Magician: Master

by Raymond E. Feist

  Now Tomas and his band, numbering over three hundred elves and dwarves, sat awaiting word from other camps. They were eating a stew of venison, seasoned with mosses, roots, and tubers.

  A runner came up to Tomas and Galain. “Word from the King’s army.” Behind him a figure in grey approached the campfire.

  Tomas and Galain stood. “Hail, Long Leon of Natal,” said the elf.

  “Hail, Galain,” answered the tall, black-skinned ranger.

  An elf brought over bread and a bowl of steaming stew to the two newcomers, and as they sat, Tomas said, “What news from the Duke?”

  Between mouthfuls of food, the ranger said, “Lord Borric sends greetings. Things stand poorly. Like moss on a tree, the Tsurani slowly advance in the east. They take a few yards, then sit. They seem to be in no hurry. The Duke’s best guess is they seek to reach the coast by next year, isolating the Free Cities from the north. Then perhaps an attack toward Zūn or LaMut. Who can say?”

  Tomas asked, “Any news from Crydee?”

  “Pigeons arrived just before I left. Prince Arutha holds fast against the Tsurani. They have luck as poor there as here. But they move southward through the Green Heart.” He surveyed the dwarves and Tomas. “I am surprised that you could reach Elvandar.”

  Dolgan puffed his pipe. “It was a long trek. We had to move swiftly and with stealth. It is unlikely we will be able to return to the mountains now the invaders are aroused. Once in place, they are loath to yield what they have gained.”

  Tomas paced before the fire. “How did you elude their sentries?”

  “Your raids are causing much confusion in their ranks. Men who faced the Armies of the West were pulled out of the line to rush to the river. I simply followed one such group. They never thought to look behind. I had only to slip past their lines when they withdrew and then again across the river.”

  Calin said, “How many do they bring against us?”

  Leon shrugged. “I saw six companies, there must be others.” They had estimated a Tsurani company at twenty squads each of thirty men.

  Tomas slapped his gloved hands together. “They would bring three thousand men back only if they were planning another crossing. They must seek to drive us deep into the forest again, to keep us from harrying their positions.” He crossed to stand over the ranger. “Do any of the black-robed ones come?”

  “From time to time I saw one with the company I followed.”

  Tomas again slapped his hands. “This time they come in force. Send word to the other camps. In two days’ time all the host of Elvandar is to meet at the Queen’s court, save scouts and runners who will watch the outworlders.”

  Silently runners sprang up from the fire and hurried off to carry word to the other elven bands strung out along the banks of the river Crydee.

  —

  ASHEN-SHUGAR SAT upon his throne, oblivious to the dancers. The moredhel females had been chosen for their beauty and grace, but he was untouched by their allure. His mind’s eye was far away, seeking the coming battle. Inside, a strangeness, a hollow feeling without name, came into being.

  It is called sadness, said the voice within.

  Ashen-Shugar thought: Who are you to visit me in my solitude?

  I am that which you are becoming. This is but a dream, a memory.

  Ashen-Shugar drew forth his sword and rose from his throne, bellowing his rage. Instantly the musicians stopped their playing. The dancers, servants, and musicians fell to the floor, prostrating themselves before their master. “I am! There is no dream!”

  You are but a remembrance of the past, said the voice. We are becoming one.

  Ashen-Shugar raised his sword, then lashed down. The head of a cowering servant rolled upon the floor. Ashen-Shugar knelt and placed his hand in the fountain of blood. Raising fingers to his lips, he tasted the salty flavor and cried, “Is this not the taste of life!”

  It is illusion. All has passed.

  “I feel a strangeness, an unease that makes me…it makes me…there is no word.”

  It is fear.

  Ashen-Shugar again lashed out with his sword, and a young dancer died. “These things, they know fear. What has fear to do with me?”

  You are afraid. All creatures fear change, even the gods.

  Who are you? asked the Valheru silently.

  I am you. I am what you will become. I am what you were. I am Tomas.

  —

  A SHOUT FROM below brought Tomas from his reverie. He rose and left his small room, crossing a tree-branch bridge to the level of the Queen’s court. At a rail he could make out the dim figures of hundreds of dwarves camped below the heights of Elvandar. He stood for a time watching the campfires below. Each hour hundreds more elven and dwarven warriors made their way to join this army he marshaled. Tomorrow he would sit in council with Calin, Tathar, Dolgan, and others and make known his plan to meet the coming assault.

  Six years of fighting had given Tomas a strange counterpoint to the dreams that still troubled his sleep. When the battle rage took him, he existed in another’s dreams. When he was away from the elven forest, the call to enter those dreams became ever more difficult to stem. He felt no fear of these visitations, as he had at first. He was more than human because of some long-dead being’s dreams. There were powers within him, powers that he could use, and they were now part of him, as they had been part of the wearer of the white and gold. He knew that he would never be Tomas of Crydee again, but what was he becoming…?

  The slightest hint of a footfall sounded behind him. Without turning, he said, “Good eve, my lady.”

  The Elf Queen came to stand next to him, a studied expression on her face. “Your senses are elven now,” she said in her own language.

  “So it seems, Shining Moon,” he answered in the same language, using the ancient translation of her name.

  He turned to face her and saw wonder in her eyes. She reached out and gently touched his face. “Is this the boy who stood so flustered in the Duke’s council chamber at the thought of speaking before the Elf Queen, who now speaks the true tongue as if born to it?”

  He pushed away her hand, gently. “I am what I am, what you see.” His voice was firm, commanding.

  She studied his face, holding back a shudder as she recognized something fearful within his countenance. “But what do I see, Tomas?”

  Ignoring her question, he said, “Why do you avoid me, lady?”

  Gently she spoke. “There is this thing growing between us that may not be. It sprang into existence the moment you first came to us, Tomas.”

  Almost with a note of amusement, Tomas said, “Before that, lady, from the first I gazed upon you.” He stood tall over her. “And why may this thing not be? Who better to sit at your side?”

  She moved away from him, her control lost for a brief moment. In that instant he saw what few had ever seen: the Elf Queen confused and unsure, doubting her own ancient wisdom. “Whatever else, you are man. Despite what powers are granted you, it is a man’s span allotted to you. I will reign until my spirit travels to the Blessed Isles to be with my lord, who has already made the journey. Then Calin rules, as son of a king, as King. Thus it is with my people.”

  Tomas reached for her and turned her to face him. “It was not always so.”

  Her eyes showed a spark of fear. “No, we were not always a free people.”

  She sensed impatience within him, but she also saw him struggle with it as he forced his voice to calmness. “Do you then feel nothing?”

  She took a step away. “I would lie if I said not. But it is a strange pulling, and something that fills me with uncertainty and with no small dread. If you become more the Valheru, more than the man can master, then we could not welcome you here. We would not allow the return of the Old Ones.”

  Tomas laughed, with a strange mixture of humor and bitterness. “As a boy I beheld you and was filled with a boy’s longing. Now I am a man and behold you with a man’s longing. Is the power that makes me bold enoug
h to seek you out, the power that gives me the means to do so, that which will also keep us apart?”

  Aglaranna put her hand to her cheek. “I know not. It has never been with the royal family to be other than what we are. Others may seek alliance with humans. I would not have that sadness when you are old and grey and I am still as you see me.”

  Tomas’s eyes flashed, and his voice gained a harsh edge. “That will never happen, lady. I shall live a thousand years in this glade. Of that I have no doubt. But I shall trouble you no more…until other matters are settled. This thing is willed by fate to be, Aglaranna. You will come to know that.”

  She stood with her hand raised to her mouth, and her eyes moist with emotion. He walked away, leaving her alone in her court to consider what he had said. For the first time since her Lord-King had passed over, Aglaranna knew two conflicting emotions: fear and longing.

  —

  TOMAS TURNED AT a shout from the edge of the clearing. An elf was walking from the trees followed by a simply dressed man. He stopped his conversation with Calin and Dolgan, and the three hurried to follow the stranger as he was guided up to the Queen’s court. Aglaranna sat on her throne, her elders arranged on benches to either side. Tathar stood next to the Queen.

  The stranger approached the throne and made a slight bow. Tathar threw a quick glance at the sentry who had escorted the man, but the elf looked bemused. The man in brown said, “Greetings, lady,” in perfect elvish.

  Aglaranna answered in the King’s Tongue. “You come boldly among us, stranger.”

  The man smiled, leaning on his staff. “Still, I did seek a guide, for I would not enter Elvandar unbidden.”

  Tathar said, “I think yon guide had little choice.”

  The man said, “There is always a choice, though it is not always apparent.”

  Tomas stepped forward. “What is your purpose here?”

  Turning at the voice, the man smiled. “Ah! The wearer of the dragon’s gift. Well met, Tomas of Crydee.”

  Tomas stepped back. The man’s eyes radiated power, and his easy manner veiled strength that Tomas could feel. “Who are you?”

  The man said, “I have many names, but here I am called Macros the Black.” He pointed with his staff and swept it around the gathered watchers. “I have come, for you have embarked upon a bold plan.” At the last, he pointed his staff at Tomas. He dropped the tip and leaned on the staff again. “But the plan to capture a Black Robe will bring naught but destruction to Elvandar should you not have my aid.” He smiled slightly. “A Black Robe you shall have in time, but not yet.” There was a hint of irony in his voice.

  Aglaranna arose. Her shoulders were back, and her eyes looked straight into his. “You know much.”

  Macros inclined his head slightly. “Aye, I know much, more than is sometimes comforting.” He stepped past her and placed a hand upon Tomas’s shoulder. Guiding Tomas to a seat near where the Queen stood, Macros forced him to sit with a gentle pressure on his shoulder. He took a seat next to him and laid the staff against the crook of his neck and shoulder. Looking at the Queen, he said, “The Tsurani come at first light, and they will drive straight through to Elvandar.”

  Tathar stepped before Macros and said, “How do you know this?”

  Macros smiled again. “Do you not remember me in council with your father?”

  Tathar stepped back, his eyes widening. “You…”

  “I am he, though I am no longer called as I was then.”

  Tathar looked troubled. “So long ago. I would not have thought it possible.”

  Macros said, “Much is possible.” He looked pointedly from the Queen to Tomas.

  Aglaranna slowly sat down, masking her discomfort. “Are you the sorcerer?”

  Macros nodded. “So I am called, though there is more in the tale than can be told now. Will you heed me?”

  Tathar nodded to the Queen. “Long ago, this one came to our aid. I do not understand how it can be the same man, but he was then a true friend to your father and mine. He can be trusted.”

  “What, then, is your counsel?” asked the Queen.

  “The Tsurani magicians have marked your sentries, knowing where they hide. At first light they will come, breaking across the river in two waves, like the horns of a bull. As you meet them, a wave of the creatures called cho-ja will come through the center, where your strength is weak. They have not thrown them against you yet, but the dwarves can tell you of their skill in warfare.”

  Dolgan stepped forward. “Aye, lady. They are fearsome creatures and fight in the dark as well as do my people. I had thought them confined to the mines.”

  Macros said, “And so they were, until the raids. They have brought up a host of them, which ready themselves across the river, beyond the sight of your scouts. They will come in numbers. The Tsurani tire of your raids and would put an end to the warring across the river. Their magicians have worked hard to learn the secrets of Elvandar, and now they know that should the sacred heart of the elven forests fall, the elves will be a force no longer.”

  Tomas said, “Then we shall hold back, and defend against the center.”

  Macros sat quietly for a moment, as if remembering something. “That is a start, but they bring their magicians with them, anxious as they are for an ending. Their magic will let their warriors pass through your forests unchecked by the power of your Spellweavers, and here they will come.”

  Aglaranna said, “Then we shall meet them here and stand until the end.”

  Macros nodded. “Bravely said, lady, but you will need my aid.”

  Dolgan studied the sorcerer. “What can one man do?”

  Macros stood. “Much. Upon the morrow, you shall see. Fear not, dwarf, the battle will be harsh, and many will travel to the Blessed Isles, but with firm resolve, we shall prevail.”

  Tomas said, “You speak like one who has already seen these things happen.”

  Macros smiled, and his eyes said a thousand things, and nothing. “I do, Tomas of Crydee, do I not?” He turned to the others and with a sweep of his staff said, “Ready yourselves. I shall be with you.” To the Queen he said, “I would rest; if you have a place for me?”

  The Queen turned to the elf who had brought Macros to the council. “Take him to a room, bring him whatever he requires.”

  The sorcerer bowed and followed the guide. The others stood in silence, until Tomas said, “Let us make ready.”

  —

  AS NIGHT GAVE way to dawn, the Queen stood alone near her throne. In all the years of her rule, she had never known a time like this. Her thoughts ran with hundreds of images, from times as long ago as her youth, and as recently as two nights ago.

  “Seeking answers in the past, lady?”

  She turned to see the sorcerer standing behind her, leaning on his staff. He approached and stood next to her.

  “Can you read my mind, sorcerer?”

  With a smile and a wave of his hand, Macros said, “No, my lady. But there is much I do know and can see. Your heart is heavy, and your mind burdened.”

  “Do you understand why?”

  Macros laughed softly. “Without question. Still, I would speak to you of these things.”

  “Why, sorcerer? What part do you play?”

  Macros looked out over the lights of Elvandar. “A part, much as any man plays.”

  “But you know yours well.”

  “True. It is given to some to understand what is obscure to others. Such is my fate.”

  “Why have you come?”

  “Because there is need. Without me Elvandar may fall, and that must not be. It is so ordained, and I can only do my part.”

  “Will you stay if the battle is won?”

  “No. I have other tasks. But I will come once more, when the need is again great.”

  “When?”

  “That I may not tell you.”

  “Will it be soon?”

  “Soon enough, though not soon enough.”

  “You speak in riddles.
”

  Macros smiled, a crooked, sad smile. “Life is a riddle. It is in the hands of the gods. Their will shall prevail, and many mortals will find their lives changed.”

  “Tomas?” Aglaranna looked deep into the sorcerer’s dark eyes.

  “He most visibly, but all who live through these times.”

  “What is he?”

  “What would you have him be?”

  The Elf Queen found herself unable to answer. Macros placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. She felt calm flow from his fingers and heard herself say, “I would wish nothing of trouble upon my people, but the sight of him fills me with longing. I long for a man…a man with his…might. Tomas is more like my lost lord than he will ever know. And I fear him, for once I make the pledge, once I place him above me, I lose the power to rule. Do you think the elders would allow this? My people would never willingly place the yoke of the Valheru upon their necks again.”

  The sorcerer was silent for a time, then said, “For all my arts, there are things hidden from me, but understand this: there is a magic here fey beyond imagining. I cannot explain save to say it reaches across time, more than is apparent. For while the Valheru is present within Tomas now, so is Tomas present within the Valheru in ages past.

  “Tomas wears the garb of Ashen-Shugar, last of the Dragon Lords. When the Chaos Wars raged, he alone remained upon this world, for he felt things alien to his kind.”

  “Tomas?”

  Macros smiled. “Think not upon this overly long, lady. These sorts of paradox can send the mind reeling. What Ashen-Shugar felt was an obligation to protect this world.”