Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

  Bethany began with the retreat from Crydee and the traps Martin had set along the way, reaching the point in the narrative where they found safe haven in Ylith, and when she had finished she realized it was almost time to rejoin the Elf Queen. Her recounting of events had brought expressions of relief to wives, daughters, and sweethearts of garrison soldiers and volunteers who remained with Martin. Those few who had lost men in the early part of the siege still looked proud of the memory of their heroes, despite tears gathering and pain revisited.

  An elf woman appeared to guide Bethany, her mother, and the duchess to the queen’s table, and before they left, Bethany motioned for a private moment with her mother. ‘I need to tell you something,’ she said.

  Countess Marriann looked concerned, her face showing that she was ready for bad news. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m getting married.’

  Now Marriann looked confused. ‘Married?’

  ‘Martin and I are to be wed.’

  ‘Martin!’ said her mother, her expression turning darker. ‘You were supposed to wed Henry.’

  ‘Did it ever occur to you and father to ask either Henry or me what we wished?’

  ‘We just—’

  ‘Assumed,’ finished Bethany.

  ‘What will Henry think of this?’

  ‘He thinks it’s just fine. Martin told him, and the Duke of Crydee has given his blessing.’

  Use of Hal’s office was like a bucket of cold water in her mother’s face. Hal was now their liege lord, and for Bethany to enter any sort of state marriage, his permission and the king’s blessing were required. Fumbling for a last objection, Marriann asked, ‘The king?’

  ‘We don’t have one,’ Bethany said with a note of apprehension. ‘And, truth to tell, Hal doesn’t even have a duchy to call his own.’

  Countess Marriann did exactly what her daughter anticipated: when in the face of defeat she changed the subject. ‘We should not keep the queen waiting. We’ll talk about this again when we finally rejoin your father.’

  Bethany shook her head in resignation and realized that nothing short of a direct order from the king would change her mother’s mind about her becoming Duchess of Crydee some day.

  The meal was far from festive, though everyone was at ease. Bethany had the opportunity to study the queen, her son, and her consort while attempting to keep her mother’s obsession over who she married at arm’s length.

  The queen was the personification of grace and charm, but there was nothing practised or artificial about it. She was simply the loveliest being Bethany had ever encountered. After little more than an hour in her company, Bethany understood why Aglaranna was legendary, even in the human communities of the Western Realm. Despite the reassuring welcome, though, Bethany was unable to shake the feeling that the elves were as worried as she was about the news she carried from E’bar.

  Tomas looked distracted. Occasionally Bethany caught sight of him staring into space, as if listening for something. And when he spoke, it was to ask questions of her, of the two elves from E’bar, or of members of the queen’s council – a pair of old elves, rather wizened in appearance, which seemed to be a rarity among the elves.

  Towards the end of supper, Tomas said, ‘Lady Bethany, if you think it time, we will send escorts with you to Ylith, so that your people can be reunited. The Keshians stay south of the River Boundary now, so they will pose no risk. The duchess has been waiting for word from the Kingdom that it’s safe to leave.’

  She considered only for a moment, then said, ‘I think it best, Lord Tomas. Ylith is struggling and more hands to help with the rebuilding would be welcome, and it appears that a return to Crydee any time soon is highly unlikely. As generous as you have been to us, we need to return to our own.’

  Supper continued and when it was over, Bethany was escorted with her mother and the duchess back to the encampment. She had half-expected to spend more time with the queen and her council, but realized that during the course of the supper she had provided every scrap of information she possessed.

  She found the goose-down mattress a welcome change from the hard soil she had called a bed for the last few weeks. She was asleep before her mother came to bid her goodnight.

  After supper the queen had motioned for Acaila and Janil, her two eldest advisors, to linger, along with the two taredhel, Gulamendis and Laromendis, as she, Tomas, and Calin kept their seats. Acaila was the most senior of the Eldar, the ancient order of scholars, and Janil had risen to first among the Spellweavers when her most trusted advisor, Tathar, had finally left for his journey to the Blessed Isles.

  Since the two elves from E’bar had arrived, the queen’s court had been discussing how best to deal with the events chronicled by the brothers. In typical elven fashion, there was no hurried decision-making, but a detailed examination of all choices. Tomas had postponed a flight to E’bar to see for himself until he was certain it was safe to leave Elvandar.

  Of late he’d been troubled by more dreams, and the sense he got from his mental link with dragons was troubling. Something profound had changed and he was concerned there was a link that needed to be examined.

  Tomas glanced as his wife, who inclined her head, indicating that he should speak first. ‘More grave tidings from E’bar,’ he said.

  Janil was a worker of powerful elven magic, but her age was manifesting itself now in her white hair and a slender form now starting to wither. But her voice was strong when she said, ‘I’ve dispatched four of our best to E’bar. Do we send more?’

  ‘If numbers of magic-users are critical, we can do little,’ added Acaila. ‘Our cousins will need to reach out to the humans.’

  ‘Bethany of Carse has said it has been done,’ said Gulamendis.

  ‘Then we can do naught but wait,’ said his brother.

  Tomas said, ‘You may need to return soon.’ He sat back, a look of concern on his face. ‘It may be that every Spellweaver we have must journey to fight what is contained within E’bar.’

  Aglaranna said, ‘What do you make of our son fighting beside a moredhel?’

  ‘Calis is unique,’ answered Tomas, ‘as is his perspective. Perhaps there is a lesson here.’

  Janil said, ‘The moredhel number powerful shamans among their clans.’

  ‘But Arkan is leader of the Ardanien,’ said Acaila. ‘What we know of moredhel politics tells us he’s in a faction despised by those in power.’

  ‘That may be less important than we think,’ answered Calin. ‘For if I remember the most recent rumours from the north, the Ardanien are still tied to the Hamandien, maybe even more closely.’

  ‘Liallan,’ said Aglaranna. ‘She’s been ruling the Snow Leopards longer than I have ruled in Elvandar. If she’s protecting Arkan …’

  ‘She is the only moredhel clan leader strong enough to oppose Narab’s bid to be their first king,’ said Janil.

  ‘The Ardanien, the Ice Bears, have a shaman by name, Cetswaya, who is counted as being among their wisest and most powerful,’ said Acaila.

  ‘Dare we seek out the moredhel?’ asked Aglaranna.

  Calin said, ‘If nothing more than to warn them. This threat from E’bar is far worse than they might know.’

  Aglaranna looked at her son. ‘I have one son at risk already, and you are heir.’

  Tomas nodded. ‘I would go, but their reaction to me might not be much warmer.’

  It was Laromendis who said, ‘We can go, Majesty. Our particular gifts do not bring much to aid our kin in E’bar, but as of yet we have no problem with the moredhel. If you can get us to the border of their land, we should be able to cross freely.’

  Calin looked at his mother, who nodded, and said to him, ‘Escort them. Ensure they are safe until they make contact, but return here at once.’

  Acaila said to the two Star Elves, ‘If you spend the day with me tomorrow, I will share what we know of moredhel clan politics. It may not be current enough to do you good, but it’s a start. There is one among the mor
edhel you need to speak with before any other – the woman I named, Liallan …’

  Tomas smiled at his wife. Acaila’s briefing on the morrow appeared to be starting that moment. Then his smile faded.

  Aglaranna rose from her throne and came to her husband’s side. ‘What is it?’

  Sadly he said, ‘I have to leave soon.’

  ‘The dragons?’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered back. ‘They are calling, and soon I must leave.’

  Neither of them said what they both feared most, that it very well might be the last time he left Elvandar.

  • CHAPTER FOURTEEN •

  Clash

  BRENDAN PEERED INTO THE STORM.

  He slammed the heavy wooden shutter closed and said, ‘Nothing.’

  Sandreena said, ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I never did well with waiting,’ said Brendan, grinning as he wiped water from his face.

  Amirantha sat back in the big chair he had appropriated for his own use in what had become the de facto common room of the villa, a classroom containing several chairs designed for non-human students that was currently not in use. Amirantha’s choice looked like nothing so much as a massive pillow filled with tiny wooden balls, which made it a task to move, but it was form-fitting and very comfortable. Sandreena sat on a small stool, content to sit anywhere after a lifetime of mostly being on the ground or in the saddle.

  Brendan said, ‘I’m still trying to fathom how they’re doing this.’ ‘They’ were whoever was unleashing this seemingly endless storm, and ‘this’ was the storm.

  For days now the island had been reduced to inactivity because of the near-gale-force winds and driving rain constantly pelting it. The storm was intensifying, if Brendan was a judge of such things, and he had lived through his share of gales and squalls in Crydee. It was barely noticeable unless you were stuck in the middle of it, thought Brendan, and now he realised he never would have survived if the storm had been this intense when he’d first arrived.

  ‘It’s getting worse,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Sandreena, who had endured her share of foul weather as well. ‘Slowly, but it’s getting worse.’

  And everyone was ready for the possibility of another attack.

  Brendan had spent some time with most of those of importance on the island, until he realized that his rank was the only reason for not being told to go away and leave the adults to the planning. That and his willingness to leap into battle with the conjured monster.

  He had found Sandreena and Amirantha talking with a magician named Leonardo, who had since left. Brendan had been politely included in the discussion though he had little to add.

  Amirantha said, ‘If you discover how they are doing this, please feel free to share.’

  Sandreena threw him a disapproving look. Amirantha quickly added, ‘I apologize, Brendan. We’re all feeling helpless. Gets on the nerves.’

  Brendan sat down and said, ‘I know nothing of magic. My family used to have a magic-adviser, but somewhere along the way we stopped. Last magician I even saw before I left Crydee …’ He sat up.

  ‘What?’ asked Sandreena.

  ‘I just got a … notion. Where’s Ruffio?’

  ‘In Pug’s study, almost certainly,’ said Amirantha. ‘Why?’

  ‘Come on, if you want to know,’ said Brendan, hurrying off.

  Curious, both demon experts followed him. Brendan knocked on the door to Pug’s study and when he heard Ruffio’s voice, pushed open the door.

  The magician looked up from a pile of books. He had been reading everything Pug had written down about weather magic.

  ‘I think I have an answer.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Ruffio.

  ‘You don’t have any weather-magicians here, right?’

  ‘It’s not a common area of study,’ said Ruffio. ‘More to my regret now than ever.’

  ‘It’s elf-magic, I’ve been told.’

  ‘They are the masters, but getting an elf here …’ Ruffio shrugged.

  ‘I know a captain who’s mad enough to risk this storm and he has the best weather-magician in the Kingdom on his ship.’

  Ruffio’s eyes widened. ‘Reinman! Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Unless he’s running an errand for the prince, he should be in Krondor,’ said Brendan.

  Ruffio said, ‘Whatever is blocking our magic isn’t always effective.’ He grabbed a quill and parchment and started writing. After a moment he said, ‘I’ll just keep trying to transport this until I’m successful.’

  ‘Where are you sending it?’

  ‘Stardock. I’ll have someone there who’s trusted in the palace take it there by hand. I have no confidence that a piece of parchment landing on the floor of a random room in the palace asking for the ship named the Royal Messenger to be sent to Sorcerer’s Island would be well received.’

  He continued to write out detailed instructions, then sprinkled ponce over it and blew just for good measure to ensure the ink wouldn’t smear, rolled it up and tied a cord around it. He put it on the table and stared at it, and nothing happened.

  For the next hour Amirantha, Brendan, and Sandreena watched Ruffio try to send the parchment to Stardock. Then, suddenly, the parchment vanished.

  Ruffio sank back in his chair, perspiration running down his forehead. ‘That … was exhausting.’

  ‘But the interference is intermittent,’ said Sandreena.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Ruffio, rising. ‘I could do with a cup of wine. It may be days before we know anything.’

  ‘What do we do until then?’ asked Amirantha.

  ‘Hunker down, keep our wits together, and be ready for trouble,’ said Ruffio. ‘And drink some very good wine.’

  ‘You sure someone will find that parchment?’ asked Brendan.

  Ruffio smiled. ‘We of the Conclave have a lot of friends still in Stardock. The moment that parchment appeared, a special signal sounded. Someone there is reading that message right now. I expect that person to be within the palace at Krondor, talking to another friend of the Conclave within another hour, and if Reinman’s in Krondor he’ll be departing at dawn tomorrow at the latest.

  ‘If Reinman’s in Krondor, he’ll be here in three days,’ said Brendan. He glanced at Amirantha, who was regarding him with what could only be called an approving expression. Brendan felt pleased at that, and then said, ‘About that wine?’

  Captain Jason Reinman shouted over the wind to his first mate, ‘What do you make of that, Mr Williams?’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ replied Noah Williams. ‘And I’ve been on the sea as long as you, Captain.’

  ‘Longer if you’d stop lying about your age.’ He grinned. ‘Got Bellard drunk yet?’

  ‘Just about,’ answered the first mate. ‘Didn’t need to force him, either. Whatever that other magician in Krondor said to him got him in the right mind.’

  ‘Well, he’d better be if we’re going to get through that and not end up on the rocks.’

  ‘That’ was the oddest weather either sailor had ever encountered. About a mile from where they should be seeing the magician’s tower of the Black Castle on the headlands of Sorcerer’s Island there stood a wall of weather. Reinman had ordered the ship to take a port tack, swinging wide of the visible storm, but noticed that there seemed to be something of a buffer of nasty wind before the fringe of the storm.

  After sailing for a couple of hours he had determined that the storm was a perfect circle of weather starting perhaps a mile or more off the coast of Sorcerer’s Island. He summoned a magician named Xander, a Keshian by birth, but apparently trusted enough to be allowed aboard the Kingdom’s fastest warship. ‘Can you get a message through to whoever’s on that island?’

  ‘It may take a while,’ Xander said. ‘But I think so.’

  ‘Here’s what I need you to tell them. As far as we can tell, the centre of that storm is right over the middle of the island. I don’t know if Bellard can blunt it e
nough for us to come to shore, nor do I know what good that would do anyone. We’ll await their reply before we decide the next move.’

  The magician headed below decks to compose his message. He and Ruffio had been selective in sending messages, but it was an erratic process, sometimes taking hours.

  Reinman kept his ship away from the storm as best he could, moving off for miles on a south-eastern tack, before coming around to the south of the storm. After two hours he asked, ‘Mr Williams, is that storm getting larger?’

  ‘Hard to judge, Captain.’ He shouted aloft. ‘Lookout! Is the storm getting bigger?’

  From above came the response, ‘Aye, Mr Williams. It appears to be getting larger, and stronger as well.’

  ‘Port your helm, Mr Hagan!’ he shouted to the helmsman. ‘Mr Williams, would you head below and inform Xander of the change? I think that might be important news to the island.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ said the first mate, heading below.

  Jason Reinman, who had the well-earned reputation of being the most reckless and daring captain on the Bitter Sea since Amos Trask, looked at the storm and thought that not all the gold in Kesh would make him try to sail through that mess.

  Ruffio waited patiently in Pug’s office, distracting himself by doing as much research as he could, but mainly waiting for another communication from his agent from Stardock, Xander.

  Two messages each way had got through, each taking at least a dozen tries before finding a gap in the blocking magic. The energy of the storm was the cause of his problems, he was now convinced, rather than any overt attempt at counter-magic. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but knew it would prove to be significant eventually, if they survived the storm, which seemed to be mounting in intensity, slowly, but steadily. Given the pounding the villa was taking, he was glad the rebuilt villa Pug had put up had such staunch walls.