Magician: Master

by Raymond E. Feist

  Roland found the admission surprising. Like Martin, Arutha was not a man to reveal what he felt. Sensing the Prince’s deep trouble, Roland changed the topic. “I’ve a message from my father, Arutha.”

  “I was told there was a personal message among the dispatches from Tulan.”

  “Then you know Father’s calling me home.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry about the broken leg.”

  “Father was never much of a rider. It’s the second time he’s fallen from his horse and broken something. Last time, when I was little, it was his arm.”

  “It’s been a long time since you were home.”

  Roland shrugged. “With the war, I felt little need to return. Most of the fighting’s been around here. And,” he added with a grin, “there are other reasons to stay.”

  Sharing the smile, Arutha said, “Have you told Carline yet?”

  Roland lost his grin. “Not yet. I thought I’d wait until I’d arranged for a ship south.” With the Brotherhood’s abandonment of the Green Heart, travel by land to the south was nearly impossible, for the Tsurani had cut off the roads to Carse and Tulan.

  A shout from the tower caused them to turn. “Trackers approaching!”

  Arutha squinted against the glare reflecting off the distant sea and could make out three figures trotting easily along the road. When they were close enough to be seen clearly, Arutha said, “Longbow.” There was a note of relief in his voice.

  Leaving the wall, Arutha descended the steps to the courtyard to wait for the Huntmaster and his men. Roland stood by his side as the three dusty men entered the gates of the castle. Both Garret and Charles remained silent as Martin said, “Greetings, Highness.”

  “Greetings, Martin. What news?” asked the Prince.

  Martin began to recount the facts unearthed at the Tsurani camp, and after a moment Arutha cut him off. “Better save your wind for the council, Martin. Roland, go gather Father Tully, Swordmaster Fannon, and Amos Trask, and bring them to the council hall.”

  Roland hurried off, and Arutha said, “Charles and Garret are to come as well, Martin.”

  Garret glanced at the former Tsurani slave, who shrugged. Both knew the long-anticipated hot meal would have to wait a little longer upon the Prince’s convenience.

  —

  MARTIN TOOK THE seat next to Amos Trask, while Charles and Garret remained standing. The former sea captain nodded a greeting to Martin, as Arutha pulled out his own chair, as was his habit, ignoring most formalities when with his councillors. Amos had become an unofficial member of Arutha’s staff since the siege of the castle; he was an enterprising man of many unexpected skills.

  Fannon sat to Arutha’s right. Since his wound, he had been content to accept Arutha as commander in Crydee and had sent a personal note to Lord Borric advising him so. The Duke had sent a reply ratifying the transfer of command, and Fannon had returned to his former role as adjutant. The Swordmaster seemed pleased with the situation.

  Arutha said, “Martin has just returned from a mission of special importance. Martin, tell us what you’ve seen.”

  Martin said, “We climbed the Grey Towers and entered the valley where the Tsurani have their headquarters.”

  Fannon and Tully looked at the Huntmaster with surprise, while Amos Trask guffawed. “You toss aside a small saga in one sentence,” said the seaman.

  Martin ignored the comment and said, “I think it best to let Charles tell you what we saw.”

  The former Tsurani slave’s voice held a note of concern. “From all signs, the Warlord will launch another major offensive next spring.”

  Everyone in the room sat speechless, save Fannon. “How can you be sure? Are there new armies in his camp?”

  Charles shook his head. “No, the new soldiers will not arrive until just before the first spring thaw. My former countrymen have little liking for your cold climate. They will stage during the winter months on my former homeworld. They’ll move through the rift just before the offensive.”

  Even after five years, Fannon still had lingering doubts about Charles’s loyalty, though Longbow held none. “How, then,” said the Swordmaster, “can you be certain there is to be an offensive? We’ve had none since the assault on Elvandar three years ago.”

  “There are new banners in the Warlord’s camp, Swordmaster, the banners of the houses who belong to the Blue Wheel Party. They have been absent for six years. It can mean only another major change within the High Council. The Alliance for War is again formed.”

  Of those in the room, only Tully seemed to grasp what Charles was saying. He had made a study of the Tsurani, learning all he could from the captured slaves. He said, “You had better explain, Charles.”

  Charles took a moment to organize his remarks and said, “You must understand one thing of my former homeland. Above everything except honor and obedience to the Emperor, there is the High Council. To gain in the High Council is worth much, even the risk of life itself. More than one family has been destroyed by plots and intrigues within the council. We of the Empire refer to this as the ‘Game of the Council.’

  “My family was well placed within the Hunzan Clan, neither great enough to warrant notice by our clan’s rivals, nor small enough to be relegated to only minor roles. We had the benefit of knowing much of the matters before the High Council without having to worry overly much about what decisions were made. Our clan was active in the Party for Progress, for we numbered many scholars, teachers, healers, priests, and artists in our families.

  “Then for a time the Hunzan Clan left the Party for Progress, for reasons not clear to any but the highest family leaders, reasons I can only speculate on. My clan joined with the clans of the Blue Wheel Party, one of the oldest in the High Council. While not so powerful as the Warlord’s War Party, or the traditionalists of the Imperial Party, it still has much honor and influence.

  “Six years ago, when I first came here, the Blue Wheel Party had joined with the War Party to form the Alliance for War. Those of us in the lesser families were not told why such a radical change in alignment had come about, but there was no doubt it was a matter of the Game of the Council.

  “My personal fall from grace and my enslavement was certainly necessary to ensure that those of my clan would stay above suspicion until the time was right for whatever move was being planned. It is now clear what that move was.

  “Since the siege of this castle, I have seen no sign of any soldier who’s a member of the Blue Wheel families. I took it to mean the Alliance for War had been ended.”

  Fannon interrupted. “Are you then saying the conduct of this war is but an aspect of some political game in this High Council?”

  Charles said, “Swordmaster, I know it is difficult for a man as steadfast in his loyalty to his nation as you are to understand such a thing. But that is exactly what I am saying.

  “There are reasons, Tsurani reasons, for such a war. Your world is rich in metals, metals we treasure on Kelewan. Also, ours is a bloody history, and all who are not of Tsuranuanni are to be feared and subjugated. If we could find your world, then might you not someday find ours?

  “But more, it is a way for the Warlord to gain great influence in the High Council. For centuries we have fought the Thuril Confederation, and when we at last were forced to the treaty table, the War Party lost a great deal of power within the council. This war is a way for that lost power to be regained. The Emperor rarely commands, leaving the Warlord supreme, but the Warlord is still the Lord of a family, the Warchief of a clan, and as such is constantly seeking to gain advantage for his own people in the Game of the Council.”

  Tully looked fascinated. “So the Blue Wheel Party joining with the Warlord’s party, then suddenly withdrawing, was but a ploy in this political game, a maneuver to gain some advantage?”

  Charles smiled. “It is very Tsurani, good Father. The Warlord planned his first campaign with great care, then three years into it finds himself with only half an army. He is overextended, un
able to bring news of smashing victories to the High Council and the Emperor. He loses position and prestige in the game.”

  Fannon said, “Unbelievable! Hundreds of men dying for such a thing.”

  “Such is the way of the Game of the Council, Swordmaster. The Warlord Almecho is an ambitious man. To be Warlord one must be. He must rely on other ambitious men, many who would seek to take his mantle should he falter. To keep these men as allies rather than foemen, he must occasionally look the other way.

  “In the first year of the war, the Warlord’s subcommander, a man called Tasio of the Minwanabi, ordered an attack upon one of the LaMutian garrisons. Besides being second-in-command in the campaign on this world, Tasio is also the cousin of Lord Jingu of the Minwanabi. The order to attack was given to Lord Sezu of the Acoma, sworn enemy of Jingu. The Acoma soldiers were almost destroyed to a man, including Lord Sezu and his son. Tasio arrived moments too late to save the Acoma, but in time to seize the battle and bring the Warlord a victory.”

  Fannon’s eyes were round with disbelief. “That’s the blackest duplicity I have ever heard of.”

  Arutha said, “It’s also brilliant, by these people’s standards.”

  Charles nodded in agreement with the Prince’s remark. “The Warlord would forgive Tasio getting one of his better commanders slaughtered and losing the entire Acoma army, in exchange for a victory and strengthened support by the Minwanabi.

  “Any Ruling Lord who had no direct stake in the game would applaud the move as a masterstroke, even those who admired Lord Sezu. It gained Almecho and Lord Jingu many allies in the council. So the Warlord’s political opponents, needing to devise a way to counter his growing power, created the situation I described, overextending the Warlord and leaving him unable to prosecute this war. Many families hovering near the edge of the War Party would then be drawn to the Blue Wheel and their allies for delivering such a stunning blow.”

  Arutha said, “But the important fact for us is that this Blue Wheel is once more allied with the Warlord, and their soldiers will be rejoining the war come spring.”

  Charles looked at those in the council hall. “I cannot begin to guess why there has once again been a realignment in the council. I am too removed from the game. But as His Highness has said, what is important for those of us here in Crydee to know is that as many as ten thousand fresh soldiers may come against one of the fronts in the spring.”

  Amos scowled. “That’s a backbreaker, for certain.”

  Arutha unfolded a half-dozen parchments. “Over the last few months, most of you have read these messages.” He looked at Tully and Fannon. “You’ve seen the pattern begin to emerge.” He picked up one parchment. “From Father: ‘Constant Tsurani sorties and raids keep our men in a state of unease. Our inability to close with the enemy has lent a dark aspect to all we do. I fear we shall never see an end to this business….’ From Baron Bellamy: ‘…increased Tsurani activity near the Jonril garrison. I deem it advisable to increase our commitment there this winter, while the Tsurani are normally inactive, lest we lose that position next spring.’ Squire Roland will be supervising a joint reinforcement from Carse and Tulan at Jonril this winter.”

  Several in the room glanced at Roland, who stood near Arutha’s shoulder. The Prince continued. “From Lord Dulanic, Knight-Marshal of Krondor: ‘While His Highness shares your concern, there is little to indicate the need for alarm. Unless some intelligence can be produced to give credence to your fears of possible future Tsurani offensives, I have advised the Prince of Krondor to refuse your request for elements of the Krondorian garrison to be sent to the Far Coast….’ ” Arutha looked around the room. “Now the pattern is clear.”

  Setting aside the parchments, Arutha pointed at the map affixed to the tabletop. “We have committed every available soldier. We dare not pull men from the south for fear of the Tsurani moving against Jonril. With the garrison strengthened, we will have a stable situation down there for a while. Should the enemy attack the garrison, it can be reinforced from Carse and Tulan. Should the enemy move against either castle, they leave Jonril at their back. But all that will fail should we strip those garrisons.

  “And Father is committed to a long front and has no men to spare.” He looked at Charles. “Where would you expect the attack to come?”

  The former Tsurani slave looked over the map, then shrugged. “It’s difficult to say, Highness. Should the situation be decided solely upon military merits, the Warlord should attack against the weaker front, either toward the elves, or here. But little done in the Empire is free of political considerations.” He studied troop dispositions on the map, then said, “Were I the Warlord, in need of a simple victory to bolster my position in the High Council, I would attack Crydee once more. But were I the Warlord and my position in the High Council precarious, in need of a bold stroke to regain lost prestige, I might risk an all-out offensive against the main force of the Kingdom, those armies under Duke Borric’s command. To crush the main strength of the Kingdom would give him dominance within the council for years to come.”

  Fannon leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Then we are faced with the possibility of another assault upon Crydee this spring without recourse to reinforcements for fear of attack elsewhere.” He indicated the map with a sweep of his hand. “Now we face the same problem as the Duke. All our forces are committed along the Tsurani front. The only men we have available are those in the towns on leave, only a small part of the whole.

  “We can’t maintain the army in the field indefinitely; even Lords Borric and Brucal winter in LaMut with the Earl, leaving small companies to guard the Tsurani.” Waving his hand in the air, he said, “I digress. What is important is to notify your father at once, Arutha, of the possibility of attack. Then should the Tsurani hit his lines, he’ll be back from LaMut early, in position and ready. Even should the Tsurani bring ten thousand fresh troops, he can call up more soldiers from the outlying garrisons in Yabon, fully another two thousand.”

  Amos said, “Two thousand against ten thousand sounds poor odds, Swordmaster.”

  Fannon was inclined to agree. “We do all we can. There are no guarantees it will be enough.”

  Charles said, “At least they will be horse soldiers, Swordmaster. My former comrades still have little liking for horses.”

  Fannon nodded agreement. “But even so, it is a bleak picture.”

  “There is one thing,” said Arutha, holding up a parchment. “The message from Lord Dulanic stated the need for intelligence to give credence to our request for aid. We now have enough intelligence to satisfy him, I think.”

  Fannon said, “Even a small portion of the Krondorian garrison here would give us the strength to resist an offensive. Still, it is late in the season, and a message would have to be dispatched at once.”

  “That’s the gods’ truth,” said Amos. “If you left this afternoon, you’d barely clear the Straits of Darkness before winter shuts them off. In another two weeks it’d be a close thing.”

  Arutha said, “I have given the matter some thought. I think there is enough need to risk my going to Krondor.”

  Fannon sat up straight in his chair. “But you’re the commander of the Duchy’s army, Arutha. You can’t abandon that responsibility.”

  Arutha smiled. “I can and I will. I know you have no wish to resume command here once more, but resume command you will. If we are to win support from Erland, I must convince him myself. When Father first carried word of the Tsurani to Erland and the King, I learned the advantage of speaking in person. Erland’s a cautious man. I will need every persuasion I can bring to bear.”

  Amos snorted. “And how do you plan on reaching Krondor, begging Your Highness’s pardon? There’s the better part of three Tsurani armies between here and the Free Cities should you go overland. And there are only a few luggers fit for coasting in the harbor, and you’d need a deep-water ship for a sea journey.”

  “There’s one deep-water ship, Amos. The Wind of
Dawn is still in port.”

  Amos’s mouth dropped open. “The Wind of Dawn?” he cried in disbelief. “Beside the fact she’s little better than a lugger herself, she’s laid up for the winter. I heard her captain crying over her broken keelson when the muddleheaded fool came limping into harbor a month ago. She needs to be hauled out, have the keel inspected and the keelson replaced. Without repair her keel’s too weak to take the pounding she’ll get from the winter storms. You might as well stick your head in a rain barrel, begging Your Highness’s pardon. You’d still drown, but you’d save a lot of other people a great deal of trouble.”

  Fannon looked incensed at the seaman’s remarks, but Tully, Martin, Roland, and Arutha only looked amused. “When I sent Martin out,” said Arutha, “I considered the possibility I might need a ship for Krondor. I ordered her repaired two weeks ago. There’s a swarm of shipwrights aboard her now.” He fixed Amos with a questioning look. “Of course I’ve been told it won’t be as good a job as if they’d hauled her out, but it will serve.”

  “Aye, for potting up and down the coast in the light winds of spring, perhaps. But you’re talking about winter storms, and you’re talking about running the Straits of Darkness.”

  Arutha said, “Well, she will have to do. I’m leaving in a few days’ time. Someone must convince Erland we need aid, and I have to be the one.”

  Amos refused to let the subject drop. “And has Oscar Danteen agreed to captain his ship through the straits for you?”

  Arutha said, “I’ve not told him our destination as yet.”

  Amos shook his head. “As I thought. That man’s got the heart of a shark, which is to say none, and the courage of a jellyfish, which is also to say none. Soon as you give the order, he’ll cut your throat, drop you over the side, winter with the pirates of the Sunset Islands, then head straight for the Free Cities come spring. He’ll then have some Natalese scribe pen a most grieving and flowery message to your father, describing your valor just before you were lost overboard in high seas while fighting pirates. Then he’ll spend a year drinking up the gold you gave him for passage.”