Magician: Master

by Raymond E. Feist

  Laurie sat quietly for a moment, and the tension left the room. “Pug, I never would have imagined, but as you said, when have you had the time?”

  “Laurie, what am I to do?”

  “What would you like to do?” Laurie looked at Pug, his expression showing concern.

  “I would like to…go to her. I think. I don’t know.”

  Laurie rubbed his chin. “Look, Pug, I never thought I’d have this sort of talk with anyone besides a son someday if I ever have one. I wasn’t meaning to make sport of you. You just caught me off guard.” He looked away, gathering his thoughts, then said, “My father threw me out when I was just shy twelve years old; I was the oldest boy, and he had seven other mouths to feed. And I was never much for farming. A neighbor boy and I walked to Tyr-Sog and spent a year living on the streets. He joined a mercenary band as a cook’s monkey and later became a soldier. I hooked up with a traveling troupe of musicians. I apprenticed to a jongleur from whom I learned the songs, sagas, and ballads, and I traveled.

  “I came quickly to my growth, a man at thirteen. There was a woman in the troupe, a widow of a singer, traveling with her brothers and cousins. She was just past twenty, but seemed very old to me then. She was the one who introduced me to the games of men and women.” He stopped for a moment, reliving memories long forgotten.

  Laurie smiled. “It was over fifteen years ago, Pug. But I can still see her face. We were both a little lost. It was never a planned thing. It just happened one afternoon on the road.

  “She was…kind.” He looked at Pug. “She knew I was scared, despite my bravado.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “I can still see the sun in the trees behind her face, and the smell of her mingled with the scent of wildflowers.” Opening his eyes he said, “We spent the next two years together, while I learned to sing. Then I left the troupe.”

  “What happened?” Pug asked, for this was a new story to him. Laurie had never spoken of his youth before.

  “She married again. He was a good man, an innkeeper on the road from Malac’s Cross to Durrony’s Vale. His wife had died the year before of fever, leaving him with two small sons. She tried to explain things to me, but I wouldn’t listen. What did I know? I was not quite sixteen, and the world was a simple place.”

  Pug nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  Laurie said, “Look, what I’m trying to say is that I understand the problem. I can explain how things work….”

  Pug said, “I know that. I wasn’t raised by monks.”

  “But you don’t know how things work.”

  Pug nodded as they both laughed. “I think you should just go to the girl and make your feelings known,” said Laurie.

  “Just talk to her?”

  “Of course. Love is like a lot of things, it is always best done with the head. Save mindless efforts for mindless things. Now go.”

  “Now?” Pug looked panic-stricken.

  “You can’t start any sooner, right?”

  Pug nodded and without a word left. He walked down the dark and quiet corridors, outside to the slave quarters, and found his way to her door. He raised his hand to knock on the door frame, then stopped. He stood quietly for a moment trying to make up his mind what to do, when the door slid open. Almorella stood in the doorway, clutching her robe about her, her hair disheveled. “Oh,” she whispered, “I thought it was Laurie. Wait a moment.” She disappeared into the room, then shortly reappeared with a bundle of things in her arms. She patted Pug’s arm and set off in the direction of his and Laurie’s room.

  Pug stood at the door, then slowly entered. He could see Katala lying under a blanket on her pallet. He stepped over to where she lay and squatted next to her. He touched her shoulder and softly spoke her name. She came awake and sat up suddenly, gathered her blanket around her, and said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I…I wanted to talk to you.” Once started, the words came out in a tumbling rush. “I am sorry if I’ve done anything to make you angry with me. Or haven’t done anything. I mean, Laurie said that if you don’t do something when someone expects you to, that’s as bad as paying too much attention. I’m not sure, you see.” She covered her mouth to hide a giggle, for she could see his distress in spite of the gloom. “What I mean…what I mean is I’m sorry. Sorry for what I’ve done. Or didn’t do…”

  She silenced him by placing her fingertips across his mouth. Her arm snaked out and around his neck, pulling his head downward. She kissed him slowly, then said, “Silly. Go close the door.”

  —

  THEY LAY TOGETHER, Katala’s arm across Pug’s chest, while he stared at the ceiling. She made sleepy sounds, and he ran his hands through her thick hair and across her soft shoulder.

  “What?” she asked sleepily.

  “I was just thinking that I haven’t been happier since I was made a member of the Duke’s court.”

  “ ’Sgood.” She came a bit more awake. “What’s a duke?”

  Pug thought for a moment. “It’s like a lord here, only different. My Duke was cousin to the King, and the third most powerful man in the Kingdom.”

  She snuggled closer to him. “You must have been important to be part of the court of such a man.”

  “Not really; I did him a service and was rewarded for it.” He didn’t think he wanted to bring up Carline’s name here. Somehow his boyhood fantasies about the Princess seemed childish in light of this night.

  Katala rolled over onto her stomach. She raised her head and rested it on a hand, forming a triangle with her arm. “I wish things could be different.”

  “How so, love?”

  “My father was a farmer in Thuril. We are among the last free people in Kelewan. If we could go there, you could take a position with the Coaldra, the Council of Warriors. They always have need for resourceful men. Then we could be together.”

  “We’re together here, aren’t we?”

  Katala kissed him lightly. “Yes, dear Pug, we are. But we both remember what it was to be free, don’t we?”

  Pug sat up. “I try to put that sort of thing out of my mind.”

  She put her arms around him, holding him as she would a child. “It must have been terrible in the swamps. We hear stories, but no one knows,” she said softly.

  “It is well that you don’t.”

  She kissed him, and soon they returned to that timeless, safe place shared by two, all thoughts of things terrible and alien forgotten. For the rest of the night they took pleasure in each other, discovering a depth of feeling new to each. Pug couldn’t tell if she had known other men before, and didn’t ask. It wasn’t important to him. The only important thing was being there, with her, now. He was awash in a sea of new delights and emotions. He didn’t understand his feelings entirely, but there was little doubt what he felt for Katala was more real, more compelling, than the worshipful, confused longings he had known when with Carline.

  —

  WEEKS PASSED, AND Pug found his life falling into a reassuring routine. He spent occasional evenings with the Lord of the Shinzawai playing chess—or shāh, as it was called here—and their conversations gave Pug insights into the nature of Tsurani life. He could no longer think of these people as aliens, for he saw their daily life as similar to what he had known as a boy. There were surprising differences, such as the strict adherence to an honor code, but the similarities far outnumbered the differences.

  Katala became the centerpiece of his existence. They came together whenever they found time, sharing meals, a quick exchange of words, and every night that they could steal together. Pug was sure the other slaves in the household knew of their nighttime assignations, but the proximity of people in Tsurani life had bred a certain blindness to the personal habits of others, and no one cared a great deal about the comings and goings of two slaves.

  Several weeks after his first night with Katala, Pug found himself alone with Kasumi, as Laurie was embroiled in another shouting match with the woodcrafter who was finishing his lute. The man
considered Laurie somewhat unreasonable in objecting to the instrument’s being finished in bright yellow paint with purple trim. And he saw absolutely no merit in leaving the natural wood tones exposed. Pug and Kasumi left the singer explaining to the woodcrafter the requirements of wood for proper resonance, seemingly intent on convincing by volume as much as by logic.

  They walked toward the stable area. Several more captured horses had been purchased by agents of the Lord of the Shinzawai and had been sent to his estate, at what Pug took to be a great deal of expense and some political maneuvering. Whenever alone with the slaves, Kasumi spoke the King’s Tongue and insisted they call him by name. He showed a quickness in learning the language that matched his quickness in learning to ride.

  “Friend Laurie,” said the older son of the house, “will never make a proper slave from a Tsurani point of view. He has no appreciation of our arts.”

  Pug listened to the argument that still could be heard coming from the wood-carver’s building. “I think it more the case of his being concerned over the proper appreciation of his art.”

  They reached the corral and watched as a spirited grey stallion reared and whinnied at their approach. The horse had been brought in a week ago, securely tied by several leads to a wagon, and had repeatedly tried to attack anyone who came close.

  “Why do you think this one is so troublesome, Pug?”

  Pug watched the magnificent animal run around the corral, herding the other horses away from the men. When the mares and another, less dominant, stallion were safely away, the grey turned and watched the two men warily.

  “I’m not sure. Either he’s simply a badly tempered animal, perhaps from mishandling, or he’s a specially trained war-horse. Most of our war mounts are trained not to shy in battle, to remain silent when held, to respond to their rider’s command in times of stress. A few, mostly ridden by lords, are specially trained to obey only their master, and they are weapons as much as transport, being schooled to attack. He may be one of these.”

  Kasumi watched him closely as he pawed the ground and tossed his head. “I shall ride him someday,” he said. “In any event, he will sire a strong line. We now number five mares, and Father has secured another five. They will arrive in a few weeks, and we are scouring every estate in the Empire to find more.” Kasumi got a far-off look and mused, “When I was first upon your world, Pug, I hated the sight of horses. They rode down upon us, and our soldiers died. But then I came to see what magnificent creatures they are. There were other prisoners, when I was still back on your world, who said you have noble families who are known for nothing so much as the fine stock of horses they breed. Someday the finest horses in the Empire shall be Shinzawai horses.”

  “By the look of these, you have a good start, though from what little I know, I think you need a larger stock for breeding.”

  “We shall have as many as it takes.”

  “Kasumi, how can your leaders spare these cap tured animals from the war effort? You must surely see the need to quickly build mounted units if you are going to advance your conquest.”

  Kasumi’s face took on a rueful expression. “Our leaders, for the most part, are tradition-bound, Pug. They refuse to see any wisdom in training cavalry. They are fools. Your horsemen ride over our warriors, and yet they pretend we cannot learn anything, calling your people barbarians. I once sieged a castle in your homeland, and those who defended taught me much about warcraft. Many would brand me traitor for saying such, but we have held our own only by force of numbers. For the most part, your generals have more skill. Trying to keep one’s soldiers alive, rather than sending them to their death, teaches a certain craftiness.

  “No, the truth of the matter is we are led by men who—” He stopped, realizing he was speaking dangerously. “The truth is,” he said at last, “we are as stiff-necked a people as you.”

  He studied Pug’s face for a moment, then smiled. “We raided for horses during the first year, so that the Warlord’s Great Ones could study the beasts, to see if they were intelligent allies, like our cho-ja, or merely animals. It was a fairly comical scene. The Warlord insisted he be the first to try to ride a horse. I suspect he chose one much like this big grey, for no sooner did he approach the animal than the horse attacked, nearly killing him. His honor won’t permit any other to ride when he failed. And I think he was fearful of trying again with another animal. Our Warlord, Almecho, is a man of considerable pride and temper, even for a Tsurani.”

  Pug said, “Then how can your father continue to purchase captured horses? And how can you ride in defiance of his order?”

  Kasumi’s smile broadened. “My father is a man of considerable influence in the council. Our politics is strangely twisted, and there are ways to bend any command, even from the Warlord or High Council, and any order, save one from the Light of Heaven himself. But most of all it is because these horses are here, and the Warlord is not.” He smiled. “The Warlord is supreme only in the field. Upon this estate, none may question my father’s will.”

  Since coming to the estate of the Shinzawai, Pug had been troubled by whatever Kasumi and his father were plotting. That they were embroiled in some Tsurani political intrigue he doubted not, but what it might prove to be he had no idea. A powerful lord like Kamatsu would not spend this much effort satisfying a whim of even a son as favored as Kasumi. Still, Pug knew better than to involve himself any more than he was involved by circumstance. He changed the topic of conversation. “Kasumi, I was wondering something.”

  “Yes?”

  “What is the law regarding the marriage of slaves?”

  Kasumi seemed unsurprised by the question. “Slaves may marry with their master’s permission. But permission is rarely given. Once married, a man and wife may not be separated, nor can children be sold away so long as the parents live. That is the law. Should a married couple live a long time, an estate could become burdened with three or four generations of slaves, many more than they could economically support. But occasionally permission is granted. Why, do you wish Katala for your wife?”

  Pug looked surprised. “You know?”

  Without arrogance Kasumi said, “Nothing occurs upon my father’s estates that he is ignorant of, and he confides in me. It is a great honor.”

  Pug nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know yet. I feel much for her, but something holds me back. It’s as if…” He shrugged, at a loss for words.

  Kasumi regarded him closely for a time, then said, “It is by my father’s will you live and by his whim how you live.” Kasumi stopped for a minute, and Pug became painfully aware of how large a gulf still stood between the two men, one the son of a powerful lord and the other the lowest of his father’s property, a slave. The false veneer of friendship was ripped away, and Pug again knew what he had learned in the swamp: here life was cheap, and only this man’s pleasure, or his father’s, stood between Pug and destruction.

  As if reading Pug’s mind, Kasumi said, “Remember, Pug, the law is strict. A slave may never be freed. Still, there is the swamp, and there is here. And to us of Tsuranuanni, you of the Kingdom are very impatient.”

  Pug knew Kasumi was trying to tell him something, something perhaps important. For all his openness at times, Kasumi could easily revert to a Tsurani manner Pug could only call cryptic. There was an unvoiced tension behind Kasumi’s words, and Pug thought it best not to press. Changing the topic of conversation again, he asked, “How goes the war, Kasumi?”

  Kasumi sighed, “Badly for both sides.” He watched the grey stallion. “We fight along stable lines, unchanged in the last three years. Our last two offensives were blunted, but your army also could make no gains. Now weeks pass without fighting. Then your countrymen raid one of our enclaves, and we return the compliment. Little is accomplished except the spilling of blood. It is all very senseless, and there is little honor to be won.”

  Pug was surprised. Everything he had seen of the Tsurani reinforced Meecham’s observation of years ago, that the
Tsurani were a very warlike race. Everywhere he had looked when traveling to this estate, he had seen soldiers. Both sons of the house were soldiers, as had been their father in his youth. Hokanu was First Strike Leader of his father’s garrison, due to his being the Lord of the Shinzawai’s second son, but his dealing with the slave master at the swamp camp showed a ruthless efficiency in Hokanu, and Pug knew it to be no quirk. He was Tsurani, and the Tsurani code was taught at a very early age, and fiercely followed.

  Kasumi sensed he was being studied and said, “I fear I am becoming softened by your outlandish ways, Pug.” He paused. “Come, tell me more of your people, and what…” Kasumi froze. He seized Pug’s arm and cocked his head, listening. After a brief instant he said, “No! It can’t be!” Suddenly he wheeled and shouted, “Raid! The Thūn!”

  Pug listened and in the distance could hear the faint rumbling, as if a herd of horses were galloping over the plains. He climbed upon the rail of the corral and looked into the distance. A large meadow stretched away behind the corral ending at the edge of a lightly wooded area. While the alarm sounded behind him, he could see forms emerging from the tree line.

  Pug watched in terrible fascination as the creatures called Thūn came racing toward the estate house. They grew in stature as they ran furiously toward where Pug waited. They were large, centaurlike beings, looking like mounted riders in the distance. Rather than horselike, the lower body was reminiscent of a large deer or an elk, but more heavily muscled. The upper body was completely manlike, but the face resembled nothing so much as an ape with a long snout. The entire body, except the face, was covered by a medium-length fur, mottled grey and white. Each creature carried a club or ax, the head being stone lashed to the wooden haft.

  Hokanu and the household guard came running from the soldiers’ building and took up positions near the corral. Archers readied their bows, and swordsmen stood in ranks, ready to accept the charge.

  Suddenly Laurie was at Pug’s side, holding his nearly finished lute. “What?”

  “Thūn raid!”