Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  Kulgan said, “I think you announced your father’s passing with simplicity and gentleness. It is a fine message.”

  Lyam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There is so much yet to write. I have said nothing about Martin.”

  Kulgan took up a quill. “I will copy this again, for your pen is a bit strangled, Lyam.” With a warm smile he added, “You were always one to prefer the sword to the quill. I’ll add some instructions to the end, asking that Martin go to Krondor with your sister. Gardan and Fannon should also make the journey. And an honor company of the castle garrison. It will make it seem you mean to honor those who served so well in Crydee. Then you will have ample time to decide how to tell Martin what you must.”

  Pug shook his head sadly. “I only wish you could add Roland’s name to that list.” Since coming to the camp, he had learned of the Squire of Tulan’s death. Kulgan had told him of what he knew of events in Crydee and elsewhere concerning his old friends over the last few years.

  Lyam said, “Curse me for a fool! Carline has no idea you are back, Pug. You must add that, Kulgan.”

  Pug said, “I hope it will not come as too much of a shock.”

  Kulgan chuckled. “Not so much of a shock as discovering you’ve a wife and child.”

  Memories of his boyhood and his tempestuous relationship with the Princess returned, and Pug said, “I hope also she has outgrown some of the notions she held nine years ago.”

  Lyam laughed for the first time since his father’s death, genuinely entertained by Pug’s discomfort. “Rest assured, Pug I’ve had many long communications with my brother and sister over the years, and I judge Carline a greatly changed young woman from the girl you once knew. She was fifteen years old when last you saw her. Think of your own changes in the last nine years.”

  Pug nodded.

  Kulgan finished his copy work and handed the document to Lyam. He read it and said, “Thank you, Kulgan. You’ve added just the right note of gentleness.”

  The tent flap opened and Brucal entered, his old, lined face animated with glee. “Bas-Tyra’s fled!”

  “How?” asked Lyam. “Our soldiers must still be a week from Krondor, maybe more.”

  The old Duke sat heavily in a chair. “We found a hidden cage of messenger pigeons, belonging to the late Richard of Salador. One of his men sent word to Guy of Rodric’s death, and your being named Heir. We’ve questioned the fellow, a valet of Richard’s He’s admitted to being one of Bas-Tyra’s spies in Richard’s court. Guy’s fled the city, knowing one of your first acts as King will be to have him hung. My guess is he will make straight for Rillanon.”

  “I would have thought that would be the last place on Midkemia he would wish to be,” remarked Kulgan.

  “Black Guy is no man’s fool, whatever else may be said of him. He’ll be underground, no doubt, but you’ll see his handiwork again before we are through. Until the crown is resting upon Lyam’s head, Guy is still a power in the Kingdom.”

  Lyam looked troubled at the last remark, thinking of his father’s dying declaration. Since Brucal’s admonition to say nothing of Martin, everyone had spoken only of Lyam’s coronation, nothing of Martin’s possible claim to the crown.

  Lyam let these disturbing thoughts pass by as Brucal continued speaking: “Still, with Bas-Tyra on the sly, most of our troubles are now behind. And with the war near an end, we can get back to the business of rebuilding the Kingdom. And I for one am glad I am getting too old for much more of this nonsense of war and politics. I only regret I am without a son, so I could announce in his favor and retire.”

  Lyam studied Brucal with affectionate disbelief. “You’ll never bow down gracefully, old war dog. You’ll go to your deathbed scratching and clawing every inch of the way, and that day is years off.”

  “Who’s talking of dying?” snorted Brucal. “I mean to hunt my hounds and fly my falcons, and do some fishing as well. Who knows? I may find some comely wench hearty enough to keep up with me, say about seventeen or eighteen years of age, and remarry and father a son yet. If that young fool Vandros ever gathers his wits about him and marries my Felinah, you just see how fast he’ll become Duke of Yabon when I retire.

  “Why she still waits for him is anybody’s guess.” He heaved himself up from his chair. “I am for a hot bath and some sleep before supper. By your leave?”

  Lyam motioned he might leave and, when he was gone, said, “I will never get used to this business of people needing my permission to come and go.”

  Pug and Kulgan rose from their chairs. Kulgan said, “You had better, for everyone will ask it of you from now on. With your permission . . . ?”

  Feigning disgust, Lyam motioned they might go.

  The council sat in assembly as Aglaranna took her place upon the throne. Besides the normal council, Martin Longbow was present, standing beside Tomas. When all were in place, Aglaranna said, “You have asked for council, Tathar. Now tell us what cause you bring before us.”

  Tathar bowed slightly to the Queen. “We of the council felt it time for an understanding.”

  “Of what, Tathar?” asked the Elf Queen.

  Tathar said, “We have labored long to bring a peaceful, secure ending to this business of Tomas. It is known by all here that our arts were turned to calming the rage within, softening the might of the Valheru, so the young man who was transformed would not be overwhelmed in the course of time.”

  He paused, and Martin leaned close to Tomas. “Trouble.”

  Tomas startled him with a slight smile and a wink. Once more Martin was reassured that the mirthful boy he had known in Crydee was as much present in this young man as the Dragon Lord. “Everything will be fine,” said Tomas in a whisper.

  “We have,” said Tathar, “come to judge this business done, for Tomas is no longer to be feared as an Old One.”

  Aglaranna said, “That is happy news indeed. But is this then cause for a council?”

  “No, lady. Something else must also be laid to rest. For while we no longer fear Tomas, still we will not place ourselves under his rule.”

  Aglaranna stood, outrage clear upon her face. “Who dares to presume this? Has there been a single word from any to suggest that Tomas seeks to rule?”

  Tathar stood firm before his Queen’s displeasure. “My lady, you see with a lover’s eyes.” Before she could answer, he held up his hand. “Speak not sharp words with me, daughter of my oldest friend; I make no accusations. That he shares your bed is no one’s concern save yourself. We begrudge you nothing. But he now has the means of a claim, and we would have the matter settled now.”

  Aglaranna paled, and Tomas stepped forward. “What means?” he said, his voice commanding.

  Tathar looked slightly surprised. “She carries your child. Did you not know?”

  Tomas was bereft of words. Conflicting feelings ran through him. A child! Yet he had not been told. He looked at Tathar “How do you know?”

  Tathar smiled, and there was no mockery in it. “I am old, Tomas I can see the signs.”

  Tomas looked to Aglaranna. “It is true?”

  She nodded. “I would not tell you until it was no longer possible to hide the truth.”

  He felt a stab of uncertainty. “Why?”

  “To spare you any worry. Until the war is through, you must put your mind to nothing else. I would not burden you with other thoughts.”

  Tomas stood quietly for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, a clear, joyous sound. “A child Praise the gods!”

  Tathar looked thoughtfully at Tomas. “Do you claim the throne?”

  “Aye, I do, Tathar,” Tomas said, a smile upon his face.

  Calin spoke for the first time. “It is my inheritance, Tomas. You will have to contest with me for it.”

  Tomas smiled at Calin. “I will not cross swords with you, son of my beloved.”

  “If you seek to be King among us, then you must.”

  Tomas walked over to Calin. There had never been any affection
between them, for more than the others, Calin had feared Tomas’s potential threat to his people and now stood ready to fight if need be.

  Tomas placed his hand upon Calin’s shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes. “You are Heir. I speak not of being your King.” He stepped away and addressed the council. “I am what you see before you, a being of two heritages. I possess the power of the Valheru, though I was not born to it, and my mind remembers ages long gone to dust. But I can remember a boy’s memories and can again feel the joy in laughter and a lover’s touch.” He looked at the Elf Queen. “I claim only the right to sit beside my Queen, with your blessings, as her consort. I will take only what rule she and you give, nothing more. Should you give none, still I will remain at her side.” Then, with firmness, he added, “But I will not stand down from this: our child shall have a heritage unblemished by a sinister birth.”

  There was a general murmur of approval, and Tomas faced Aglaranna. “If you will take me as husband?” he said in the ancient elven language.

  Aglaranna sat with eyes gleaming. She looked to Tathar “I will. Is there any who denies me the right?”

  Tathar looked around at the other councillors. Seeing no dissension, Tathar said, “It is permitted, my lady.”

  Abruptly there was a shout of approval from the gathered elves, and soon others were coming to investigate the unusual display of activity in the council. They in turn joined in the celebration, for all knew of the Queen’s love for the warrior in white and gold, and they judged him a fit consort.

  Calin said, “You are wise in our ways, Tomas. Had you done otherwise, there would have been strife, or lingering doubt. I thank you for your prudence.”

  Tomas took his hand in a firm grip. “It is only just, Calin. Your claim is without question. When your Queen and I have journeyed to the Blessed Isles, then our child will be your loyal subject.”

  Aglaranna came to Tomas’s side, and Martin joined them, to say, “Joy in all things.” Tomas embraced his friend, as did the Queen.

  Calin shouted for silence. When the noise had died, he said, “It is time for clear speaking. Let all know that what has been fact for years is now openly acknowledged. Tomas is Warleader of Elvandar, and Prince Consort to the Queen. His words are to be obeyed by all save the Queen. I, Calin, have spoken.”

  “And I, too, say this is true,” echoed Tathar. Then the council bowed before the Queen and her husband-to-be.

  Martin said, “It is well I shall leave Elvandar as happiness returns.”

  Aglaranna said, “You are leaving?”

  “I fear I must. There is still a war, and I am still Huntmaster of Crydee. Besides,” he said with a grin, “I fear young Garret is growing overly content to rest and partake of your largess. I must harry him along the trail before he gets fat.”

  “You’ll stay for the wedding?” asked Tomas.

  As Martin began to apologize, Aglaranna said, “The ceremony can be tomorrow.”

  Martin conceded. “One more day? I will be pleased.”

  Another shout went up, and Tomas could see Dolgan pushing through the crowd When the dwarf chief stood before them, he said, “We were not invited to the council, but when we heard the shouts, we came.” Behind him Tomas and Aglaranna could see the other dwarves approaching.

  Tomas placed his hand upon Dolgan’s shoulder. “Old companion, you are welcome. You have come to a celebration. There is to be a wedding.”

  Dolgan fixed them both with a knowing smile. “Aye, and high time.”

  The rider spurred his horse past the lines of Tsurani soldiers. He was still discomforted by the sight of so many of them passing to the east, and the recent enemy watched him ride by with guarded expressions as he headed toward Elvandar.

  Laurie pulled in his horse near a large outcropping of rock where a Tsurani officer in black-and-orange armor supervised the passing soldiers. From his officer’s plume and insignia, he was a Force Leader, surrounded by his cadre of Strike Leaders and Patrol Leaders. To the Force Leader he said, “Where lies the closest ford across the river?”

  The other officers regarded Laurie with suspicion, but if the Force Leader felt any surprise at the barbarian’s nearly perfect Tsurani, he did not show it. He inclined his head back the way his men marched from and said, “A short way from here. Less than an hour’s march. Faster on your beast, I’m sure. It is marked by two large trees on either side of a clearing, above a place where the river falls a short way.”

  Laurie had no difficulty identifying the house colors the man wore, as it was one of the Five Great Families, and said, “Thank you, Force Leader. Honor to your house, son of the Minwanabi.”

  The Force Leader stood erect. He did not know who this rider was, but he was courteous, and that courtesy must be returned. “Honor to your house, stranger.”

  Laurie rode forward past the dispirited Tsurani soldiers plodding along the banks of the river. He found the clearing above the small falls and rode into the water. The river ran swiftly here, but the horse managed to cross without incident Laurie could feel the spray from the falls as the wind blew it back in his direction. It felt cool and refreshing after the hot ride. He had been in the saddle since before daybreak and would not finish his ride until after night had fallen. By then he would be close enough to Elvandar to be intercepted by elven sentries. They would certainly be watching the Tsurani withdrawal with interest, and one could guide him to their Queen.

  Laurie had volunteered to carry the message, for it was felt that the messenger would be less likely to encounter trouble if he could speak Tsurani. He had been challenged three times during his ride, and each time he had explained his way past suspicious Tsurani officers. There might be a truce, but there was little trust yet.

  When he was clear of the river, Laurie dismounted, for his horse was tired. He walked the animal to cool it off. He pulled the saddle from the mount’s back and was rubbing him down with a brush carried in his saddlebags when a figure stepped out from among the trees. Laurie was startled, for the figure was not an elf. He was a dark-haired man with grey at the temples, dressed in a brown robe, and holding a staff. He approached the minstrel, without hurry and seemingly at ease. He stopped a few feet away and leaned on his staff. “Well met, Laurie of Tyr-Sog.”

  The man possessed a strange manner, and Laurie did not remember having met him before. “Do I know you?”

  “No, but I have knowledge of you, troubadour.”

  Laurie edged closer to his saddle, where his sword lay. The man smiled and waved his hand in the air. Abruptly Laurie was filled with calm, and he stopped moving for his sword. Whoever this man was, he was obviously harmless, he thought.

  “What brings you to the elven forest, Laurie?”

  Without knowing why, Laurie answered. “I bring messages to the Elf Queen.”

  “What are you to say?”

  “That Lyam is now Heir, and peace has been restored. He invites the elves and the dwarves to the valley in three weeks’ time, for there will they seal the peace.”

  The man nodded. “I see. I am on my way to see the Elf Queen. I will carry word. You must have better things you can do with your time.”

  Laurie started to protest, but stopped. Why should he travel to Elvandar when this man was bound there anyway? It was a waste of time.

  Laurie nodded. The man chuckled. “Why don’t you rest here for the night? The sound of water is soothing, and there is little chance of rain. Tomorrow return to the Prince and tell him that you carried the message to Elvandar. You spoke with the Queen and Tomas, and they were agreed to the Prince’s wishes. The dwarves of Stone Mountain will hear also. Then tell Lyam that the elves and the dwarves will come. He may rest assured, they will come.”

  Laurie nodded. What the man was saying made a great deal of sense. The stranger turned to leave, then said, “By the way, I think you’d best not mention our meeting.”

  Laurie said nothing, but accepted what the stranger said without question. After the man was gone, h
e felt a great sense of relief that he was on his way back from Elvandar and that his message had been received.

  The ceremony took place in a quiet glade, with Aglaranna and Tomas exchanging vows before Tathar. No one else was there, as was the elven way, while they pledged their love. Tathar invoked the blessings of the gods and instructed them on their duty, one to the other.

  When the ceremony was complete, Tathar said, “Now return to Elvandar, for it is time for feasting and celebration. You have brought joy to your people, my Queen and my Prince.”

  They rose from their kneeling positions and embraced. Tomas stepped back and said, “I would have this day remembered, beloved.” He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. In the ancient language of the elves he cried, “Belegroch! Belegroch! Attend us.”

  The sound of hooves pounding the earth could be heard. Then a small band of white horses raced into the glade, ran toward them, and reared in salute to the Elf Queen and her consort Tomas leaped upon the back of one. The elf steed stood quietly, and Tathar said, “By no other way could you have shown so well that you are now one with us.”

  Aglaranna and Tathar mounted, and they rode back to Elvandar. When they came into sight of the tree-city, a great shout went up from the assembled elves. The sight of the Queen and her Prince Consort riding the elf steeds was, as Tathar said, a confirmation of Tomas’s place in Elvandar.

  The feasting went on for hours, and Tomas observed that the joy he felt was shared by everyone. Aglaranna sat next to him, for a second throne had been placed in the council hall, acknowledging Tomas’s rank. Every elf who was not keeping watch over the outworlders came to stand before them, pledging loyalty and offering blessings on the union. The dwarves also offered their congratulations and joined in the festivities wholeheartedly, filling the glades of Elvandar with their boisterous singing.

  Long into the night the celebration wore on Suddenly Tomas stiffened. A chilled wind seemed to pass through him. Aglaranna gripped his arm, sensing something amiss “Husband, what is it?”