Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

  They reached the main gate and turned to the right, moving along a stunning lawn bordered by low hedges, behind a low stone wall topped by wrought-iron bars, painted a muted yellow. The stone of the palace was grey and aged to dark blue or even black in places, but despite the brooding character of the building, the surrounding grounds looked almost festive.

  The streets were crowded and Ty said, ‘Looks like everyone knows war is coming.’

  Hal nodded without comment. The number of hawkers, itinerant merchants, and every service from seamstress and fletcher to chirurgeon, blacksmith to whore, had come into the city, waiting for the departure of the army. Hal’s father had said that there were times in history when the camp-followers were double the number of people in the actual army.

  They reached a road that was blocked off by soldiers and a makeshift barrier of a massive pole set on two sawing stands. Hal pointed. ‘Postern gate?’

  The soldier nodded and said, ‘Business?’

  ‘Special orders of the chancellor,’ replied Hal.

  The soldier nodded. ‘Let them pass,’ he ordered, and two burly pikemen put down their weapons and moved to lower one end of the huge pole so that the horses could step over it.

  Ty looked over his shoulder and saw the two soldiers struggle to get the log back in place. ‘What is that about, do you think?’

  ‘No one’s getting in easily, is my best guess.’

  ‘Just hope no one has to leave in a hurry.’

  Hal smiled. ‘My horse can make that jump, no worries.’ He glanced at his friend. ‘Not so sure about yours, though.’

  Ty smiled, but without humour. ‘Jumping that log with those bruisers trying to drag us out of the saddle into a crowded street … not my idea of sport.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Hal.

  Now they rode along a narrow road bordered by a chest-high stone wall which isolated the palace grounds from the city itself. The buildings on the slope below the new wall appeared to be successful shops, smart homes, and high-priced inns. This was just what one might expect this close to the palace: people of means, but not rich enough to enjoy the luxury of huge estates.

  They reached the postern gate, a small but heavy wooden door in the middle of an otherwise blank wall. Hal laughed. ‘This was once useful, I suppose.’

  Ty looked at his friend and said, ‘I’m not sure …?’

  ‘Never lived in a castle, did you?’

  ‘Visited them, but no. Palaces, inns over my father’s restaurant, under tables in taverns, and many other less savoury haunts, but no, I never lived in a castle.’

  Hal grinned as he dismounted. ‘In ages past, this was a sally port as well as a back door for delivery men.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ty, looking around. The little road was hardly anywhere one would wish to launch a counter attack. ‘Bit narrow, isn’t it?’

  ‘I have no idea what the terrain was like centuries ago,’ said Hal, pounding hard on the gate. ‘Maybe there was heavy brush and trees or marshes …’

  Within a moment the door opened and a guard appeared. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Special orders for the chancellor.’

  The guard nodded once. ‘Right. Wait here,’ he said and closed the door.

  Ten minutes later, the door opened and a man dressed in court finery opened the door and said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘You the chancellor?’ asked Hal, suddenly sounding considerably less educated than usual.

  ‘Where’s Benson?’ asked the man gruffly. He was entering late middle age, but was dressed in fine clothing, well-crafted boots and evidently had a penchant for gaudy jewellery, for he sported a gold chain from which hung his badge of office and several large rings.

  ‘Dead,’ said Hal. He motioned to Ty and said, ‘Some of the lads are injured and resting at camp. Him and me thought it wise to hurry here, as Galton said you were waiting for this. Galton was too hurt to ride, so he sent us. But he said to tell you we got them.’

  ‘Got them?’

  Hal went to his horse’s saddle-back and took out Captain Reddic’s bloody tabard and the communiqué pouch. ‘Galton says this is what I had to bring you, and be quick about it, he said.’ He showed the badge on the captain’s tunic and handed the pouch to the man.

  The chancellor opened the pouch, removed its contents and tossed the empty pouch back to Hal. He quickly went through a half-dozen communiqués and after glancing at each, threw it aside. When he read the last, he said, ‘This was all?’

  ‘We found nothing else, m’lord. The boys did a thorough job of lookin’, too, I can tell you. Searched clothes, boots, everything.’

  There was a quiet moment while the chancellor weighed what was in the pouch and, more critically, what wasn’t. Finally he asked, ‘The Bas-Tyra captain, did he say anything?’

  ‘Well, truth to tell, m’lord, me and him—’ he indicated Ty, ‘was a little busy killin’ those lads. Quite a fight they put up, too.’ Hal lowered his voice. ‘It’s not my place to offer an opinion, Chancellor, but seems to me that bunch was as nasty a crew as I’ve seen in the field. Special training and the like, I’m thinking. We lost a lot of boys yesterday.’

  ‘You’re right, it’s not your place to offer an opinion.’

  Hal wondered if he had overstepped his role of common sword for hire. The chancellor had a menacing air. Hal had seen his type during his stay in Rillanon. Some men killed with a quill and parchment as easily as others did with steel, and if this man had Duke Arthur’s ear, Hal was certain the Duke of Salador was getting dangerous political advice.

  Obviously frustrated by not finding what he expected, the man said, ‘Very well. You can go.’

  ‘M’lord,’ Hal said before the chancellor turned away. ‘Galton said you’d pay the second half of the contract fee.’

  ‘Did he?’ said the man, and Hal knew he had blundered into a dangerous moment. He had little experience with mercenaries as there was no call for them on the Far Coast, but he’d heard stories.

  Hal said, ‘Galton said Benson said we was given first payment when they took the contract, and we was to be paid the rest now.’ He shrugged. ‘Now, Galton should be fit to ride in a couple more days, so I guess we can wait until he gets here and let him settle with you, sir. I mean, you got too many swords for hire lounging around your city to have word spread you don’t pay your agreed contract, right? I mean—’

  ‘Never mind,’ said the chancellor, a sour expression on his face. ‘Wait here.’

  Close to half an hour passed, with Hal standing by the open door, under the baleful gaze of a Salador soldier, while Ty sat patiently on his mount. Finally the man returned with a heavy pouch and handed it to Hal.

  ‘Thank you, m’lord,’ said Hal.

  ‘Galton is coming here in a few days, you said?’

  ‘He took a blade across the leg. Not deep, but he couldn’t ride. But we bandaged it good. I expect he’ll be fit for riding in three, maybe four, days. Should be here by the end of the week, latest.’

  ‘When he arrives, have him report to Captain Braga at the eastern gate for new orders.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Hal. He mounted up and Ty made a sloppy salute to the chancellor, who ignored him.

  When the postern gate was closed behind and they were deep into the streets of the city, Hal said, ‘Well, at least we sleep in clean beds and eat a good meal tonight.’ He hefted the bag. ‘Must be three hundred gold in here.’

  ‘Maybe we should become swords for hire?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Hal, laughing as they rode away from the palace.

  • CHAPTER ELEVEN •

  Trapped

  HORNS AND DRUMS SHATTERED THE MORNING QUIET.

  Hal woke up suddenly. He and Ty had found a room in an inn called the Dancing Pony near the Farmer’s Gate in the southernmost quarter of the city, where demand had set a price far higher than normal, so Hal decided to play the part of the struggling sword for hire and shared a room with Ty. Ty had won the coin toss and was sleeping in the sing
le bed while Hal had made do with blankets and a pillow on the floor.

  Both had enjoyed a hot bath and shave, and had purchased clean travel clothing the day before, and enjoyed a reasonable supper. Now the clamour outside roused them from a well-deserved sleep.

  Hal moved past a still-groggy Ty, pushed open the small window under the gabled roof of the room and peered out. Two men in the garb of Salador were marching down the street and stopped two shops away. One blew a horn, three long blasts, while the other beat out a tattoo on his drum. Then the horn-blower shouted, ‘By order of his grace, Arthur, Lord of Salador, all fighting men are conscripted! If you be between the ages of sixteen and fifty summers, without infirmity or crippling disease, sound in mind and able to bear arms, you are summoned to assemble!’ Losing the official formal tone, he shouted up, ‘You scruffy lot get out of your beds of pain and move orderly to the south gate! Any man able to bear arms who has not stood before the scribe of the court, and been inducted, will be counted a deserter and hanged at the city gate!’ He picked up his horn and blew it again while the drummer repeated his tattoo. They marched briskly down the street where they would repeat the message.

  Hal pulled back inside the room. ‘What was that?’ asked Ty, still half-asleep.

  ‘We’ve been conscripted,’ said Hal, sitting down on the side of the bed to pull on his boots.

  ‘What?’ asked Ty, waking up fully.

  ‘Apparently Arthur has put the city under martial law and enrolled every man of fighting age into his militia. We are to report to the southern gate by sundown or be hanged as deserters.’

  Ty yawned, then grabbed his shirt off the post nearest him at the head of the bed. ‘Well, I guess that’s better than being hanged as spies.’

  Hal looked at his friend as if he had lost his senses. ‘I’ll leave that comparison for another time.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  Hal said, ‘First, we hide this gold.’ He pointed to the pouch that sat on the floor next to his second boot. ‘Half mission pay for thirty men? Most of the bravos in town would happily cut our throats for a tenth of that.’

  ‘It’s a lot of gold,’ said Ty. ‘But do we need it?’

  ‘For the time being,’ said Hal. ‘I think the chancellor was trying not to honour the contract so he could keep as much gold on hand as he could. If he had realized there were no other survivors coming to join us, looking for their share, we’d either be in the duke’s dungeon or dead.

  ‘This conscription means the duke has too many mercenaries and militiamen in the city and he’s running out of food, wine, and gold.’ Hal stood up, took his sword-belt from the back of the chair where it hung and put it on. He tossed Ty’s sword to him. ‘So, what’s as good to an army as paymaster’s gold?’

  ‘Booty,’ answered Hal.

  ‘Right.’ Hal considered. ‘He can’t march west, because he can’t face Edward until Oliver and Chadwick arrive, and to do that, the fleet loyal to Oliver must first go here …’ He stopped. ‘He means to sack Silden.’

  Ty stopped dressing for a moment, then nodded agreement. ‘Bas-Tyra can’t move until he knows if Chadwick is marching against him or sailing past him to join here with Arthur. But Silden’s allied with Bas-Tyra and could march south to take Salador’s forces from behind if they leave the city. Yes, he’ll have to crush Silden before he can join with Oliver and Chadwick to march on Edward. I guess it had to start sooner or later.’

  Hal leaned against the doorpost. ‘Oliver can’t stay in Rillanon threatening the palace for ever. That’s why Edward’s waiting. In ages past you could grow enough food on that island to feed everyone, but now two-thirds of what feeds Rillanon comes from the mainland. Oliver knows that every western lord and half the east is with Edward, but he also knows that should he defeat Edward, with Chadwick’s backing, Montgomery will not challenge him. So, Silden first, then Oliver and Chadwick come to Salador.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  Hal said, ‘Not get hanged today. Come along. We need to report in to the conscription officer at the gate.’

  Ty finished gathering his things and said, ‘The gold?’

  Hal tossed the pouch to Ty and said, ‘Find somewhere on you to keep it, and don’t let it clink too much.’

  Ty rummaged through his saddlebag, wrapping it in his clothing. ‘Don’t let me lose track of that horse.’

  Grinning, Hal led his friend down the stairs and out into the busy streets of Salador.

  The mood at the southern gate was getting out of hand. A squad of Salador’s regular army stood ready with pikes held high in case some heads needed breaking. Three companies of cavalry were already roaming the streets to provide motivation for unruly parties of mercenaries to disperse if so ordered. The mustard-yellow-and-dark-red uniforms were seen on every corner as the muster was being called.

  Ty muttered to Hal, ‘Any stupidity here and we have a riot.’

  ‘Oh, the stupidity is already underway.’ Hal nodded toward a wagon used as a barricade across the southern gate, with a table next to it. Behind the table sat a nervous clerk and atop the wagon a grizzled sergeant who looked as if he’d seen far more bar-room brawls than battles. His face was jowly and had the texture of dirty leather, and his bloodshot eyes glared out from under bushy eyebrows. His helm looked too large and sat skewed on his head, giving his entire appearance a comedic aspect totally at variance with the menace he seemed determined to demonstrate.

  A dozen men standing in line before the table, and others jostling to get into the queue, started name-calling and pushing. ‘This will not end well,’ said Hal.

  Ty tugged at his arm and with a jerk of his head indicated a place against the city wall. They edged along until they had their backs firmly against the stones of the tunnel under the city wall, behind the first group of pikemen. Ty whispered, ‘If they start swinging those things, duck.’

  Hal grinned. ‘Hug the ground, you mean.’

  The sergeant was shouting over the noisy crowd, ‘And that is until the duke says you’re done!’ He squinted at the crowd as if one eye worked better than the other, then added, ‘Anybody not happy with that can think about it in the dungeon!’

  More muttering was followed by the sergeant picking up a water-skin and taking a deep pull. ‘I’ll bet all the gold in your backpack that’s not water,’ said Hal.

  ‘No bet,’ replied Ty. ‘I can smell it from here.’ He looked at Hal. ‘Good wine is not that expensive. He’s a sergeant. He can afford it.’

  Hal gave him a sceptical look. ‘More?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ty. ‘Yes, if your concern is quantity rather than quality … fair point.’

  Putting down the skin, the sergeant shouted, ‘I’ll repeat the orders for those of you just arriving!’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Line up and give your name to the clerk. You’ll be given instructions on where to report. Go there and give your paper to the officer waiting for you. If you can’t read, it doesn’t matter, the officer can.

  ‘Now, my lord Duke Arthur has announced his support for good Prince Oliver, rightful heir to the throne, and is mustering to put down rebellion against Prince Oliver.’ He held up his arm and shouted, ‘Long live Oliver!’

  This was greeted with a half-hearted muttering from the crowd as a few of the newly conscripted fighters repeated the phrase.

  ‘Now, if you’re in a company already, find your bloody captain and go where he tells you.’ At this a few men turned and left the assembly. ‘The rest of you get in line. You’ll be serving the Crown for the duration, which means until the duke is done with you. If you don’t like it, you can sit out the war in the dungeon.’

  ‘I think this we’ve heard before,’ said Hal.

  Ty nodded. ‘What do we do?’

  Hal looked thoughtful for a minute and then he grinned. ‘I’m Benson. You’re Galton.’

  Ty’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, we have their gold. Let’s spend
some of it!’

  They ducked past startled pikemen who didn’t realize Ty and Hal had slipped in behind them, and circled around to the farthest point behind the crowd. ‘Look for some likely lads.’

  ‘It’s a pretty scruffy lot,’ said Ty. ‘That fellow over there!’

  Hal saw the large man Ty indicated. He was a full head taller than most of those around him and had a seriously angry expression but seemed reticent about saying anything. ‘Smart enough to hold his tongue,’ said Hal.

  He worked his way through the crowd and tapped the man on the shoulder. Hal was not used to having many men look down on him, but this fellow did. ‘What?’ the man asked with controlled fury.

  Hal said, ‘I think we might have cause to speak, stranger.’ He turned without seeing if the man followed and when he reached Ty, he turned and saw the man had. They stepped away from the press and Hal said, ‘I’m called Benson, and he’s Galton. Are you a sword for hire?’

  ‘I’m a damned teamster,’ said the burly man. His head was covered in thick brown hair shot with grey, and his jaw looked as if it had been fashioned by a blacksmith. He had massive shoulders but a tapered waist, and carried himself well.

  ‘But you were a soldier?’ asked Hal.

  ‘Once, in another life,’ said the fellow. ‘Used to serve up in Darkmoor as a man of the castle, but I got married and told my missus I’d give up soldiering. Her da had a hauling company for the wineries in the area, so I spent the last twenty years driving wagons from there to Krondor, to here, and back. Now they’re trying to turn me into a damn soldier again!’ The veins in his neck stood out with rage.

  ‘Why are you here?’ asked Ty.

  ‘Got an order for more wine in one shipment than we usually move in a year. So I spent every coin I had to buy or rent rigs, horses, hire men, and moved as fast as I could, bringing down every bottle I could find in Ravensburg and all the other wine towns around Darkmoor.’

  ‘Why so much wine?’ asked Ty.