The Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn and A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond E. Feist

Pug studied the man. There was something about him that suggested hidden meanings in his words. ‘Why would you speak with me?’

  The man sat on the edge of the empty pool. The hem of his robe was pulled back, revealing cross-gartered sandals of sturdy construction. ‘I am alone mostly, and the chance to speak with strangers is a rare thing. So I thought to see if you would visit with me awhile, for a few moments at least, until you return to your ship.’

  Pug sat down also, but kept a comfortable distance between himself and the stranger. ‘Do you live here?’

  The man looked around the room. ‘No, though I once did, long ago.’ There was a contemplative note in his voice, as if the admission were calling up long-buried memories.

  ‘Who are you?’

  The man smiled again, and Pug felt his nervousness vanish. There was something reassuring about his manner, and Pug could see that he intended no harm. ‘Mostly I am called the traveler, for many lands have I seen. Here I am sometimes known as the hermit, for so I live. You may call me what you like. It is all the same.’

  Pug looked at him closely. ‘Have you no proper name?’

  ‘Many, so many that I have forgotten a few. At the time of my birth I was given a name, as you were, but among those of my tribe it is a name known only to the father and the mage-priest.’

  Pug considered this. ‘It is all very strange, much like this house. Who are your people?’

  The man called the traveler laughed, a good-natured chuckle. ‘You have a curious mind, Pug, full of questions. That is good.’ He paused for a moment, then said, ‘Where are you and your companions from? The ship in the bay flies the Natalese banner of Bordon, but your accent and dress are of the Kingdom.’

  Pug said, ‘We are of Crydee,’ and gave the man a brief description of the journey. The man asked a few simple questions, and without being aware of it, Pug found that soon he had given a full accounting of the events that had brought them to the island, and the plans for the rest of the journey.

  When he had finished, the traveler said, ‘That is a wondrous story indeed. I should think there will be many more wonders before this strange meeting of worlds is finished.’

  Pug questioned him with a look. ‘I don’t understand.’

  The traveler shook his head. ‘I don’t expect you to, Pug. Let us say that things are occurring that can be understood only by examination after the fact, with a distance of time separating the participants from the participating.’

  Pug scratched his knee. ‘You sound like Kulgan, trying to explain how magic works.’

  The traveler nodded. ‘An apt comparison. Though sometimes the only way to understand the workings of magic is to work magic.’

  Pug brightened. ‘Are you also a magician?’

  The traveler stroked his long black beard. ‘Some have thought me one, but I doubt that Kulgan and I share the same understanding of such things.’

  Pug’s expression showed he considered this an unsatisfactory explanation even if he didn’t say so. The traveler leaned forward. ‘I can effect a spell or two, if that answers your question, young Pug.’

  Pug heard his name shouted from the courtyard. ‘Come,’ said the traveler. ‘Your friends call. We had best go and reassure them that you are all right.’

  They left the bathing room and crossed the open court of the inner garden. A large anteroom separated the garden from the front of the house, and they passed through to the outside. When the others saw Pug in the company of the traveler, they looked around quickly, their weapons drawn. Kulgan and the Prince crossed the court to stand before them. The traveler put up his hands in the universal sign that he was unarmed.

  The Prince was the first to speak. ‘Who is your companion, Pug?’

  Pug introduced the traveler. ‘He means no harm. He hid until he could see that we were not pirates.’ He handed the knife to Meecham.

  If the explanation was unsatisfactory, Arutha gave no sign. ‘What is your business here?’

  The traveler spread his hands, with the staff in the crook of his left arm. ‘I abide here, Prince of Crydee. I should think that the question better serves me.’

  The Prince stiffened at being addressed so, but after a tense moment relaxed. ‘If that is so, then you are correct, for we are the intruders. We came seeking relief from the solitary confines of the ship. Nothing more.’

  The traveler nodded. ‘Then you are welcome at Villa Beata.’

  Kulgan said, ‘What is Villa Beata?’

  The traveler made a sweeping motion with his right hand. ‘This home is Villa Beata. In the language of the builders, it means “blessed home,” and so it was for many years. As you can see, it has known better days.’

  Everyone was relaxing with the traveler, for they also felt a reassurance in his easy manner and friendly smile. Kulgan said, ‘What of those who built this strange place?’

  ‘Dead . . . or gone. They thought this the Insula Beata, or Blessed Isle, when they first came here. They fled a terrible war, which changed the history of their world.’ His dark eyes misted over, as if the pain of remembering was great. ‘A great king died . . . or is thought to have died, for some say he may return. It was a terrible and sad time. Here they sought to live in peace.’

  ‘What happened to them?’ asked Pug.

  The traveler shrugged. ‘Pirates, or goblins? Sickness, or madness? Who can tell? I saw this home as you see it now, and those who lived here were gone.’

  Arutha said, ‘You speak of strange things, friend traveler. I know little of such, but it seems that this place has been deserted for ages. How is it you knew those who lived here?’

  The traveler smiled. ‘It is not so long ago as you would imagine, Prince of Crydee. And I am older than I look. It comes from eating well and bathing regularly.’

  Meecham had been studying the stranger the entire time, for of all those who had come ashore, his was the most suspicious nature. ‘And what of the Black One? Does he not trouble you?’

  The traveler looked over his shoulder at the top of the castle. ‘Macros the Black? The magician and I have little cause to be at odds. He suffers me the run of the island, as long as I don’t interfere with his work.’

  A suspicion crossed Pug’s mind, but he said nothing, as the traveler continued. ‘Such a powerful and terrible sorcerer has little to fear from a simple hermit, I’m sure you’ll agree.’ He leaned forward and added in conspiratorial tones, ‘Besides, I think much of his reputation is inflated and overboasted, to keep intruders away. I doubt he is capable of the feats attributed to him.’

  Arutha said, ‘Then perhaps we should visit this sorcerer.’

  The hermit looked at the Prince. ‘I don’t think you would find a welcome at the castle. The sorcerer is oftentimes preoccupied with his work and suffers interruption with poor grace. He may not be the mythical author of all the world’s ills that some imagine him to be, but he could still cause more trouble than it is worth to visit him. On the whole he is often poor company.’ There was a faint, wry hint of humor in his words.

  Arutha looked around and said, ‘I think we have seen all of interest we are likely to. Perhaps we should return to the ship.’

  When none disagreed, the Prince said, ‘What of you, friend traveler?’

  The stranger spread his hands in a general gesture. ‘I continue my habit of solitude, Your Highness. I have enjoyed this small visit, and the boy’s news of the occurrences of the world outside, but I doubt that you would find me tomorrow if you were to seek me.’

  It was evident he was unlikely to provide any more information, and Arutha found himself growing irritated with the man’s obscure answers. ‘Then we bid you farewell, traveler. May the gods watch over you.’

  ‘And you as well, Prince of Crydee.’

  As they turned to leave, Pug felt something trip his ankle, and he fell hard against Kulgan. Both went down in a tangle of bodies, and the traveler helped the boy up. Meecham and Gardan assisted the stout mage to his feet. Kulgan put weigh
t upon his foot and started to fall. Arutha and Meecham grabbed him. The traveler said, ‘It appears your ankle is turned, friend magician. Here.’ He held out his staff. ‘My staff is stout oak and will bear your weight as you return to the ship.’

  Kulgan took the offered staff and put his weight on it. He took an experimental step and found that he could negotiate the path with the aid of the staff. ‘Thank you, but what of yourself?’

  The stranger shrugged. ‘A simple staff, easily replaced, friend magician. Perhaps I shall have the opportunity of reclaiming it someday.’

  ‘I will keep it against that day.’

  The traveler turned away, saying, ‘Good. Then until that day, again farewell.’

  They watched as he walked back into the building, and then turned to face each other, expressions of wonder upon their faces. Arutha was the first to speak. ‘A strange man, this traveler.’

  Kulgan nodded. ‘More strange than you know, Prince. At his leaving I feel the lifting of some enchantment, as if he carries a spell about him, one that makes all near him trusting.’

  Pug turned to Kulgan. ‘I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I didn’t seem to be able to make myself.’

  Meecham said, ‘Aye, I felt that also.’

  Gardan said, ‘There is a thought in my mind. I think we have been speaking to the sorcerer himself.’

  Pug said, ‘That is my thought.’

  Kulgan leaned on the staff and said, ‘Perhaps. If it is so, then he has his own reasons for masking his identity.’ They talked about this as they walked slowly up the path from the villa.

  As they reached the cove where the boat was beached, Pug felt something brush against his chest. He reached inside his tunic and found a small folded piece of parchment. He withdrew it, startled by his find. He had not picked it up, as well as he could remember. The traveler must have slipped it inside his shirt when he had helped Pug to his feet.

  Kulgan looked back as he started for the boat and, seeing Pug’s expression, said, ‘What have you there?’

  Pug handed the parchment over, while the others gathered around the magician. Kulgan unfolded the parchment. He read it, and a surprised expression crossed his face. He read it again, aloud. ‘I welcome those who come with no malice in their hearts. You will know in days to come that our meeting was not by chance. Until we meet again, keep the hermit’s staff as a sign of friendship and goodwill. Seek me not until the appointed time, for that too is foreordained. Macros.’

  Kulgan handed the message back to Pug, who read it. ‘Then the hermit was Macros!’

  Meecham rubbed his beard. ‘This is something beyond my understanding.’

  Kulgan looked up to the castle, where the lights still flashed in the single window. ‘As it is beyond mine, old friend. But whatever it means, I think the sorcerer wishes us well, and I find that a good thing.’

  They returned to the ship and retired to their cabins. After a night of rest, they found the ship ready to leave on the midday tide. As they raised sail, they were greeted with unseasonably light breezes, blowing them directly for Krondor.

  • CHAPTER TWELVE •

  Councils

  PUG WAS RESTLESS.

  He sat looking out a window of the Prince’s palace in Krondor. Outside, the snow was falling, as it had been for the last three days. The Duke and Arutha had been meeting with the Prince of Krondor daily. On the first day Pug had told his story about finding the Tsurani ship, then had been dismissed. He remembered that awkward interview.

  He had been surprised to find the Prince to be young, in his thirties, if not a vigorous and well man. Pug had been startled during their interview when the Prince’s remarks were interrupted by a violent attack of coughing. His pale face, drenched with sweat, showed him to be in worse health than his manner indicated.

  He had waved off Pug’s suggestion that he should leave and come back when more convenient for him. Erland of Krondor was a reflective person, who listened patiently to Pug’s narration, lessening the boy’s discomfort at being before the heir apparent to the throne of the Kingdom. His eyes regarded Pug with reassurance and understanding, as if it were a common thing to have awkward boys standing before him. After listening to Pug’s narration, he had spent a short time talking with Pug about small things, such as his studies and his fortuitous rise to the nobility, as if these were important matters to his realm.

  Pug decided he liked Prince Erland. The second most powerful man in the Kingdom, and the single most powerful man in the West, was warm and friendly and cared for the comfort of his least-important guest.

  Pug looked around the room, still not used to the splendor of the palace. Even this small room was richly appointed, with a canopied bed instead of a sleeping pallet. It was the first time Pug had ever slept in one, and he found it difficult to get comfortable on the deep, soft, feather-stuffed mattress. In the corner of the room stood a closet with more clothing in it than he thought he could wear in his lifetime, all of costly weave and fine cut, and all seemingly in his size. Kulgan had said it was a gift from the Prince.

  The quiet of his room reminded Pug how little he had seen of Kulgan and the others. Gardan and his soldiers had left that morning with a bundle of dispatches for Prince Lyam from his father, and Meecham was housed with the palace guard. Kulgan was involved in the meetings as often as not, so Pug had a lot of time to himself. He wished he had his books with him, for then at least the time could be put to some good use. Since his arrival in Krondor there had been little for him to do.

  More than once Pug had thought of how much Tomas would have loved the newness of this place – seemingly fashioned from glass and magic more than stone – and the people in it. He thought about his lost friend, hoping Dolgan had somehow found him, but not believing he had. The pain of loss was now a dull ache, but still tender. Even after the last month, he would find himself turning, expecting to see Tomas close by.

  Not wishing to sit idle any longer, Pug opened the door and looked down the hallway that ran the length of the east wing of the Prince’s palace. He hurried down the hall, looking for any familiar face to break the monotony.

  A guard passed him by, going the other way, and saluted. Pug still couldn’t get used to the idea of being saluted every time a guard passed, but as a member of the Duke’s party he was given full honors due his Squire’s rank by the household staff.

  Reaching a smaller hallway, he decided to explore. One way was the same as another, he thought. The Prince had personally told him he had the run of the palace, but Pug had been shy about overstepping himself. Now boredom drove him to adventuring, or at least as much adventuring as possible under the circumstances.

  Pug found a small alcove with a window, providing a different view of the palace grounds. Pug sat upon the window seat. Beyond the palace walls he could see the port of Krondor lying below like a white-shrouded toy village. Smoke was coming from many of the buildings, the only sign of life in the city. The ships in the harbor looked like miniatures, lying at anchor, waiting for more propitious conditions under which to sail.

  A small voice behind him brought Pug out of his reverie. ‘Are you Prince Arutha?’

  A girl was standing behind him, about six or seven years old, with big green eyes and dark reddish brown hair done up in silver netting. Her dress was simple but fine looking, of red cloth with white lace at the sleeves. Her face was pretty, but was set in an expression of deep concentration that gave it a comic gravity.

  Pug hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘No, I’m Pug. I came with the Prince.’

  The girl made no attempt to hide her disappointment. With a shrug she came over and sat next to Pug. She looked up at him with the same grave expression and said, ‘I was so hoping that you might be the Prince, for I wanted to catch a glimpse of him before you leave for Salador.’

  ‘Salador,’ Pug said flatly. He had hoped the journey would end with the visit to the Prince. Lately he had been thinking of Carline.

  ‘Yes. Fath
er says you are all to leave at once for Salador, then take a ship for Rillanon to see the King.’

  ‘Who’s your father?’

  ‘The Prince, silly. Don’t you know anything?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Pug looked at the girl, seeing another Carline in the making. ‘You must be Princess Anita.’

  ‘Of course. And I’m a real princess too. Not the daughter of a duke, but the daughter of a prince. My father would have been King if he had wanted, but he didn’t want to. If he had, I would be Queen someday. But I won’t be. What do you do?’

  The question, coming so suddenly without preamble, caught Pug off guard. The child’s prattling wasn’t very irksome, and he wasn’t following closely, being more intent on the scene through the window.

  He hesitated, then said, ‘I’m apprenticed to the Duke’s magician.’

  The Princess’s eyes grew round, and she said, ‘A real magician?’

  ‘Real enough.’

  Her little face lit up with delight. ‘Can he turn people into toads? Mummy said magicians turn people into toads if they are bad.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll ask him when I see him – if I see him again,’ he added under his breath.

  ‘Oh, would you? I would so very much like to know.’ She seemed utterly fascinated by the prospect of finding out if the tale was true. ‘And could you please tell me where I might see Prince Arutha?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him myself in two days. What do you want to see him for?’

  ‘Mummy says I may marry him someday. I want to see if he is a nice man.’

  The prospect of this tiny child’s being married to the Duke’s younger son confounded Pug for a moment. It was not an uncommon practice for nobles to pledge their children in marriage years before their coming of age. In ten years she would be a woman, and the Prince would still be a young man, the Earl of some minor keep in the Kingdom. Still, Pug found the prospect fascinating.

  ‘Do you think you would like living with an earl?’ Pug asked, realizing at once it was a stupid question. The Princess confirmed the opinion with a glance that would have done Father Tully credit.