and with a temperamental edge to her voice she said, “Am I, then, the architect of this estrangement?”

  Anger erupted in Roland’s voice. “Aye, Carline!” He ran his hand through his wavy brown hair and said, “Do you remember the day I fought with Pug? The very day before he left.”

  At the mention of Pug’s name she tensed. Stiffly she said, “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, it was a silly thing, a boys’ thing, that fight. I told him should he ever cause you any hurt, I’d thrash him. Did he tell you that?”

  Moisture came unbidden to her eyes. Softly she said, “No, he never mentioned it.”

  Roland looked at the beautiful face he had loved for years and said, “At least then I knew my rival.” He lowered his voice, the anger slipping away. “I like to think then, near the end, he and I were fast friends. Still, I vowed I’d never stop my attempts to change your heart.”

  Shivering, Carline drew her cloak about her, though the day was not that cool She felt conflicting emotions within, confusing emotions. Trembling, she said, “Why did you stop, Roland?”

  Sudden harsh anger burst within Roland. For the first time he lost his mask of wit and manners before the Princess. “Because I can’t contend with a memory, Carline.” Her eyes opened wide, and tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. “Another man of flesh I can face, but this shade from the past I cannot grapple with.” Hot anger exploded into words “He’s dead, Carline. I wish it were not so; he was my friend and I miss him, but I’ve let him go. Pug is dead. Until you grant that this is true, you are living with a false hope.”

  She put her hand to her mouth, palm outward, her eyes regarding him in wordless denial. Abruptly she turned and fled down the stairs.

  Alone, Roland leaned his elbows on the cold stones of the tower wall. Holding his head in his hands, he said, “Oh, what a fool I have become!”

  “Patrol!” shouted the guard from the wall of the castle. Arutha and Roland turned from where they watched soldiers giving instructions to levies from the outlying villages.

  They reached the gate, and the patrol came riding slowly in, a dozen dirty, weary riders, with Martin Longbow and two other trackers walking beside. Arutha greeted the Huntmaster and then said, “What have you there?”

  He indicated the three men in short grey robes who stood between the line of horsemen. “Prisoners, Highness,” answered the hunter, leaning on his bow.

  Arutha dismissed the tired riders as other guards came to take position around the prisoners. Arutha walked to where they waited, and when he came within touching distance, all three fell to their knees, putting their foreheads to the dirt.

  Arutha raised his eyebrows in surprise at the display. “I have never seen such as these.”

  Longbow nodded in agreement. “They wear no armor, and they didn’t give fight or run when we found them in the woods. They did as you see now, onl
y then they babbled like fishwives.”

  Arutha said to Roland, “Fetch Father Tully. He may be able to make something of their tongue.” Roland hurried off to find the priest. Longbow dismissed his two trackers, who headed for the kitchen. A guard was dispatched to find Swordmaster Fannon and inform him of the captives.

  A few minutes later Roland returned with Father Tully. The old priest of Astalon was dressed in a deep blue, nearly black, robe, and upon catching a glimpse of him, the three prisoners set up a babble of whispers. When Tully glanced in their direction, they fell completely silent. Arutha looked at Longbow in surprise.

  Tully said, “What have we here?”

  “Prisoners,” said Arutha. “As you are the only man here to have had some dealings with their language, I thought you might get something out of them.”

  “I remember little from my mind contact with the Tsurani Xomich, but I can try.” The priest spoke a few halting words, which resulted in a confusion as all three prisoners spoke at once. The centermost snapped at his companions, who fell silent. He was short, as were the others, but powerfully built. His hair was brown, and his skin swarthy, but his eyes were a startling green. He spoke slowly to Tully, his manner somehow less deferential than his companions’.

  Tully shook his head. “I can’t be certain, but I think he wishes to know if I am a Great One of this world.”

  “Great One?” asked Arutha.

  “The dying soldier was in awe of the man aboard ship he called ‘Great One.’ I think it was a title rather than a specific individual. Perhaps Kulgan was correct in his suspicion these people hold their magicians or priests in awe.”