Book 1 - Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Theories,” was all Algon said.

  “Whoever these strangers are,” said Arutha, “we had best make sure we can find out as much as possible about them.”

  Algon and Lyam gave him a questioning look, while Kulgan and Tully looked on without expression. Borric and Fannon nodded as Arutha continued. “From the boys’ description, the ship was obviously a warship. The heavy prow with bowsprit is designed for ramming, and the high foredeck is a perfect place for bowmen, as the low middle deck is suitable for boarding other vessels when they have been grappled. I would imagine the rear deck was also high If more of the hull had survived, I would guess we would have found rowers’ benches as well.”

  “A war galley?” asked Algon.

  Fannon looked impatient. “Of course, you simpleton.” There was a friendly rivalry between the two masters, which at times degenerated to some unfriendly bickering. “Take a look at our guest’s weapon.” He indicated the broadsword. “How would you like to ride at a determined man wheeling that toy? He’d cut your horse right out from under you. That armor is light, and efficiently constructed for all its gaudy coloring. I would guess that he was infantry. As powerfully built as he is, he probably could run half a day and still fight.” He stroked his mustache absently. “These people have some warriors among them.”

  Algon nodded slowly. Arutha sat back in his chair, making a tent of his hands, fingertips flexing. “What I can’t understand,” said the Duke’s younger son, “is why he tried to run We had no weapons drawn and were not charging. There was no reason for him to run.”

  Borric looked at the old priest. “Will we ever know?”

  Tully looked concerned, his brow furrowed. “He had a long piece of wood embedded in his right side, under the breastplate, as well as a bad blow to the head. That helmet saved his skull. He has a high fever and has lost a great deal of blood. He may not survive. I may have to resort to a mind contact, if he regains enough consciousness to establish it.” Pug knew of the mind contact; Tully had explained it to him before. It was a method only a few clerics could employ, and it was extremely dangerous for both the subject and the caster. The old priest must feel a strong need to gain information from the injured man to risk it.

  Borric turned his attention to Kulgan. “What of the scroll the boys found?”

  Kulgan waved a hand absently. “I have given a preliminary, and brief, inspection. It has magical properties without a doubt. That is why Pug felt some compulsion to inspect the cabin and that chest, I think. Anyone as sensitive to magic as he is would feel it.” He looked directly at the Duke. “I am, however, unwilling to break the seal until I have made a more involved study of it, to better determine its purpose. Breaking enchanted seals can be dangerous if not handled properly. If the seal was tampered with, the scroll might destroy itself, or worse, those trying to break it It wouldn’t be the first such trap I’ve seen for a scroll of great power.”

  The Duke drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. “All right. We will adjourn this meeting. As soon as something new has been learned, either from the scroll or from the wounded man, we will reconvene.” He turned to Tully. “See how the man is, and if he should wake, use your arts to glean whatever you can.” He stood, and the others rose also “Lyam, send word to the Elf Queen and the dwarves at Stone Mountain and the Grey Towers of what has happened. Ask for their counsel.”

  Pug opened the door. The Duke went through and the others followed Pug and Tomas were the last to leave, and as they walked down the hall, Tomas leaned over toward Pug.

  “We really started something.”

  Pug shook his head. “We were simply the first to find the man. If not us, then someone else.”

  Tomas looked relieved to be out of the chamber and the Duke’s scrutiny “If this turns out badly, I hope they remember that.”

  Kulgan went up the stairs to his tower room as Tully moved off toward his own quarters, where the wounded man was being tended by Tully’s acolytes. The Duke and his sons turned through a door to their private quarters, leaving the boys alone in the hallway.

  Pug and Tomas cut through a storage room, and into the kitchen Megar stood supervising the kitchen workers, several of whom waved greetings to the boys. When he saw his son and fosterling, he smiled and said, “Well, what have you two gotten yourselves into, now?” Megar was a loose-jointed man, with sandy hair and an open countenance. He resembled Tomas, as a rough sketch resembled a finished drawing. He was a fair-looking man of middle years, but lacked the fine features that set Tomas apart.

  Grinning, Megar said, “Everyone is hushed up about that man in Tully’s quarters, and messengers are dashing from here to there, one place to another. I haven’t seen such a to-do since the Prince of Krondor visited seven years ago!”

  Tomas grabbed an apple from a platter and jumped up to sit on a table. Between bites he recounted to his father what had taken place.

  Pug leaned on the counter while listening. Tomas told the story with a minimum of embellishment. When he was done, Megar shook his head. “Well, well. Aliens, is it? I hope they’re not marauding pirates. We have had peaceful enough times lately. Ten years since the time the Brotherhood of the Dark Path”—he gestured spitting—”curse their murderous souls, stirred up that trouble with the goblins. Can’t say as I’d welcome that sort of mess again, sending all those stores to the outlying villages. Having to cook based on what will spoil first and what will last longest. I couldn’t make a decent meal for a month.”

  Pug smiled. Megar had the ability to take even the most difficult possibilities and break them down to basics: how much inconvenience they were likely to cause the scullery staff.

  Tomas jumped down from the counter. “I had best return to the soldiers’ commons and wait for Master Fannon. I’ll see you soon.” He ran from the kitchen.

  Megar said, “Is it serious, Pug?”

  Pug shook his head. “I really can’t say I don’t know. I know that Tully and Kulgan are worried, and the Duke thinks enough of the problem to want to talk to the elves and dwarves. It could be.”

  Megar looked out the door that Tomas had used. “It would be a bad time for war and killing.” Pug could see the poorly hidden worry in Megar’s face and could think of nothing to say to a father of a son who had just become a soldier.

  Pug pushed himself away from the counter. “I’d better be off, as well, Megar.” He waved good-bye to the others in the kitchen and walked out of the kitchen and into the courtyard. He had little temper for study, being alarmed by the serious tone of the meeting in the Duke’s chambers. No one had come out and said as much, but it was obvious they were considering the possibility that the alien ship was the vanguard of an invasion fleet.

  Pug wandered around to the side of the keep and climbed the three steps to the Princess’s small flower garden. He sat on a stone bench, the hedges and rows of rosebushes masking most of the courtyard from sight. He could still see the top of the high walks, with the guards patrolling the parapets. He wondered if it was his imagination, or were the guards looking especially watchful today?

  The sound of a delicate cough made him turn. Standing on the other side of the garden was Princess Carline, with Squire Roland and two of her younger ladies-in-waiting. The girls hid their smiles, for Pug was still something of a celebrity in the keep. Carline shooed them off, saying, “I would like to speak with Squire Pug in private.” Roland hesitated, then bowed stiffly. Pug was irritated by the dark look Roland gave him as he left with the young ladies.

  The two young ladies looked over their shoulder at Pug and Carline, giggling, which seemed only to add to Roland’s irritation.

  Pug stood as Carline approached and made an awkward bow She said, in short tones, “Oh, sit down. I find that rubbish tiring and get all I need from Roland.”

  Pug sat. The girl took her place next to him, and they were both silent for a moment. Finally she said, “I haven’t seen you for more than a week. Have you been busy?

  Pu
g felt uncomfortable, still confused by the girl and her mercurial moods She had been only warm to him since the day, three weeks ago, when he had saved her from the trolls, stirring up a storm of gossip among the staff of the castle. She remained short-tempered with others, however, especially Squire Roland.

  “I have been busy with my studies.”

  “Oh, pooh. You spend too much time in that awful tower.”

  Pug didn’t consider the tower room the least bit awful—except for being a bit drafty. It was his own, and he felt comfortable there.

  “We could go riding, Your Highness, if you would like.”

  The girl smiled. “I would like that. But I’m afraid Lady Mama won’t allow it.”

  Pug was surprised. He thought that after the way he had protected the Princess, even the girl’s surrogate mother would allow that he was proper company. “Why not?”

  Carline sighed. “She says that when you were a commoner, you would keep your place. Now that you are a courtier, she suspects you of having aspirations.” A slight smile played across her lips.

  “Aspirations?” Pug said, not understanding.

  Carline said shyly, “She thinks that you have ambitions to rise to higher station. She thinks you seek to influence me in certain ways.”

  Pug stared at Carline. Abruptly comprehension dawned on him, and he said, “Oh,” then, “Oh! Your Highness.” He stood up “I never would do such a thing. I mean, I would never think to . . . I mean . . .”

  Carline abruptly stood and threw Pug an exasperated look. “Boys! You’re all idiots.” Lifting the hem of her long green gown, she stormed off.

  Pug sat down, more perplexed than before by the girl. It was almost as if . . . He let the thought trail away. The more it seemed possible that she could care for him, the more anxious the prospect made him. Carline was quite a bit more than the fairy-tale Princess he had imagined a short time back. With the stamp of one little foot, she could raise a storm in a saltcellar, one that could shake the keep. A girl of complex mind was the Princess, with a contradictory nature tossed into the bargain.

  Further musing was interrupted by Tomas, dashing by. Catching a glimpse of his friend, he leapt up the three steps and halted breathlessly before him. “The Duke wants us. The man from the ship has died.”

  They hastily assembled in the Duke’s council chamber, except Kulgan, who had not answered when a messenger knocked at his door. It was supposed he was too deeply engrossed in the problem of the magic scroll.

  Father Tully looked pale and drawn Pug was shocked by his appearance. Only a little more than an hour had passed, yet the old cleric looked as if he had spent several sleepless nights. His eyes were red-rimmed and deep-set in dark circles. His face was ashen, and a light sheen of perspiration showed across his brow.

  Borric poured the priest a goblet of wine from a decanter on a sideboard and handed it to him. Tully hesitated, for he was an abstemious man, then drank deeply. The others resumed their former positions around the table.

  Borric looked at Tully and said, simply, “Well?”

  “The soldier from the beach regained consciousness for only a few minutes, a final rally before the end. During that time I had the opportunity to enter into a mind contact with him. I stayed with him through his last feverish dreams, trying to learn as much about him as I could. I nearly didn’t remove the contact in time.”

  Pug paled. During the mind contact, the priest’s mind and the subject become as one. If Tully had not broken contact with the man when he died, the priest could have died or been rendered mad, for the two men shared feelings, fears, and sensations as well as thought. He now understood Tully’s exhausted state: the old priest had spent a great deal of energy maintaining the link with an uncooperative subject and had been party to the dying man’s pain and terror.

  Tully took another drink of wine, then continued “If this man’s dying dreams were not the product of fevered imaginings, then I fear his appearance heralds a grave situation.” Tully took another sip of wine and pushed the goblet aside. “The man’s name was Xomich. He was a simple soldier of a nation, Honshom, in something called the Empire of Tsuranuanm.”

  Borric said, “I have never heard of this nation, nor of that Empire.”

  Tully nodded and said, “I would have been surprised if you had. That man’s ship came from no sea of Midkemia.” Pug and Tomas looked at each other, and Pug felt a chilling sensation, as, apparently, did Tomas, whose face had turned pale.

  Tully went on. “We can only speculate on how the feat was managed, but I am certain that this ship comes from another world, removed from our own in time and space.” Before questions could be asked, he said, “Let me explain.”

  “This man was sick with fever, and his mind wandered.” Tully’s face flickered with remembered pain. “He was part of an honor guard for someone he thought of only as ‘Great One.’ There were conflicting images, and I can’t be sure, but it seems that the journey they were on was considered strange, both for the presence of this Great One and for the nature of the mission. The only concrete thought I gained was that this Great One had no need to travel by ship. Beyond that, I have little but quick and disjointed impressions. There was a city he knew as Yankora, then a terrible storm, and a sudden blinding brilliance, which may have been lightning striking the ship, but I think not. There was a thought of his captain and comrades being washed overboard. Then a crash on the rocks.” He paused for a moment “I am not sure if those images are in order, for I think it likely that the crew was lost before the blinding light.”

  “Why?” asked Borric.

  “I’m ahead of myself,” said Tully. “First I’d like to explain why I think this man is from another world.

  “This Xomich grew to manhood in a land ruled by great armies. They are a warrior race, whose ships control the seas. But what seas? Never, to my knowledge, has there been mention of contact with these people. And there are other visions that are even more convincing. Great cities, far larger than those in the heart of Kesh, the largest known to us. Armies on parade during high holiday, marching past a review stand; city garrisons larger than the King’s Army of the West.”

  Algon said, “Still, there is nothing to say they are not from”—he paused, as if the admission were difficult—”across the Endless Sea.” That prospect seemed to trouble him less than the notion of some place not of this world.

  Tully looked irritated at the interruption. “There is more, much more I followed him through his dreams, many of his homeland. He remembers creatures unlike any I have heard of or seen, things with six legs that pull wagons like oxen, and other creatures, some that look like insects or reptiles, but speak like men. His land was hot, and his memory of the sun was of one larger than ours and more green in color. This man was not of our world.” The last was said flatly, removing from all in the room any lingering doubts. Tully would never make a pronouncement like that unless he was certain.

  The room was silent as each person reflected on what had been said. The boys watched and shared the feeling. It was as if no one were willing to speak, as if to do so would seal the priest’s information forever in fact, while to stay silent might let it pass like a bad dream. Borric stood and paced over to the window. It looked out upon a blank rear wall of the castle, but he stared as if seeking something there, something that would provide an answer for the questions that spun in his mind. He turned quickly and said, “How did they get here, Tully?”

  The priest shrugged. “Perhaps Kulgan can offer a theory as to the means. What I construct as being the most likely series of events is this: the ship foundered in the storm; the captain of the ship and most of its crew were lost. As a last resort this Great One, whoever he is, invoked a spell to remove the ship from the storm, or change the weather, or some other mighty feat. As a result, the ship was cast from its own world into this, appearing off the coast at Sailor’s Grief. With the ship moving at great speed on its own world, it may have appeared here with the same movement,
and with the westerly blowing strong, and little or no crew, the ship was driven straight onto the rocks. Or it simply may have appeared upon the rocks, smashed at the instant it came into being here.”

  Fannon shook his head. “From another world. How can that be possible?”

  The old priest raised his hands in a gesture of mystification. “One can only speculate. The Ishapians have old scrolls in their temples. Some are reputed to be copies of older works, which in turn are copies of still older scrolls. They claim the originals date back, in unbroken line, to the time of the Chaos Wars. Among them is mention of ‘other planes’ and ‘other dimensions,’ and of concepts lost to us. One thing is clear, however. They speak of lands and peoples unknown and suggest that once mankind traveled to other worlds, or to Midkemia from other worlds. These notions have been the center of religious debate for centuries, and no one could say with certainty what truth there was in any of them.” He paused, then said, “Until now. If I had not seen what was in Xomich’s mind, I would not have accepted such a theory to explain this day’s occurrences. But now . . .”

  Borric crossed to his chair to stand behind it, his hands gripping each side of the high back. “It seems impossible.”

  “That the ship and man were here is fact, Father,” said Lyam.

  Arutha followed his brother’s comment with another. “And we must decide what the chances are that this feat may be duplicated.”

  Borric said to Tully, “You were right when you said this may herald a grave situation. Should a great Empire be turning its attention toward Crydee and the Kingdom . . .”

  Tully shook his head. “Borric, have you so long been removed from my tutelage that you miss the point entirely?” He held up a bony hand as the Duke started to protest. “Forgive me, my lord. I am old and tired and forget my manners. But the truth is still the truth. A mighty nation they are, or rather an empire of nations, and if they have the means to reach us, it could prove dire, but most important is the possibility that this Great One is a magician or priest of high art. For if he is not one alone, if there are more within this Empire, and if they did indeed try to reach this world with magic, then grave times are truly in store for us.”