Magician: Apprentice

by Raymond Feist

  “As if somehow mocking?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, mocking. Why did you say that?”

  “Something I noticed…something I pointed out to your brother today. About Martin Longbow.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I understand. Longbow is also like that.”

  Softly Roland said, “Nevertheless, you did not come to speak of your brother or Martin.”

  “No, I came to tell you how sorry I am for the way I’ve acted. I’ve been angry with you for two weeks, but I’d no right. You only said what was true. I’ve treated you badly.”

  Roland was surprised. “You’ve not treated me badly, Carline. I acted the boor.”

  “No, you have done nothing but be a friend to me, Roland. You told me the truth, not what I wanted to hear. It must have been hard…considering how you feel.” She looked out at the approaching storm. “When I first heard of Pug’s capture, I thought the world ended.”

  Trying to be understanding, Roland quoted, “ ‘The first love is the difficult love.’ ”

  Carline smiled at the aphorism. “That is what they say. And with you?”

  Roland mustered a carefree stance. “So it seems, Princess.”

  She placed her hand upon his arm. “Neither of us is free to feel other than as we do, Roland.”

  His smile became sadder. “That is the truth, Carline.”

  “Will you always be my good friend?”

  There was a genuine note of concern in her voice that touched the young Squire. She was trying to put matters right between them, but without the guile she’d used when younger. Her honest attempt turned aside any frustration he felt at her not returning his affections fully. “I will, Carline. I’ll always be your good friend.”

  She came into his arms and he held her close, her head against his chest. Softly she said, “Father Tully says that some loves come unbidden like winds from the sea, and others grow from the seeds of friendship.”

  “I will hope for such a harvest, Carline. But should it not come, still I will remain your good friend.”

  They stood quietly together for a time, comforting each other for different causes, but sharing a tenderness each had been denied for two years. Each of them was lost in the comfort of the other’s nearness, and neither saw what the lightning flashes revealed for brief instants. On the horizon, beating for the harbor, came a ship.

  —

  THE WINDS WHIPPED the banners on the palisades of the castle walls as rain began to fall. As water gathered in small pools, the lanterns cast yellow reflections upward off the puddles to give an otherworldly look to the two men standing on the wall.

  A flash of lightning illuminated the sea, and a soldier said, “There! Highness, did you see? Three points south of the Guardian Rocks.” He extended his arm, pointing the way.

  Arutha peered into the gloom, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I can see nothing in this darkness. It’s blacker than a Guis-wan priest’s soul out there.” The soldier absently made a protective sign at the mention of the killer god. “Any signal from the beacon tower?”

  “None, Highness. Not by beacon, nor by messenger.”

  Another flash of lightning illuminated the night, and Arutha saw the ship outlined in the distance. He swore. “It will need the beacon at Longpoint to reach the harbor safely.” Without another word, he ran down the stairs leading to the courtyard. Near the gate he instructed a soldier to get his horse and two riders to accompany him. As he stood there waiting, the rain passed, leaving the night with a clean but warm, moist feeling. A few minutes later, Fannon appeared from the direction of the soldiers’ commons. “What’s this? Riding?”

  Arutha said, “A ship makes for the harbor, and there is no beacon at Longpoint.”

  As a groom brought Arutha’s horse, followed by two mounted soldiers, Fannon said, “You’d best be off, then. And tell those stone-crowned layabouts at the lighthouse I’ll have words for them when they finish duty.”

  Arutha had expected an argument from Fannon and felt relieved there would be none. He mounted and the gates were opened. They rode through and headed down the road toward town.

  The brief rain had made the night rich with fresh odors: the flowers along the road, and the scent of salt from the sea, soon masked by the acrid odor of burned wood from the charred remnants of gutted buildings as they neared town.

  They sped past the quiet town, taking the road along the harbor. A pair of guards stationed by the quayside hastily saluted when they saw the Prince fly past. The shuttered buildings near the docks bore mute testimony to those who had fled after the raid.

  They left the town and rode out to the lighthouse, following a bend in the road. Beyond the town they gained their first glimpse of the lighthouse, upon a natural island of rock joined to the mainland by a long causeway of stone, topped by a compacted dirt road. The horses’ hooves beat a dull tattoo upon the dirt as they approached the tall tower. A lightning flash lit up the sky, and the three riders could see the ship running under full sail toward the harbor.

  Shouting to the others, Arutha said, “They’ll pile upon the rocks without a beacon.”

  One of the guards shouted back, “Look, Highness. Someone signals!”

  They reined in and saw figures near the base of the tower. A man dressed in black stood swinging a shuttered lantern back and forth. It could be clearly seen by those on the ship, but not by anyone upon the castle walls. In the dim light, Arutha saw the still forms of Crydee soldiers lying on the ground. Four men, also attired in black with head coverings that masked their faces, ran toward the horsemen. Three drew long swords from back scabbards, while the fourth aimed a bow. The soldier to Arutha’s right cried out as an arrow struck him in the chest. Arutha charged his horse among the three who closed, knocking over two while his sword slashed out, taking the third across the face. The man fell without a sound.

  The Prince wheeled around and saw his other companion also engaged, hacking downward at the bowman. More men in black dashed from within the tower, rushing forward silently.

  Arutha’s horse screamed. He could see an arrow protruding from its neck. As it collapsed beneath him, he freed his feet from the stirrups and lifted his left leg over the dying animal’s neck, jumping free as it struck the ground. He hit and rolled, coming to his feet before a short figure in black with a long sword held high overhead with both hands. The long blade flashed down, and Arutha jumped to his left, thrusting with his own sword. He took the man in the chest, then yanked his sword free. Like the others before, the man in black fell without uttering a cry.

  Another flash of lightning showed men rushing toward Arutha from the tower. Arutha turned to order the remaining rider back to warn the castle, but the shouted command died aborning when he saw the man pulled from his saddle by swarming figures in black. Arutha dodged a blow from the first man to reach him and ran past three startled figures. He smashed at the face of a fourth man with his sword hilt, trying to knock the man aside. His only thought was to open a pathway so he might flee to warn the castle. The struck man reeled back, and Arutha attempted to jump past him. The falling man reached out with one hand, catching Arutha’s leg as he sprang.

  Arutha struck hard stone and felt hands frantically grab at his right foot. He kicked backward with his left and took the man in the throat with his boot. The sound of the man’s windpipe being crushed was followed by a convulsion of movement.

  Arutha came to his feet as another attacker reached him, others only a step behind. Arutha sprang backward, trying to gain some distance. His boot heel caught on a rock, and suddenly the world tilted crazily. He found himself suspended in space for an instant, then his shoulders met rock as he bounced down the side of the causeway. He hit several more rocks, and icy water closed over him.

  The shock of the water kept him from passing into unconsciousness. Dazed, he reflexively held his breath, but had little wind. Without thinking, he pushed upward and broke the surface with a loud, ragged gasp. Still groggy,
he nevertheless possessed enough wits to duck below the surface when arrows struck the water near him. He couldn’t see a thing in the murky darkness of the harbor, but clung to the rocks, pulling himself along more than swimming. He moved back toward the tower end of the causeway, hoping the raiders would think him headed in the other direction.

  He quietly surfaced and blinked the salt water from his eyes. Peering around the shelter of a large rock, he saw black figures searching the darkness of the water. Arutha moved quietly, nestling himself into the rocks. Bruised muscles and joints made him wince as he moved, but nothing seemed broken.

  Another flash of lightning lit the harbor. Arutha could see the ship speeding safely into Crydee harbor. It was a trader, but rigged for speed and outfitted for war. Whoever piloted the ship was a mad genius, for he cleared the rocks by a scant margin, heading straight for the quayside around the bend of the causeway. Arutha could see men in the rigging, frantically reefing in sails. Upon the deck a company of black-clad warriors stood with weapons ready.

  Arutha turned his attention to the men on the causeway and saw one motion silently to the others. They ran off in the direction of the town. Ignoring the pain in his body, Arutha pulled himself up, negotiating the slippery rocks to regain the dirt road of the causeway. Staggering a bit, he came to his feet and looked off toward the town. There was still no sign of trouble, but he knew it would erupt shortly.

  Arutha half staggered, half ran to the lighthouse tower and forced himself to climb the stairs. Twice he came close to blacking out, but he reached the top of the tower. He saw the lookout lying dead near the signal fire. The oil-soaked wood was protected from the elements by a hood that hung suspended over it. The cold wind blew through the open windows on all sides of the building.

  Arutha found the dead sentry’s pouch and removed flint, steel, and tinder. He opened the small door in the side of the metal hood, using his body to shield the wood from the wind. The second spark he fired caught in the wood, and a small flame sprang into existence. It quickly spread, and when it was burning fully, Arutha pulled on the chain hoist that elevated the hood. With an audible whoosh, the flames sprang fully to the ceiling as the wind struck the fire.

  Against one wall stood a jar of powder mixed by Kulgan against such an emergency. Arutha fought down dizziness as he bent again to pull the knife from the dead sentry’s belt. He used it to pry the lid off the jar and then tossed the entire contents into the fire.

  Instantly the flames turned bright crimson, a warning beacon none could confuse with a normal light. Arutha turned toward the castle, standing away from the window so as not to block the light. Brighter and brighter the flames burned as Arutha found his mind going vague again. For a long moment there was silence in the night, then suddenly an alarm sounded from the castle. Arutha felt relief. The red beacon was the signal for reavers in the harbor, and the castle garrison had been well drilled to meet such raids. Fannon might be cautious with chasing Tsurani raiders into the woods at night, but a pirate ship in his harbor was something he would not hesitate to answer.

  Arutha staggered down the stairs, stopping to support himself at the door. His entire body hurt, and he was nearly overcome by dizziness. He drew a deep breath and headed for the town. When he came to where his dead horse lay, he looked about for his sword, then remembered he had carried it with him into the harbor. He stumbled to where one of his riders lay, next to a black-clad bowman. Arutha bent down to pick up the fallen soldier’s sword, nearly blacking out as he stood. He held himself erect for a moment, fearing he might lose consciousness if he moved, and waited as the ringing in his head subsided. He slowly reached up and touched his head. One particularly sore spot, with an angry lump forming, told him he had struck his head hard at least once as he fell down the causeway. His fingers came away sticky with clotting blood.

  Arutha began to walk to town, and as he moved, the ringing in his head resumed. For a time he staggered, then he tried to force himself to run, but after only three wobbly strides he resumed his clumsy walk. He hurried as much as he could, rounding the bend in the road to come in sight of town. He heard faint sounds of fighting. In the distance he could see the red light of fires springing heavenward as buildings were put to the torch. Screams of men and women sounded strangely remote and muted to Arutha’s ears.

  He forced himself into a trot, and as he closed upon the town, anticipation of fighting forced away much of the fog clouding his mind. He turned along the harborside; with the dockside buildings burning, it was bright as day, but no one was in sight. Against the quayside the raiders’ ship rested, a gangway leading down to the dock. Arutha approached quietly, fearing guards had been left to protect it. When he reached the gangway, all was quiet. The sounds of fighting were distant, as if all the raiders had attacked deeply into the town.

  As he began to move away, a voice cried out from the ship, “Gods of mercy! Is anyone there?” The voice was deep and powerful, but with a controlled note of terror.

  Arutha hurried up the gangway, sword ready. He stopped when he reached the top. From the forward hatch cover he could see fire glowing brightly below-decks. He looked about: everywhere his eyes traveled he saw seamen lying dead in their own blood. From the rear of the ship the voice cried out, “You, man. If you’re a godsfearing man of the Kingdom, come help me.”

  Arutha made his way amid the carnage and found a man sitting against the starboard rail. He was large, broad-shouldered, and barrel-chested. He could have been any age between twenty and forty. He held the side of an ample stomach with his right hand, blood seeping through his fingers. Curly dark hair swept back from a receding hairline, and he wore his black beard cut short. He managed a weak smile as he pointed to a black-clothed figure lying nearby. “The bastards killed my crew and fired my ship. That one made the mistake of not killing me with the first blow.” He pointed at the section of a fallen yard pinning his legs. “I can’t manage to budge that damned yard and hold my guts in at the same time. If you’d lift it a bit, I think I can pull myself free.”

  Arutha saw the problem: the man was pinned down at the short end of the yard, tangled in a mass of ropes and blocks. He gripped the long end and heaved upward, moving it only a few inches, but enough. With a half grunt, half groan, the wounded man pulled his legs out. “I don’t think my legs are broken, lad. Give me a hand up and we’ll see.”

  Arutha gave him a hand and nearly lost his footing pulling the bulky seaman to his feet. “Here, now,” said the wounded man. “You’re not in much of a fighting trim yourself, are you?”

  “I’ll be all right,” said Arutha, steadying the man while fighting off an attack of nausea.

  The seaman leaned upon Arutha. “We’d better hurry, then. The fire is spreading.” With Arutha’s help, he negotiated the gangway. When they reached the quayside, gasping for breath, the heat was becoming intense. The wounded seaman gasped, “Keep going!”

  Arutha nodded and slung the man’s arm over his shoulder. They set off down the quay, staggering like a pair of drunken sailors on the town.

  Suddenly there came a roar, and both men were slammed to the ground. Arutha shook his dazed head and turned over. Behind him a great tower of flames leaped skyward. The ship was a faintly seen black silhouette in the heart of the blinding yellow-and-white column of fire. Waves of heat washed over them, as if they were standing at the door of a giant oven.

  Arutha managed to croak, “What was that?”

  His companion gave out with an equally feeble reply: “Two hundred barrels of Quegan fire oil.”

  Arutha spoke in disbelief. “You didn’t say anything about fire oil back aboard ship.”

  “I didn’t want you getting excited. You looked half-gone already. I figured we’d either get clear or we wouldn’t.”

  Arutha tried to rise, but fell back. Suddenly he felt very comfortable resting on the cool stone of the quay. He saw the fire begin to dim before his eyes, then all went dark.

  —

  ARUTHA
OPENED HIS eyes and saw blurred shapes over him. He blinked and the images cleared. Carline hovered over his sleeping pallet, looking anxiously on as Father Tully examined him. Behind Carline, Fannon watched, and next to him stood an unfamiliar man. Then Arutha remembered him. “The man from the ship.”

  The man grinned. “Amos Trask, lately master of the Sidonie until those bast—begging the Princess’s pardon—those cursed land rats put her to the torch. Standing here thanks to Your Highness.”

  Tully interrupted. “How do you feel?”

  Arutha sat up, finding his body a mass of dull aches. Carline placed cushions behind her brother. “Battered, but I’ll survive.” His head swam a little. “I’m a bit dizzy.”

  Tully looked down his nose at Arutha’s head. “Small wonder. You took a nasty crack. You may find yourself occasionally dizzy for a few days, but I don’t think it is serious.”

  Arutha looked at the Swordmaster. “How long?”

  Fannon said, “A patrol brought you in last night. It’s morning.”

  “The raid?”

  Fannon shook his head sadly. “The town’s gutted. We managed to kill them all, but there’s not a whole building left standing in Crydee. The fishing village at the south end of the harbor is untouched, but otherwise everything was lost.”

  Carline fussed around near Arutha, tucking in covers and fluffing his cushions. “You should rest.”

  He said, “Right now, I’m hungry.”

  She brought over a bowl of hot broth. He submitted to the light broth in place of solid food, but refused to let her spoon-feed him. Between mouthfuls he said, “Tell me what happened.”