Magician: Apprentice

by Raymond Feist

  The Duke interrupted. “From your description, these rifts, as you call them, are dangerous.”

  Kulgan nodded. “Unpredictable, as well. They are one of the most uncontrollable forces ever discovered. If these people know how to manufacture them and control them as well, to act as a gate between worlds, and can pass through them safely, then they have arts of the most powerful sort.”

  Tully said, “We’ve suspected something of the nature of rifts before, but this is the first time we’ve had anything remotely like hard evidence.”

  Kulgan said, “Bah! Strange people and unknown objects have appeared suddenly from time to time over the years, Tully. This would certainly explain where they came from.”

  Tully appeared unwilling to concede the point. “Theory only, Kulgan; not proof. The people have all been dead, and the devices…no one understands the two or three that were not burned and twisted beyond recognition.”

  Kulgan smiled. “Really? What about the man who appeared twenty years ago in Salador?” To the Duke he said, “This man spoke no language known and was dressed in the strangest fashion.”

  Tully looked down his nose at Kulgan. “He was also hopelessly mad and never could speak a word that could be understood. The temples invested much time on him—”

  Borric paled. “Gods! A nation of warriors, with armies many times the size of our own, who have access to our world at will. Let us hope they have not turned their eyes toward the Kingdom.”

  Kulgan nodded and blew a puff of smoke. “As yet, we have not heard of any other appearances of these people, and we may not have to fear them, but I have a feeling…” He left the thought unfinished for a moment. He turned a little to one side, easing some minor discomfort, then said, “It may be nothing, but a reference to a bridge in the message troubles me. It smacks of a permanent way between the worlds already in existence. I hope I’m wrong.” The sound of feet pounding up the stairs made them turn. A guard hurried in and came to attention before the Duke, handing him a small paper.

  The Duke dismissed the man and opened the folded paper. He read it quickly, then handed it to Tully. “I sent fast riders to the elves and the dwarves, with pigeons to carry replies. The Elf Queen sends word that she is already riding to Crydee and will be here in two days’ time.”

  Tully shook his head. “As long as I have lived, I have never heard of the Lady Aglaranna leaving Elvandar. This sets my bones cold.”

  Kulgan said, “Things must be approaching a serious turn for her to come here. I hope I am wrong, but think that we are not the only ones to have news of these Tsurani.”

  Silence descended over the room, and Pug was struck by a feeling of hopelessness. He shook it off, but its echoes followed him for days.

  6

  Elfcounsel

  Pug leaned out the window.

  Despite the driving rain that had come in early morning, the courtyard was in an uproar. Besides the necessary preparations for any important visit, there was the added novelty of these visitors being elves. Even the infrequent elf messenger from Queen Aglaranna was the object of much curiosity when one appeared at the castle, for rarely did the elves venture south of the river Crydee. The elves lived apart from the society of men, and their ways were thought strange and magical. They had lived in these lands long before the coming of men to the West, and there was an unvoiced agreement that, in spite of any claims made by the Kingdom, they were a free people.

  A cough caused Pug to turn and see Kulgan sitting over a large tome. The magician indicated with a glance that the boy should return to his studies. Pug closed the window shutters and sat on his pallet. Kulgan said, “There will be ample time for you to gawk at elves, boy, in a few hours. Then there will be little time for studies. You must learn to make the best use of what time you have.”

  Fantus scrambled over to place his head in the boy’s lap. Pug scratched absently behind an eye ridge as he picked up a book and started to read. Kulgan had given Pug the task of formulating shared qualities of spells as described by different magicians, in the hope it would deepen his understanding of the nature of magic.

  Kulgan was of the opinion that Pug’s spells with the trolls had been the result of the tremendous stress of the moment. He hoped the study of other magicians’ research might help the boy break through the barriers that held him back in his studies. The book work also proved fascinating to Pug, and his reading had improved greatly.

  Pug glanced at his master, who was reading while puffing great clouds of smoke from his long pipe. Kulgan showed no signs of the weakness of the day before and had insisted the boy use these hours to study, rather than sit idly by waiting for the arrival of the Elf Queen and her court.

  A few minutes later, Pug’s eyes began to sting from the pungent smoke, and he turned back to the window and pushed open the shutters. “Kulgan?”

  “Yes, Pug?”

  “It would be much nicer working with you if we could somehow keep the fire going for warmth but move the smoke outside.” Between the smoking fire pot and the magician’s pipe, the room was thick with a blue-white haze.

  The magician laughed loudly. “Right you are.” He closed his eyes for a moment, his hands flew in a furious motion, and he softly mouthed a series of incantations. Soon he was holding a large sphere of white and grey smoke, which he took to the window and tossed outside, leaving the room fresh and clear.

  Pug shook his head, laughing. “Thank you, Kulgan. But I had a more mundane solution in mind. What do you think of making a chimney for the fire pot?”

  “Not possible, Pug,” Kulgan said, sitting down. He pointed to the wall. “If one had been installed when the tower was built, fine. But to try to remove the stones from the tower, from here past my room, and up to the roof would be difficult, not to mention costly.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of a chimney in the wall, Kulgan. You know how the forge in the smithy has a stone hood taking the heat and smoke through the roof?” The magician nodded. “Well, if I could have a metal one fashioned by the smith, and a metal chimney coming from the hood to carry the smoke away, it would work the same way, wouldn’t it?”

  Kulgan pondered this for a moment. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t. But where would you put this chimney?”

  “There.” Pug pointed to two stones above and to the left of the window. They had been ill fitted when the tower was built, and now there was a large crack between them that allowed the wind to come howling into the room. “This stone could be taken out,” he said, indicating the leftmost one. “I checked it and it’s loose. The chimney could come from above the fire pot, bend here”—he pointed to a spot in the air above the pot and level with the stone—“and come out here. If we covered the space around it, it would keep the wind out.”

  Kulgan looked impressed. “It’s a novel idea, Pug. It might work. I’ll speak to the smith in the morning and get his opinion on the matter. I wonder that no one thought of it before.”

  Feeling pleased with himself for having thought of the chimney, Pug resumed his studies. He reread a passage that had caught his eye before, puzzling over an ambiguity. Finally he looked up at the magician and said, “Kulgan.”

  “Yes, Pug?” he answered, looking up from his book.

  “Here it is again. Magician Lewton uses the same cantrip here as Marsus did, to baffle the effects of the spell upon the caster, directing it to an external target.” Placing the large tome down so as not to lose his place, he picked up another. “But here Dorcas writes that the use of this cantrip blunts the spell, increasing the chance that it will not work. How can there be so much disagreement over the nature of this single construction?”

  Kulgan narrowed his gaze a moment as he regarded his student. Then he sat back, taking a long pull on his pipe, sending forth a cloud of blue smoke. “It shows what I’ve said before, lad. Despite any vanity we magicians might feel about our craft, there’s really very little order or science involved. Magic is a collection of folk arts and skills passed along fr
om master to apprentice since the beginning of time. Trial and error, trial and error is the way. There has never been an attempt to create a system for magic, with laws and rules and axioms that are well understood and widely accepted.” He looked thoughtfully at Pug. “Each of us is like a carpenter, making a table, but each of us choosing different woods, different types of saws, some using pegs and dowel, others using nails, another dovetailing joints, some staining, others not…in the end there’s a table, but the means for making it are not the same in each case.

  “What we have here is most likely an insight about the limits of each of these venerable sages you study, rather than any sort of prescription for magic. For Lewton and Marsus, the cantrip aided the construction of the spell; for Dorcas, it hindered.”

  “I understand your example, Kulgan, but I’ll never understand how these magicians all could do the same thing, but in so many different ways. I understand that each of them wanted to achieve his end and found a different means, but there is something missing in the manner they did it.”

  Kulgan looked intrigued. “What is missing, Pug?”

  The boy looked thoughtful. “I…I don’t know. It’s as if I expect to find something that will tell me, ‘This is the way it must be done, the only way,’ or something like that. Does that make any sense?”

  Kulgan nodded. “I think I know you well enough to understand. You have a very well-ordered mind, Pug. You understand logic far better than most, even those much older than yourself. You see things as a system, rather than as a haphazard collection of events. Perhaps that is part of your trouble.”

  Pug’s expression showed his interest in what the magician was saying. Kulgan continued. “Much of what I am trying to teach is based on a system of logic, cause and effect, but much is not. It is like trying to teach someone to play the lute. You can show them the fingering of the strings, but that knowledge alone will not make a great troubadour. It is the art, not the scholarship, that troubles you.”

  “I think I understand, Kulgan.” He sounded dispirited.

  Kulgan stood up. “Don’t dwell on it; you are still young, and I have hope for you yet.” His tone was light, and Pug felt the humor in it.

  “Then I am not a complete loss?” he said with a smile.

  “Indeed not.” Kulgan looked thoughtfully at his pupil. “In fact, I have the feeling that someday you may use that logical mind of yours for the betterment of magic.”

  Pug was a little startled. He did not think of himself as one to accomplish great things.

  Shouts came through the window, and Pug hurried to look out. A troop of guards was running toward the front gate. Pug turned to Kulgan. “The elves must be coming! The guard is out.”

  Kulgan said, “Very well. We are done with study for this day. There will be no holding you until you get a look at the elves. Run along.”

  Pug raced out the door and down the stairs. He took them two at a time, jumping to the bottom of the tower landing over the last four and hitting the floor at a full run. He dashed through the kitchen and out the door. As he rounded the keep to the front courtyard, he found Tomas standing atop a hay wagon. Pug climbed up next to him, to be better able to see the arrival over the heads of the curious keep folk gathered around.

  Tomas said, “I thought you weren’t coming, thought you’d be locked away with your books all day.”

  Pug said, “I wouldn’t miss this. Elves!”

  Tomas playfully dug his elbow into Pug’s side. “Haven’t you had your fill of excitement for this week?”

  Pug threw him a black look. “If you’re so indifferent, why are you standing in the rain on this wagon?”

  Tomas didn’t answer. Instead he pointed. “Look!”

  Pug turned to see the guard company snap to attention as riders in green cloaks entered through the gate. They rode to the main doors of the keep, where the Duke waited. Pug and Tomas watched in awe, for they rode the most perfect white horses the boys had ever seen, using no saddle or bridle. The horses seemed untouched by wetness, and their coats glowed faintly; whether by some magic, or a trick of the grey afternoon light, Pug couldn’t tell. The leader rode on an especially grand animal, full seventeen hands in height, with a long flowing mane and a tail like a plume. The riders reared the mounts in salute, and an audible intake of breath could be heard from those in the crowd.

  “Elf steeds,” said Tomas, in hushed tones. The horses were the legendary mounts of the elves. Martin Longbow had once told the boys they lived in hidden, deep glades near Elvandar. It was said they possessed intelligence and a magic nature, and no human could sit on their backs. It was also said that only one with royal elvish blood could command them to carry riders.

  Grooms rushed forward to take the horses, but a musical voice said, “There is no need.” It came from the first rider, the one mounted on the greatest steed. She jumped nimbly down, without aid, landing lightly on her feet, and threw back her hood, revealing a mane of thick reddish hair. Even in the gloom of the afternoon rain it appeared to be shot through with golden highlights. She was tall, nearly a match for Borric. She mounted the steps as the Duke came forward to meet her.

  Borric held out his hands and took hers in greeting. “Welcome, my lady; you do me and my house a great honor.”

  The Elf Queen said, “You are most gracious, Lord Borric.” Her voice was rich and surprisingly clear, able to carry over the crowd so that all in the courtyard could hear. Pug felt Tomas’s hand clutching his shoulder. He turned to see a rapt expression on Tomas’s face. “She’s beautiful,” said the taller boy.

  Pug returned his attention to the welcome. He was forced to agree that the Queen of the elves was indeed beautiful, if not in entirely human terms. Her eyes were large and a pale blue, nearly luminous in the gloom. Her face was finely chiseled, with high cheekbones and a strong but not masculine jaw. Her smile was full, and her teeth shone white between almost-red lips. She wore a simple circlet of gold around her brow, which held back her hair, revealing the lobeless, upswept ears that were the hallmark of her race.

  The others in her company dismounted, all dressed in rich clothing. Each tunic was bright with contrasting leggings below. One wore a tunic of deep russet, another pale yellow with a surcoat of bright green. Some wore purple sashes, and others crimson hose. Despite the bright colors, these were elegant and finely made garments, with nothing loud or gaudy about them. There were eleven riders with the Queen, all similar in appearance, tall, youthful, and lithe in movement.

  The Queen turned from the Duke and said something in her musical language. The elf steeds reared in salute, then ran through the gate, past the surprised onlookers. The Duke ushered his guests inside, and soon the crowd drifted away. Tomas and Pug sat quietly in the rain.

  Tomas said, “If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think that I’ll ever see her like.”

  Pug was surprised, for his friend rarely showed such feelings. He had a brief impulse to chide Tomas over his boyish infatuation, but something about his companion’s expression made that seem inappropriate. “Come on,” he said, “we’re getting drenched.”

  Tomas followed Pug from the wagon. Pug said, “You had better change into some dry clothing, and see if you can borrow a dry tabard.”

  Tomas said, “Why?”

  With an evil grin, Pug said, “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? The Duke wants you to dine with the court. He wants you to tell the Elf Queen what you saw on the ship.”

  Tomas looked as if he were going to break down and run. “Me? Dine in the great hall?” His face went white. “Talk? To the Queen?”

  Pug laughed with glee. “It’s easy. You open your mouth and words come out.”

  Tomas swung a roundhouse at Pug, who ducked under the blow, grabbing his friend from behind when he spun completely around. Pug had strength in his arms even if he lacked Tomas’s size, and he easily picked his larger friend off the ground. Tomas struggled, and soon they were laughing uncontrollably. “Pug, put me down.”

 
“Not until you calm down.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Pug put him down. “What brought that on?”

  “Your smug manner, and not telling me until the last minute.”

  “All right. So I’m sorry I waited to tell you. Now what’s the rest of it?”

  Tomas looked uncomfortable, more than was reasonable from the rain. “I don’t know how to eat with quality folk. I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid.”

  “It’s easy. Just watch me and do what I do. Hold the fork in your left hand and cut with the knife. Don’t drink from the bowls of water; they’re to wash with, and use them a lot, because your hands will get greasy from the rib bones. And make sure you toss the bones over your shoulder to the dogs, and not on the floor in front of the Duke’s table. And don’t wipe your mouth on your sleeves, use the tablecloth, that’s what it’s for.”

  They walked toward the soldiers’ commons, with Pug giving his friend instruction on the finer points of court manners. Tomas was impressed at the wealth of Pug’s knowledge.

  —

  TOMAS VACILLATED BETWEEN looking sick and pained. Each time someone regarded him, he felt as if he had been found guilty of the most grievous breach of etiquette and looked sick. Whenever his gaze wandered to the head table and he caught sight of the Elf Queen, his stomach tied up in knots and he looked pained.

  Pug had arranged for Tomas to sit next to him at one of the more removed tables from the Duke’s. Pug’s usual place was at Lord Borric’s table, next to the Princess. He was glad for this chance to be away from her, for she still showed displeasure with him. Usually she chatted with him about the thousand little bits of gossip the ladies of the court found so interesting, but last night she had pointedly ignored him, lavishing all her attention on a surprised and obviously pleased Roland. Pug found his own reaction puzzling, relief mixed with a large dose of irritation. While he felt relieved to be free of her wrath, he found Roland’s fawning upon her a bothersome itch he couldn’t scratch.