Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘What?’ said the one-time King of the Isles.

  ‘After we parted, what was the most important thing you learned? You know, when you went from being prince to king?’

  Borric was silent for a moment. ‘I was Borric conDoin, son of a prince, nephew of a king, a king myself, father to a king. I was a son, a husband, a brother, and a father. I made decisions every day that changed lives, sometimes cruelly. I threatened wars, and fought them, and in the end I was an old man in bed when death came.’

  ‘What did you learn?’ asked Nakor, his voice almost entreating.

  Borric motioned for the little man to walk with him. As he headed towards the sound of pipes and drums, he said, ‘My true education began when I was captured in the Jal-Pur, Nakor.’ His expression turned thoughtful. ‘Being in the slave pens, fighting my way through that brothel with Suli, stealing a boat, serving aboard ship as a common sailor, all the things I did before I met you, then all we did after. Losing Suli.’ His eyes turned to scan the horizon. ‘I learned true courage watching a frightened boy try his best to do what needed to be done despite being terrified right up to the moment he died.’ He shook his head as he reflected on these things. ‘People talk about honour and duty and respect, and a host of other things to dignify their acts. In the end it’s this: you have love or you don’t.’

  ‘Love?’

  ‘Have you ever loved something so much you’d gladly die to preserve it?’

  Nakor was silent.

  ‘Honour without love is a pose, a hollow justification for your acts. It’s not what you’re willing to fight for, but what you’ll gladly die to preserve: a brother, a wife, or your child.

  ‘The same holds true with nations. I would die for my nation, because I loved it. The Isles is a place, like Kesh, or Roldem, just earth and rocks, trees and bushes, pastures and streams.’ He waved his arm. ‘Grasslands and mountains. It’s just another place until you understand it’s where your family lives, where the people who matter to you live, and the people who matter to them; those other places, that’s where people you don’t care about live. Given a choice, you’ll fight to defend your people. More, you’ll die to protect them.’

  Nakor felt a glimmer of understanding begin to take form. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s a bond like no other, Nakor. Until I travelled to Kesh with you and Ghuda and Suli Abul, I didn’t understand, truly. Erland and I had a difficult time learning about the responsibility that comes with privilege. My father loved my mother so much he let her indulge us, my brother and me, our sister, our little brother.’

  Nakor said, ‘Nicholas.’

  A sadness passed over Borric’s face. ‘Erland and I were terrible to him before that journey, Nakor. I was changed by that journey.’ He then laughed. ‘Erland, too, but not so much.’

  ‘You were in a slave pen. He was in a palace with lots of pretty girls who didn’t wear much.’

  Borric’s smile faded. ‘But we lost Uncle Locky there, along with Suli. Erland felt that.’ The wind strengthened and the music in the distance grew a bit louder, then faded. A scent of sage and flowers touched them and fled.

  ‘In the end, you lose everyone, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Borric. ‘Let’s see who’s playing that music.’

  Nakor was a step behind Borric when the former King of the Isles said, ‘It’s about touching lives, Nakor. It’s about sacrifice because you love something more than yourself. It’s about making a difference.’ He stopped for a moment. ‘It’s about a farmer who can get his crops safely to market without being murdered by bandits because I made the roads safe – me, King Borric of the Isles. And because I did, he gets safely home with his tiny pouch of coins and those things his wife asked him to fetch back from market, and a sweet for his little girl, or perhaps a toy for his little boy, and their lives unfold as they do.’ Borric’s eyes grew moist with emotion. ‘But I didn’t make the roads safe so that farmer would love his king. I made them safe because his king loves him and his family.’

  ‘I’ve known men of power, Borric. Some before I met you, others after, but your family is unique. Most rulers … the farmers are there to grow crops, pay taxes, and make them rich.’

  Borric said, ‘Nothing lasts forever, but this I know. If a conDoin sits on the throne of the Isles, no matter how talented or flawed the man is, somewhere inside of him is a love for his people that comes from the foundation of my family. When the first conDoin king put a rude circlet of gold on his brow, he did so thinking, “This is my land. These are my people. I am their servant.” Even my uncle’s predecessor, poor, sad Rodric, “the Mad King”, loved his people.’ Suddenly he laughed. ‘Maybe that’s your lesson, Nakor.’

  ‘Maybe it is.’

  ‘Come, let’s see about that music.’

  They hurried up the rise and when they reached the ridge, they both stopped.

  ‘It’s a fair!’ said Borric in delight.

  Below were colourful tents, a large striped red-and-white one, and one Nakor particularly remembered: a hideous combination of grey and purple with a green fringe; and half a dozen wagons arrayed in a semi-circle, behind which was a camp, cook-fires, and horses.

  Nakor took a step down the slope. ‘I know this fair,’ he said in disbelief. ‘It’s Bresandi’s travelling fair!’

  He turned to find his companion was gone. Nakor stood motionless for a moment, then softly said, ‘Goodbye, King Borric.’

  When he turned back, a woman was standing before him. ‘Jorma,’ he said in wonder.

  She smiled a rueful smile. ‘As good a name as any. How are you, Nakor?’

  ‘You know I’m not Nakor,’ he replied.

  ‘Close enough,’ she said, moving to his side and slipping her arm through his. ‘Still with the bag of oranges, I see.’

  ‘Always,’ he said, trying to force a lighter tone. The woman who now walked slowly down the hillside with him, arm in arm, had once been Nakor’s student, then his wife. The demon known as Belog had never been so overwhelmed by the identity of Nakor as he was at this moment.

  Nakor knew her as Jorma, but she had many other names, the last being Lady Clovis, then the Emerald Queen. Now she looked as she had when he first met her, not looking young due to powerful magic, but young in truth: an ambitious girl with raven hair and piercing eyes that seemed to see inside him.

  ‘Last thing I remember about you,’ she said, ‘was you ruining my master’s plans to infect the Kingdom of the Isles with a plague.’

  ‘I wondered how willing you were in that plot,’ said Nakor.

  ‘I had illusions then. I thought I could wield any power and command it. The arrogance of youth, you could say. Or perhaps I was always just full of myself.’

  She had always been a striking woman. Born of common farmers, she had carried herself like a queen since girlhood. She was slender, but strong, her features lovely, yet hard. She had beguiled him at first, seduced him, then abandoned him. ‘What was the last thing you remember before you got here?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s quite odd, actually,’ she replied as they approached the fair. ‘I was negotiating with a demon – always a tricky business – and suddenly the demon was inside me.’

  ‘Not in a good way,’ quipped Nakor.

  ‘You evil little man,’ she said. ‘I was fond of you, you know.’

  ‘Until you wrung every secret out of me you could, then ran off and found Macros.’

  She smiled and there was little in it that was mirthful, but for the first time Nakor saw a hint of regret in her eyes. ‘From some people’s point of view, I got what I deserved, and perhaps they were right, Nakor. This demon, Jakan, he was a wily bastard. Having one slowly eat away at your mind to drain it of knowledge – and I mean literally eat – wasn’t pleasant. Seems devouring people is a demon’s fastest way to gain knowledge and power. I was alive perhaps as long as twenty minutes while he slowly picked my brain apart.

  ‘The odd thing, you know, is that once he
tore open my skull, the pain stopped. I was helpless, unable to move, and very angry, as you might imagine, but the actual eating didn’t hurt. What hurt was losing … everything. I knew knowledge was vanishing – memories and abilities – but I didn’t know what they were. Just toward the end when there wasn’t enough left for any sort of cohesion, there was just this overwhelming sense of loss.’

  Nakor said, ‘There are those who would say you did, indeed, get what you deserved.’

  ‘You among them, Nakor?’ She lowered her lashes slightly, reflexively flirting with him as she had when they first met, a habit more than an overt attempt to change his view of her; they had too much history for that to ever be possible.

  ‘Perhaps it’s just we are so different in outlook, Jorma. I never understood your thirst for power.’

  ‘And I never understood your endless curiosity to know things without a goal.’

  He laughed. ‘Haven’t you ever had a moment where coming to understand something, how something works, or what its true nature is, whatever you learned, in and of itself was the joy?’

  ‘I can’t say as I have.’

  ‘Your loss, then,’ said Nakor.

  ‘The thing about death is, you learn that nothing is really important, in the end. I mean, will anyone care who we were or how we lived and died a thousand years from now?’

  ‘Very interesting question,’ Nakor said. ‘If one is important enough to be included in a history, perhaps. But maybe the question is what is important about knowing that in a thousand years no one cares who you were or how you lived and died?’

  She looked as him as if she didn’t fully understand his point.

  ‘I mean, knowing what you know now, if you could start again, say this day,’ he waved his hand around, ‘when you first arrived at Bresandi’s travelling fair, and met all of us …’ He glanced away a moment, expecting to see some familiar faces – Totun the juggler; Batapol the knife-thrower and his wife and usual target Jantal; Subo the wrestler who would pay a gold coin to any man who could best him in the ring. This was the carnival where Nakor the Isalani, the card-cheat and swindler, had first discovered his tricks, and this is where he had met the young village girl, Jorma, whom he had cared for, trained and educated, then married. ‘Would you do the same things as before?’

  She was silent and said, ‘You’re not asking that. You’re asking, would I be a better person?’ She sighed. ‘Probably not. I left those concerns for others. I would probably seek the same things – power, eternal youth, and the safety to enjoy my power and youth – but would seek different avenues of achieving those goals.’

  He sighed. ‘There were moments when I saw … glimpses of something more in you.’

  ‘Or moments when you wished you had seen more.’

  ‘I’ve spent a lot of time with your daughter. She’s who you could have been, I think.’

  ‘Miranda,’ she said softly. ‘I was never a good mother. My best choice for her was to leave.’

  Nakor shrugged. ‘The Miranda I know wouldn’t disagree. Still, you left her alone with a father who was hardly an ideal parent.’

  ‘Macros,’ she said softly. ‘He was … magnificent.’ She sighed. Gripping his arm tightly, she hugged it to her. ‘But you, my funny little Isalani card-cheat, you amazing magician who doesn’t believe in magic, you were as close as I ever got to really caring for another. I know this means little to you, but I did think of you kindly from time to time.’

  ‘You hardly appeared to when we last spoke,’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘Well you and that half-elf and the fat pirate had just destroyed my plans for world conquest. I wasn’t happy.’

  ‘Necromancy,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Always a bad choice.’

  ‘You’re right. One thing I learned from Dahakan before he finally, truly died, was that being undead tends to make one insane. Apparently, just working necromancy does the same, but slowly. That’s why the second time I decided to try my hand with demons.’

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t say I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.’

  ‘I understand, my dear Nakor.’ She stopped and looked around, ‘I think …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think my time is done.’ She looked at him with an expression that could only be called affection, laced with regret, and with eyes shining said, ‘Still, we had fun while we were together, didn’t we?’

  A hot flash of memory that wasn’t his own, wasn’t real, struck the demon Belog who now thought of himself as Nakor. ‘Fun?’ he said grimly. He looked away, for the forgotten feelings were still close to overpowering if he allowed them to be. When he looked back she was gone, as were the colourful tents that had served as a backdrop. He was alone on a flat patch of grass.

  Her question hung in the air.

  Softly he said, ‘It was never fun. It was the most pain I’ve endured. You were the only woman I ever loved.’

  He heard a suck of wind behind him and turned to discover another vortex hanging in the air. He pushed ancient feelings deep down inside, then took a step and jumped into the vortex.

  • CHAPTER TEN •

  Skirmish

  HAL DREW HIS SWORD.

  Captain Reddic, leading the squad of thirty riders from Bas-Tyra, said, ‘Put up your sword, sir.’ He did not know Hal or Ty’s name or rank, but having been told by a palace officer they were men of rank, he had presumed courtesy and deference from the moment they left Bas-Tyra eleven days before. ‘This is a local patrol out of Silden.’

  ‘Remind me, Captain,’ said Ty, ‘to tell you the story of a bunch of Ceresian pirates we ran afoul of who were wearing Kingdom tabards – and last I heard, the Ceresians are now auxiliaries with Prince Oliver’s navy …’

  ‘It’s the boots,’ said Hal quietly enough for the company to hear. Ty gave Hal a dirty look for spoiling the story.

  The men readied themselves as the captain held up his hand in greeting. The thirty or so men who approached wore the red tabards of Silden, decorated with a silver stag’s head. Their leader, a knight-lieutenant by his badge, held up his hand and ordered his men to halt. He rode forward and lifted his helm slightly in greeting. ‘Captain,’ he said in a friendly tone. ‘We don’t usually see the tabard of Bas-Tyra this far west. What brings you to our part of the kingdom?’

  ‘Orders from my lord duke,’ answered Reddic. ‘We bear dispatches for Salador.’

  ‘Odd,’ said the lieutenant. ‘But given the chaos on the water, I guess it’s not that odd to be sending dispatches by rider instead of ship. Can we be of help?’

  ‘Just how do things lie between here and Salador?’

  ‘We’re getting mixed reports,’ said the young lieutenant. ‘Here to where the road forks west to Malac’s Cross and south to Salador things are calm. My lord of Silden ensures that with our regular patrols, but south of there?’ He shrugged. ‘Every warship in our navy is in Rillanon, and we’ve heard of both Keshian and pirate ships sailing within sight of Salador. And we’ve had reports of banditry, though with this many swords, I suspect you’ll arrive unchallenged.’

  ‘One can hope,’ said Captain Reddic. ‘I fear no fight, but arriving in a timely fashion is important.’

  The two officers saluted and the two columns rode past one another, the men of both commands nodding respectfully. Hal couldn’t help himself, but glanced twice to look at the Silden contingent’s boots, finding them as polished as he would expect from cavalry in the field.

  The ride over the next four days was uneventful and as they entered Salador territory, they saw more and more signs of conflict. Villagers raced to lock themselves behind doors or fled into the field when they saw men with strange tabards approaching. The second time this occurred, Hal commented on it. ‘What’s got them so fearful?’

  One of the men riding just ahead of Hal and Ty said, ‘From a distance, they see these black tabards, so they can’t tell if we’re friend or foe. Might as well be a bunch of horseback pirates for al
l they know.’

  ‘With the navy gone,’ said the man riding beside the first soldier, ‘it’s easy for a pirate sloop to ride in close, drop a dozen men over the side, and wait while they plunder. Farmers and fishermen, that’s what we’re seeing.’

  The first soldier said, ‘Don’t sell ’em short. They’re tough as old boots when formed up in a militia – I’ve fought beside too many of them to think they lack spine.’

  ‘No argument, Jacques,’ said the second speaker. ‘But when only two or three of them are facing a dozen cut-throats, and they’ve got wives and daughters to think of, they’ll flee, or hole up and take ’em one at a time through the door.’

  ‘Rarely works, that,’ said Jacques.

  ‘What rarely works?’ asked Ty.

  ‘Holin’ up. The pirates just burn you out and take what they want. You fight them on the beach or you run. Anything else is a waste of time and blood. Leave some booty behind and the sea rats won’t bother to chase you into the hills.’

  Hal said, ‘Before this trouble with Prince Oliver began, what was the coast like?’

  The second soldier said, ‘Quiet as could be, sir. A man could ride unarmed from Bas-Tyra to Salador with his purse filled with gold, and unless he ran afoul of a particularly bold bandit, he was as safe as he was in his own bed.’

  ‘Safer,’ said Jacques. ‘Cities still have thieves, and that’s a fact.’

  They travelled until nightfall, then made camp on a flat-topped hill a short distance from the road, surrounded on three sides by light woods. Ty helped gather firewood while Hal helped tend the horses. He admired the squad from Bas-Tyra; they were efficient and disciplined. They might be close to the King’s Highway and almost to their destination, but the nearby grounds were cleared and a brushwork barrier was erected. It wouldn’t stop a rider, but it would slow men on foot as well as make a great deal of noise if moved. Also, sentry torches were cut and placed along the perimeter. When the last torch was cut and put in place, Hal asked the soldier next to him, ‘Aren’t we close to the city?’