Magician: Apprentice

by Raymond E. Feist

  Gardan came up the stairs from the court, Roland following. Gardan saluted the Prince and Swordmaster, and said, “That’s the last patrol, sir.”

  “Then we must only wait for Longbow,” said Fannon.

  Gardan shook his head. “Not one patrol caught sight of him, sir.”

  “That’s because Longbow is undoubtedly closer to the Tsurani than any soldier of sound judgment is likely to get,” ventured Arutha. “How soon, do you think, before the rest of the Tsurani arrive?”

  Pointing to the northeast, Gardan said, “Less than an hour, if they push straight through.” He looked skyward. “They have less than four hours of light. We might expect one attack before nightfall. Most likely they’ll take position, rest their men, and attack at first light.”

  Arutha glanced at Roland. “Are the women safe?”

  Roland grinned. “All, though your sister might have a few harsh words about me when this is over.”

  Arutha returned the grin. “When this is over, I’ll deal with it.” He looked around. “Now we wait.”

  Swordmaster Fannon’s eyes swept the deceptively peaceful scene before them. There was a note of worry mixed with determination in his voice as he said, “Yes, now we wait.”

  —

  MARTIN RAISED HIS hand. His three trackers stopped moving. The woods were quiet as far as they could tell, but the three knew Martin possessed more acute senses than they. After a moment he moved along, scouting ahead.

  For ten hours, since before dawn, they had been marking the Tsurani line of march. As well as he could judge, the Tsurani had been repulsed once more from Elvandar at the fords along the river Crydee and were now turning their attention to the castle at Crydee. For three years the Tsurani had been occupied along four fronts: against the Duke’s armies in the east, the elves and dwarves along the north, the hold at Crydee in the west, and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the goblins in the south.

  The trackers had stayed close to the Tsurani trailbreakers, occasionally too close. Twice they had been forced to run from attackers, Tsurani warriors tenaciously willing to follow the Huntmaster of Crydee and his men. Once they had been overtaken, and Martin had lost one of his men in the fighting.

  Martin gave the raucous caw of a crow, and in a few minutes his three remaining trackers joined him. One, a long-faced young man named Garret, said, “They move far west of where I thought they would turn.”

  Longbow considered. “Aye, it seems they may be planning to encircle all of the lands around the castle. Or they may simply wish to strike from an unexpected quarter.” Then with a wry grin he said, “But most likely, they simply sweep the area before the attack begins, ensuring they have no harrying forces at their backs.”

  Another tracker said, “Surely they know we mark their passing.”

  Longbow’s crooked grin widened. “No doubt. I judge them unconcerned with our comings and goings.” He shook his head. “These Tsurani are an arrogant crew.” Pointing, he said, “Garret will come with me. You two will make straight for the castle. Inform the Swordmaster some two thousand more Tsurani march on Crydee.” Without a word the two men set off at a brisk pace toward the castle.

  To his remaining companion he spoke lightly. “Come, let us return to the advancing enemy and see what he is about now.”

  Garret shook his head. “Your cheerful manner does little to ease my worrisome mind, Huntmaster.”

  Turning back the way they had come, Longbow said, “One time is much like another to death. She comes when she will. So why give over your mind to worry?”

  “Aye,” said Garret, his long face showing he was unconvinced. “Why, indeed? It’s not death arriving when she will that worries me; it’s your inviting her to visit that gets me shivering.”

  Martin laughed softly. He motioned for Garret to follow. They set off at a trot, covering ground with long, loose strides. The forest was bright with sunlight, but between the thick boles were many dark places wherein a watchful enemy could lurk. Garret left it to Longbow’s able judgment whether these hiding places were safe to pass. Then, as one, both men stopped in their tracks at the sound of movement ahead. Noiselessly they melted into a shadowy thicket. A minute passed slowly with neither man speaking. Then a faint whispering came to them, the words unclear.

  Into their field of vision came two figures, moving cautiously along a north-south path that intersected the one Martin followed. Both were dressed in dark grey cloaks, with bows held ready. They stopped, and one kneeled down to study the signs left by Longbow and his trackers. He pointed down the trail and spoke to his companion, who nodded and returned the way they had come.

  Longbow heard Garret hiss as he drew in his breath. Peering around the area was a tracker of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. After a moment of searching he followed his companion.

  Garret began to stir and Martin gripped his arm. “Not yet,” Longbow whispered.

  Garret whispered back, “What are they doing this far north?”

  Martin shook his head. “They’ve slipped in behind our patrols along the foothills. We’ve grown lax in the south, Garret. We never thought they’d move north this far west of the mountains.” He waited silently for a moment, then whispered, “Perhaps they tire of the Green Heart and are trying for the Northlands to join their brothers.”

  Garret started to speak, but stopped when another Dark Brother entered the spot vacated by the others a moment before. He looked around, then raised his hand in signal. Other figures appeared along the trail intersecting the one Martin’s men had traveled. In ones, twos, and threes, Dark Brothers crossed the path, disappearing into the trees.

  Garret sat holding his breath. He could hear Martin counting faintly as the figures crossed their field of vision: “…ten, twelve, fifteen, sixteen, eighteen…”

  The stream of dark-cloaked figures continued, seemingly unending to Garret. “…thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-four…”

  As the crossing continued, larger numbers of Brothers appeared, and after a time Martin whispered, “There are more than a hundred.”

  Still they came, some now carrying bundles on their backs and shoulders. Many wore the dark grey mountain cloaks, but others were dressed in green, brown, or black clothing. Garret leaned close to Martin and whispered, “You are right. It is a migration north. I mark over two hundred.”

  Martin nodded. “And still they come.”

  For many more minutes the Dark Brothers crossed the trail, until the flood of warriors was replaced by ragged-looking females and young. When they had passed, a company of twenty fighters crossed the trail, and then the area was quiet.

  They waited a moment in silence. Garret said, “They are elven-kin to move so large a number through the forest undetected so long.”

  Martin smiled. “I’d advise you not mention that fact to the next elf you encounter.” He stood slowly, unbending cramped muscles from the long sitting in the brush. A faint sound echoed from the east, and Martin got a thoughtful look on his face. “How far along the trail do you judge the Dark Brothers’ march?”

  Garret said, “At their rear, a hundred yards; at the van, perhaps a quarter mile or less. Why?”

  Martin grinned, and Garret became discomforted by the mocking humor in his eyes. “Come, I think I know where we can have some fun.”

  Garret groaned softly, “Ah, Huntmaster, my skin gets a poxy feeling when you mention fun.”

  Martin struck the man a friendly blow to the chest with the back of his hand. “Come, stout fellow.” The Huntmaster broke trail, with Garret behind. They loped along through the woods, easily avoiding obstacles that would have hindered less experienced woodsmen.

  They came to a break in the trail, and both men halted. Just down the trail, at the edge of their vision in the gloom of the forest, came a company of Tsurani trailbreakers. Martin and Garret faded into the trees, and the Huntmaster said, “The main column is close behind. When they reach the crossing where the Dark Brothers passed, they might chance to fo
llow.”

  Garret shook his head. “Or they might not, so we will make certain they do.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Oh well,” then made a short silent prayer to Kilian, the Singer of Green Silences, Goddess of Foresters, as they unshouldered their bows.

  Martin stepped out onto the trail and took aim, and Garret followed his example. The Tsurani trailbreakers came into view, cutting away the thick underbrush along the trail so the main body could more easily follow. Martin waited until the Tsurani were uncomfortably close, then he let fly, just as the first trail-breaker took notice of them. The first two men fell, and before they hit the ground, two more arrows were loosed. Martin and Garret pulled arrows from back quivers in fluid motions, set arrow to bowstring, and let fly with uncommon quickness and accuracy. It was not from any act of kindness Martin had selected Garret five years before. In the eye of the storm, he would stand calmly, do as ordered, and do it with skill.

  Ten stunned Tsurani fell before they could raise an alarm. Calmly Martin and Garret shouldered their bows and waited. Then along the trail appeared a veritable wall of colored armor. The Tsurani officers in the van stopped in shocked silence as they regarded the dead trailbreakers. Then they saw the two foresters standing quietly down the trail and shouted something. The entire front of the column sprang forward, weapons drawn.

  Martin leaped into the thicket on the north side of the trail, Garret a step behind. They dashed through the trees, the Tsurani in close pursuit.

  Martin’s voice filled the forest with a wild hunter’s call. Garret shouted as much from some nameless, crazy exhilaration as from fear. The noise behind was tremendous as a horde of Tsurani pursued them through the trees.

  Martin led them northward, paralleling the course taken by the Dark Brotherhood. After a time he stopped and between gasping breaths said, “Slowly, we don’t want to lose them.”

  Garret looked back and saw the Tsurani were out of sight. They leaned against a tree and waited. A moment later the first Tsurani came into view, hurrying along on a course that angled off to the northwest.

  With a disgusted look, Martin said, “We must have killed the only skilled trackers on their whole bloody world.” He took his hunter’s horn from his belt and let forth with such a loud blast the Tsurani soldier froze, an expression of shock clearly evident on his face even from where Martin and Garret stood.

  The Tsurani looked around and caught sight of the two huntsmen. Martin waved for the man to follow, and he and Garret were off again. The Tsurani shouted for those behind and gave chase. For a quarter mile they led the Tsurani through the woods, then they angled westward. Garret shouted, between heaving breaths, “The Dark Brothers…they’ll know…we come.”

  Martin shouted back, “Unless they’ve…suddenly all…gone deaf.” He managed a smile. “The Tsurani…hold a six-to-one…advantage. I…think it…only fair to let…the Brotherhood…have the…ambush.”

  Garret spared enough breath for a low groan and continued to follow his master’s lead. They crashed out of a thicket and Martin stopped, grabbing Garret by the tunic. He cocked his head and said, “They’re up ahead.”

  Garret said, “I don’t know…how you can hear a thing with…all that cursed racket behind.” It sounded as if most of the Tsurani column had followed, though the forest amplified the noise and confused its source.

  Martin said, “Do you still wear that…ridiculous red undertunic?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Tear off a strip.” Garret pulled his knife without question and lifted up his green forester’s tunic. Underneath was a garish red cotton undertunic. He cut a long strip off the bottom, then hastily tucked the undertunic in. While Garret ordered himself, Martin tied the strip to an arrow. He looked back to where the Tsurani thrashed in the brush. “It must be those stubby legs. They may be able to run all day, but they can’t keep up in the woods.” He handed the arrow to Garret. “See that large elm across that small clearing?”

  Garret nodded. “See the small birch behind, off to the left?” Again Garret nodded. “Think you can hit it with that rag dragging at your arrow?”

  Garret grinned as he unslung his bow, notched the arrow, and let fly. The arrow sped true, striking the tree. Martin said, “When our bandy-legged friends get here, they’ll see that flicker of color over there and go charging across. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, the Brothers are about fifty feet the other side of your arrow.” He pulled his horn as Garret shouldered his bow again. “Once more we’re off,” he said, blowing a long, loud call.

  Like hornets the Tsurani descended, but Longbow and Garret were off to the southwest before the note from the hunter’s horn had died in the air. They dashed to be gone before the Tsurani caught sight of them, aborting the hoax. Suddenly they broke through a thicket and ran into a group of women and children milling about. One young woman of the Brotherhood was placing a bundle upon the ground. She stopped at the sight of the two men. Garret had to slide to a halt to keep from bowling her over.

  Her large brown eyes studied him for an instant as he stepped sideways to get around her. Without thinking, Garret said, “Excuse me, ma’am,” and raised his hand to his forelock. Then he was off after the Huntmaster as shouts of surprise and anger erupted behind them.

  Martin called a halt after they had covered another quarter mile and listened. To the northeast came the sounds of battle, shouts and screams, and the ring of weapons. Martin grinned. “They’ll both be busy for a while.”

  Garret sank wearily to the ground and said, “Next time send me to the castle, will you, Huntmaster?”

  Martin kneeled beside the tracker. “That should prevent the Tsurani from reaching Crydee until sundown or after. They won’t be able to mount an attack until tomorrow. Four hundred Dark Brothers are not something they can safely leave at their rear. We’ll rest a bit, then make for Crydee.”

  Garret leaned back against a tree. “Welcome news.” He let out a long sigh of relief. “That was a close thing, Huntmaster.”

  Martin smiled enigmatically. “All life is a close thing, Garret.”

  Garret shook his head slowly. “Did you see that girl?”

  Martin nodded. “What of her?”

  Garret looked perplexed. “She was pretty…no, closer to being beautiful, in a strange sort of way, I mean. But she had long black hair, and her eyes were the color of otter’s fur. And she had a pouty mouth and pert look. Enough to warrant a second glance from most men. It’s not what I would have expected from the Brotherhood.”

  Martin nodded. “The moredhel are a pretty people, in truth, as are the elves. But remember, Garret,” he said with a smile, “should you chance to find yourself exchanging pleasantries with a moredhel woman again, she’d as soon cut your heart out as kiss you.”

  They rested for a while as cries and shouts echoed from the northeast. Then slowly they stood and began the return to Crydee.

  —

  SINCE THE START of the war, the Tsurani had confined their activities to those areas immediately adjacent the valley in the Grey Towers. Reports from the dwarves and the elves revealed mining activities were taking place in the Grey Towers. Enclaves had been thrown up outside the valley, from which they raided Kingdom positions. Once or twice during the year they would mount an offensive against the Dukes’ Armies of the West, the elves in Elvandar, or Crydee, but for the most part they were content to hold what they had already taken.

  And each year they would expand their holdings, building more enclaves, expanding the area under their control, and gaining themselves a stronger position from which to conduct the next year’s campaign. Since the fall of Walinor, the expected thrust toward the coast of the Bitter Sea had not materialized, nor had the Tsurani again tried for the LaMutian fortresses near Stone Mountain. Walinor and Crydee town were sacked and abandoned, more to deny them to the Kingdom and Free Cities than for any Tsurani gain. By the spring of the third year of the war, the leaders of the Kingdom forces despaired of a major attack, one that might
break the stalemate. Now it came. And it came at the logical place, the allies’ weakest front, the garrison at Crydee.

  Arutha looked out over the walls at the Tsurani army. He stood next to Gardan and Fannon, with Martin Longbow behind. “How many?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the gathering host.

  Martin spoke. “Fifteen hundred, two thousand, it is hard to judge. There were two thousand more coming yesterday, less whatever the Dark Brotherhood took with them.”

  From the distant woods the sounds of workmen felling trees rang out. The Swordmaster and Huntmaster judged the Tsurani were cutting trees to build scaling ladders.

  Martin said, “I’d never thought to hear myself say such, but I wish there’d been four thousand Dark Brothers in the forest yesterday.”

  Gardan spat over the wall. “Still, you did well, Huntmaster. It is only fitting they should run afoul of each other.”

  Martin chuckled humorlessly. “It is also a good thing the Dark Brothers kill on sight. Though I am sure they do it out of no love for us, they do guard our southern flank.”

  Arutha said, “Unless yesterday’s band was not an isolated case. If the Brotherhood is abandoning the Green Heart, we may soon have to fear for Tulan, Jonril, and Carse.”

  “I’m glad they’ve not parleyed,” said Fannon. “If they should truce…”

  Martin shook his head. “The moredhel will traffic only with weapons runners and renegades who will serve them for gold. Otherwise they have no use for us. And by all evidence, the Tsurani are bent on conquest. The moredhel are no more spared their ambition than we are.”

  Fannon looked back at the mounting Tsurani force. Brightly colored standards with symbols and designs strange to behold were placed at various positions along the leading edge of the army. Hundreds of warriors in different-colored armor stood in groups under each banner.

  A horn sounded, and the Tsurani soldiers faced the walls. Each standard was brought forward a dozen paces and planted in the ground. A handful of soldiers wearing the high-crested helmets that the Kingdom forces took to denote officers walked forward and stood halfway between the army and the standard-bearers. One, wearing bright blue armor, called something and pointed at the castle. A shout went up from the assembled Tsurani host, and then another officer, this one in bright red armor, began to walk slowly up to the castle.