Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  The Shinzawai lord looked troubled. “The council would not, I am sure. But the Emperor would.”

  “The Emperor?” Milamber said, surprised “What has he to do with this?”

  “Ichindar, may heaven bless him, feels the war is bleeding the Empire of its resources. When we campaigned against the Thuril, we learned that some frontiers are simply too vast and far from the Empire to control, save at costs far greater than the victories are worth. The Light of Heaven understands that nowhere could there be a frontier as vast or far as that we have found on Midkemia. He is taking a hand in the Game of the Council. It is perhaps the greatest game ever played in the history of Tsuranuanni. The Light of Heaven is willing to command the Warlord to peace, to have him removed from office if need be. But he will not take the risk of so great a break with tradition unless he is guaranteed the willingness of King Rodric to come to terms. He must go before the High Council with peace a fait accompli; otherwise he risks too much.

  “Regicide has been committed only once in the history of the Empire, Great One. The High Council hailed the killer and named him Emperor. He was the son of the man he slew. His father had tried to order taxes imposed upon the temples, the last time an Emperor played in the Game of the Council. We can be a hard people, Great One, even with ourselves, and never has an Emperor sought to do what Ichmdar seeks, what others, many others, will see as laying down the honor of the Empire, an unthinkable act.

  “But if he can deliver peace to the council, then it will clearly show the gods give their blessing to such an undertaking, and none will dare challenge him.”

  “You risk much, Lord of the Shinzawai.”

  “I love my nation and the Empire, Great One. I would willingly die in the field for her, and I risked that often when I was younger, during the Thunl campaigns. I would also risk my life, my sons, the honor of my house, family, and clan to bring the Empire to sanity. As would the Emperor. We are a patient people. This plan is years in preparation. The Blue Wheel Party has long been secretly allied with the Party for Peace. We withdrew in the third year of the war to embarrass the Warlord and set the stage for Kasumi’s training for the coming journey. Over a year was spent in traveling to various lords within the Blue Wheel and Peace parties, ensuring cooperation, that every member would play his part in the Game of the Council, before you and Laurie were brought here to be his tutors.

  “We are Tsurani, and the Light of Heaven would not allow an overture to be made until he had a ready messenger. We have made Kasumi that messenger, seeking to give him the best possible chance of reaching your former King safely. It must be this way, for should any outside our faction learn of the attempt if it fails, many heads, including my own, would fall, the price of losing the game If you take Laurie away, Kasumi has little chance of reaching your former King, and the peace effort will be postponed until we can find another trustworthy guide, a delay almost certain to last one or two more years. The situation is now critical. The Blue Wheel Party is again part of the Alliance for War, after years of negotiation with the War Party, and thousands of men are being sent to fight so that Kasumi may slip through Kingdom lines into your former homeland. The time will soon be ripe. You must consider what even another year of war would mean. With the conquest of your former homeland, the Warlord could become invulnerable to any move we may make.”

  Milamber considered, then to Kasumi said, “How soon?”

  Kasumi said, “Soon, Great One, a matter of weeks. The Warlord has spies everywhere and has some hint of our plans. He has little trust of the Blue Wheel’s sudden shift in the council, but he cannot refuse the aid. He feels the need to strike a great victory. He plans the major spring offensive against the forces of Lords Borric and Brucal, the Kingdom’s main strength. It will be timed to occur just before the Imperial Festival, orchestrated so he can announce the victory at the Imperial Games, for his own personal glory.”

  Kamatsu said, “It is much like an end-game gambit in shah, Great One.

  “A smashing victory will gain the Warlord all he needs to take control of the High Council, but we risk this to play for our final move. The front will be in confusion as preparations are being made for the offensive Kasumi and Laurie will have their best opportunity to slip through the lines. Should King Rodric agree, then the Light of Heaven can appear in the High Council with an announcement of peace, and all that the Warlord’s power and influence is based upon will crumble In terms of shah, we expose our last piece to capture so that our Emperor may checkmate a Warlord.”

  Milamber was thoughtful for a time. “I think you have embarked on a bold plan, Lord of the Shinzawai. I will honor my pledge to say nothing Laurie may continue here.” He looked at Laurie. “May the gods of our forefathers protect you and bring you success. I pray this war may end soon.” He stood up. “If you don’t mind, I will take my leave. I would have my wife and child home now.”

  Kasumi rose and bowed. “I should like to say one thing more, Great One.”

  Milamber indicated he should proceed. “Years ago, when you asked for Katala for your wife, and I told you the request would be refused, I also told you there was a reason. It was our plan you would also return to your homeworld I trust you understand that now. We are a hard people, Great One, but not cruel.”

  “It was apparent as soon as the plan was revealed.” He looked at Laurie. “For what I am now, this is my homeland, but there is still a part of me unchanged within, and for that reason I envy you your homecoming. You will be well remembered, old friend.”

  So saying, Milamber left the room. Outside the great house he found Katala waiting in a garden, watching their son at play. She came to him and they embraced, savoring sweet reunion. After a long moment he said, “Come, beloved, let us take our son home.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN - Fusion

  Longbow wept in silence.

  Alone in a glade near the edge of the elven forests, the Huntmaster of Crydee stood over three fallen elves. Their lifeless bodies lay sprawled upon the ground with arms and legs bent at impossible angles, their fair faces covered in blood. Martin knew what death meant to the elves, where one or two children to a family in a century was the norm. One face he knew well, Algavins, Galain’s companion since boyhood, less than thirty years of age, still a child by the elven folk’s measure.

  Footsteps from behind caused Martin to wipe away the tears and resume his usually impassive expression From behind he heard Garret say, “There’s another bunch down the trail, Huntmaster. The Tsurani went through this part of the forest like a bad wind.”

  Martin nodded, then set out without comment Garret followed. For all his youth, Garret was Longbow’s best tracker, and they both moved lightly along the trail toward Elvandar.

  After traveling for hours, they crossed the river west of a Tsurani enclave, and when they were safely into the elven forests, a voice hailed them from the trees. “Well met, Martin Longbow.”

  Martin and Garret halted and waited as three elves appeared from among the trees, seemingly forming out of the air Galain and his two companions approached the Huntmaster and Garret. Martin inclined his head slightly back toward the river, and Galain nodded. It was all the communication they needed to exchange the fact both knew of Algavins’s death, along with the others. Garret noticed the exchange, though he was far from conversant with the subtleties of elvish ways.

  “Tomas? Calin?” asked Martin.

  “In council with the Queen. Do you bring news?”

  “Messages from Prince Arutha. Are you bound for council?”

  Galain smiled the elvish half-smile that indicated ironic humor. “It has fallen to us to guard the way. We must remain for a time. We will come as soon as the dwarves cross the river. They are due anytime now.”

  The comment was not lost on Martin as he bade them good-bye and continued toward Elvandar. Approaching the clearing surrounding the elvish tree-city, he wondered at the exclusion of Galain and the other young elves from council. They were all constant companion
s of Tomas since he came to take up permanent residency in Elvandar. Martin had not been there since just before the siege of Crydee, but in those years he had spoken to some of the Natalese Rangers who ran messages from the Duke to Elvandar to Crydee. On several occasions he had spent hours talking with Long Leon and Grimsworth of Natal. While close-mouthed when not among their own kind, they were less guarded with Longbow, for in the Huntmaster of Crydee they sensed a kindred spirit. He was the only man not a Ranger of Natal who could enter Elvandar unbidden. The two Natalese Rangers had indicated great changes in the Elf Queen’s court, and Martin felt a strange sort of silent disquiet.

  As they approached Elvandar in an easy, loping run, Garret said, “Huntmaster, will they not send someone to fetch the fallen?”

  Martin stopped and leaned upon his bow. “Garret, it is not their way. They will let the forest reclaim them, for they believe their true spirits are now abiding in the Blessed Isles.” He thought a moment, then said, “Among my trackers, you are perhaps the best I’ve known.” The still young man blushed at the compliment, but Longbow said, “No flattery, but simply fact I mention it because you are the one most likely to replace me should anything happen.”

  Garret’s usual hangdog expression gave way to one of close attention to what Martin was saying. Martin continued, “If something should occur that takes me from this life, I would hope that someone would continue to keep Elvandar and the human world from drifting apart.”

  Garret nodded. “I think I understand.”

  “You must, for it would be a sad thing for the two races to grow away from one another.” He spoke softly. “About their beliefs you must learn as you can, but a few things you should know, especially in this time of war. Do you remember how it is claimed that certain priests can recall the dead, if they are no more than an hour departed?”

  Garret said, “I have heard the story, but I have never met anyone who claims to have seen it done, or even claims to know someone who has seen it.”

  “It is true. Father Tully says so, and he’s not the sort to be less than forthright on matters of faith.” Martin looked down at the soil. “There is a story: an important priest—of which order I do not know—found himself grown away from the gods and caught up in the human world. He cast off his fine robes and golden ornaments and donned the simple homespun of an itinerant monk. He wandered the wilderness, seeking humility. Time and chance brought him to Elvandar, where he came upon a newly fallen elf, dead by accident but a few minutes before the priest arrived. He began to recall the elf from death, for he was a priest of great powers, and sought to share his abilities with all in need. He was halted by the elf’s wife, and when he asked her why, she said, ‘It is not our way. He is now in a far better place, and should you recall him, he will not return but against his will and to our sorrow. That is why we will not speak his name, lest he hear longing in our voices and return to comfort us at cost of his own.’ From what I know, no elf has ever been recalled from death.

  “I have been told by some that no elf can be revived by human arts. Others have said that elves have no true souls, which is why they do not return. I think both are false, and they have a finer sense of where they live in the world.”

  Garret was quiet for a moment while he digested this information. “It is a strange tale, Huntmaster. What brought it to mind?”

  “The death of those elves and your question. It is to show you how they differ from us, and how you must work to learn their ways. You will spend time among them.”

  “Is the tale of the dead elf true?”

  “Yes. The newly fallen elf was the late Elf King, Queen Aglaranna’s husband. I was but a boy then, thirty years ago, but I remember it. I was with the hunting party when the accident happened, and I met the priest.”

  Garret said nothing, and Martin picked up his weapon and resumed his journey.

  They soon came to the edge of Elvandar. Martin stopped while Garret stood enraptured by the sight of the great trees. The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows through the forest, but the high boughs were already glimmering with their own fairy light.

  Martin took Garret by the elbow and gently guided the gawking tracker along to the Queen’s court. He reached the council ring and entered, saluting the Queen.

  Aglaranna smiled at sight of him. “Welcome, Martin Longbow. It has been too long since you last came to us.”

  Martin introduced Garret, who bowed awkwardly before the Queen. Then another figure entered the court, from where he had stood in the shadows.

  Martin had grown alongside elven children and was as able as any man in hiding his emotions when need be, but the sight of Tomas rocked him to the point of nearly exclaiming. Biting back a comment, he forced himself not to stare and heard Garret’s indrawn breath of amazement. They had heard of the changes in Tomas, but nothing had prepared either Martin or Garret for the sight of the towering man before him. Alien eyes regarded them. There was little remaining of the happy, grinning boy who had once followed Martin through the woods begging for tales of the elves, or played barrel ball with Garret. Without cordiality Tomas stepped forward and said, “What word from Crydee?”

  Martin leaned upon his bow. “Prince Arutha sends his greetings,” he said to the Queen, “and his affections, as well as his hope for your good health.” Turning to Tomas, who had obviously usurped some position of command within the Queen’s council, he said, “Arutha sends the following news: Black Guy, Duke of Bas-Tyra, now rules in Krondor, so no help will be forthcoming to the Far Coast. Also, the Prince has good cause to believe the outworlders plan to mount a major offensive soon, whether against Crydee, Elvandar, or the Duke’s army he cannot tell. However, the southern enclaves are not being reinforced through the dwarven mines, though they are strongly dug in. My trackers have had some signs of northward movement, but nothing on a large scale. It is Arutha’s guess the most likely offensive will be against his father and Brucal’s army.” Then he said, “And I bring word that Arutha’s Squire has been slain.” He observed the elven avoidance of naming the dead.

  Tomas’s eyes betrayed a glint of emotion at the news of Roland’s death, but all he said was, “In war men die.”

  Calin realized the exchange was something of a personal matter between Longbow and Tomas. No one else in the court had known Roland well, though Calin remembered him from the dinner that night so many years ago in Crydee. Martin was troubled by Tomas’s reaction to the news of his boyhood friend’s death. Returning to the business of the war, the Elf Prince said, “It is a logical thing. Should the Kingdom army in the West be broken, the outworlders could then turn their full attention on the other fronts, gaining the Free Cities and Crydee quickly. Within a year, two at the most, all of what once was Keshian Bosania would be under their banners. Then they could march easily upon Yabon. In time they could march to the gates of Krondor.”

  Tomas faced Calin, as if to speak, his eyes narrow. A flash of communication passed between the Queen and Tomas, and he stepped back into his place in the council circle. Calin continued, “If the outworlders are not staging to the west of the mountains, then we should be joined by the dwarves soon. We’ve had sorties across the river from the outworlders, but no sign of major attacks to come. I think Arutha is correct in his surmise, and should the dukes call, we should try to aid them.”

  Tomas turned upon the Elf Prince. “Leave Elvandar unprotected!” His face showed outrage. Martin was startled by the ferocity of Tomas’s barely checked anger “Without stripping the elven forests of defenders, we could not mount enough numbers to matter in such a battle.”

  Calin’s face remained impassive, but his eyes mirrored Tomas’s anger. His words came forth quietly. “I am Warleader of Elvandar. I would not leave our forests unprotected. But should the outworlders mount a major offensive against the dukes, they will not leave sufficient soldiers along the river to menace our forests. They have not come against us since we defeated them with the sorcerer’s aid and their Black Robes were k
illed. But should they battle Lords Borric and Brucal, and should the battle be a close thing, our numbers might tip the balance, especially as we can strike against their weaker flank.”

  Tomas maintained his self-control, standing rigidly for a moment, then in icy tones he said, “The dwarves follow Dolgan, and Dolgan follows my lead. They will not come unless I call them to battle.” Without another word he left the council circle.

  Martin watched Tomas leave. His skin crawled as he felt for the first time the power contained within this strange blend of man and whatever else lived inside the boy from Crydee. He had caught only a glimpse of what was within Tomas, but it had been enough Tomas was a being to be feared.

  Martin then saw a flicker of expression on Aglaranna’s face. She rose and said, “I had better have words with Tomas. He has been overwrought of late.”

  As she left, Martin was struck by a certainty. Whatever else he had seen, he had witnessed a conflict between the Elf Queen’s son and her lover, and a deep conflict within herself, as well. Aglaranna had worn the expression of one caught in a hopeless fate.

  When the Queen had left, Calin said, “You have come at a propitious time, Martin. We have need of your wisdom.”

  Martin nodded. He sent Garret away to get something to eat, and when he was gone, Martin studied the Elf Prince, then the others in the council. Tathar stood at his usual place, to the right of the Queen’s throne. Others he knew, all old and trusted advisers of the Queen. Many were ancient Spellweavers.