Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

Given how bloody the fighting had been, the Earl of LaMut understood the sentiment. ‘Very well, your grace. My Wolves will be ready to ride at dawn.’

  ‘Good. Have your men cull the captured horses. Those fit to ride we keep, the rest I want put down. I don’t want one of those lads from Ran getting a notion that he might curry favour by trying to reach Prince Oliver before we reach Edward. Understood?’

  ‘At once, your grace,’ said the earl, pulling his boots back on with a look of resignation.

  Hal smiled and patted the man on the shoulder, then went looking for his brother and Ty. He had a lot of instructions he needed carried out before he got any sleep this night.

  ‘A large force is arriving from the north,’ one of the taredhel reported to Tanderae.

  Pug and the others had been partaking of food being transported in by some of the younger magicians from Stardock, a welcome addition to what the elves had already managed to provide in their makeshift kitchen. They had been lost in deep discussion of what they had discovered about both the ruby shield and the elven magic holding it in place, and were comparing notes on their speculations.

  A good deal of movement in the north heralded the arrival of what at first seemed to be dozens of elven riders and quickly revealed itself to be hundreds, with even more following. In the vanguard rode the two taredhel brothers, Laromendis and Gulamendis, and what looked to be more than a dozen elven Spellweavers. Also, if Pug’s senses weren’t betraying him, the riders were from the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, as humans called them: the moredhel or dark elves. And with them were what appeared to be another dozen magic-users.

  A regal-looking elf woman rode into view and jumped nimbly down from her mount and Pug realized that some of the horses he saw coming closer were elfsteed, the magic horses he had once seen in Crydee the first time he and Tomas had seen the Elf Queen and her court.

  The woman conferred for a moment with the taredhel brothers and they indicated Tanderae, who was approaching. She moved toward him and said, ‘I am Liallan. I rule the Snow Leopards. We have come to aid you.’

  ‘Your aid is welcome, and overwhelming,’ said the loremaster. He gazed at the continuing influx of moredhel horsemen. ‘I’m … truly grateful.’

  ‘I was told,’ she said, eyeing the magic-users who had accompanied her and were now moving towards the circle of those shamans and taredhel magicians who were enforcing the ruby dome, ‘that dire consequences awaited all Midkemia should we not come.’

  Pug stepped forward. ‘Not an overstatement, leader of the Hamandien, but a fearful possibility.’

  She looked at him with her eyebrows raised, then realized there were other humans nearby. She looked around at all these humans who were helping in whatever fashion they could. Then she said, ‘Ah, you must be Pug.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Your reputation reaches even to the far north.’ She looked him up and down. ‘I thought you’d be much taller.’

  Magnus came to stand next to his father and Liallan said, ‘That’s more what I had in mind. So tell me, Black Sorcerer – or is it Sorcerers? What have we come here to kill?’

  ‘That will take time,’ said Pug. ‘Perhaps you’d care to sit and eat while we discuss this?’

  ‘What of my soldiers?’

  ‘We do not need them as yet,’ said Magnus. ‘But I fear, something I was about to tell my father, that we may need them a great deal very soon.’

  Pug said, ‘Then we do indeed have much to discuss.’

  Liallan followed him to where food was being served and Tanderae said, ‘I will have refreshments brought over.’ He indicated that they should sit a little apart from the others and they did so.

  ‘Where to begin …?’ said Pug.

  ‘The usual answer is the beginning,’ said Liallan, ‘but something tells me that might take a great deal of time.’

  ‘More than we have,’ said Pug. ‘If circumstances permit, if we survive the coming destruction, I will answer for as long as you care to listen.’

  ‘Agreed, human,’ she said, and then she let out a long sigh, the first hint of her fatigue. ‘Now, why don’t you begin?’

  • CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE •

  Conflict

  TOMAS BLED.

  As the sun turned the eastern sky from pre-dawn grey to a rosy amber, he blinked away the blood running into his left eye from a massive strike from Draken-Korin’s blade he had only partially blocked and which had caught on his helm, causing a cut above the eyebrow. He resisted the urge to reach up and wipe away the blood. To do so would block his view with his shield: if even for an instant, it would be suicide.

  Throughout the night the two reincarnated Dragon Lords struggled, evenly matched to the point of stalemate. Blows were offered and returned, taken and endured. Both suffered minor cuts and the effects of unleashed magic: every thrust and strike was taking its toll.

  They were beings of incredible strength and power, but the power was not limitless and now the first hints of fatigue were becoming evident. A stumble, or a hesitant step, a slightly late block of the shield, or a slow riposte, all suggested that the end was drawing nearer.

  As the sun rose, a familiar voice echoed within Tomas’s mind. Tomas must die.

  It was echoed by the host of dragons. Tomas must die.

  Tomas tried to ignore the call, but it sparked a response, from deep within him. I am Ashen-Shugar!

  For the first time since the struggle began, he felt a tinge of doubt. But the fight was far from over.

  Trumpets sounded as Brendan struggled to get his boots on. They had been waiting for any sign that Prince Oliver’s forces were moving. Instead there had been two days of frustration watching him position his forces into line, opening up camping centres, erecting tents, and generally settling in as if for a siege.

  Brendan dashed from what had been his father’s tent, feeling cavernously empty when he was the only occupant, and arrived at Prince Edward’s command pavilion just as the other nobles appeared. ‘Looks as if we have some sense of what’s keeping Oliver,’ said Edward, pointing to a parchment on the table. ‘There appears to be an army of Keshian mercenaries marching up from the passes.’

  Without thinking, Brendan looked at the map and blurted, ‘Where did they come from?’

  Edward laughed. ‘Gods know, son. If Oliver was recruiting down in the heart of Kesh,’ his finger struck the map in an area of Kesh near the City of Jonril, ‘and once they were gathered they marched straight north through the Green Reaches, that would put them out near Durrony’s Vale. And with every soldier from that part of the Kingdom already here, no one would oppose their march.’

  ‘When do they get here, your highness?’ asked the Duke of Yabon.

  ‘And how many of them are there?’ added the Duke of the Southern Marches.

  ‘Early reports put them between three and four thousand,’ said Edward. ‘But I’ll need more accurate information.’

  Everyone knew that even if Hal had stopped Chadwick’s march, this additional number of soldiers in the field gave Oliver a significant advantage.

  ‘And they’ll be here in three more days.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jim Dasher, emerging from a corner of the tent. ‘Now we know exactly what Oliver is waiting for.’

  ‘Well, my lords,’ said Edward. ‘I refuse to lose the advantage of terrain because Oliver’s bolstering his numbers. I believe we still hold the upper hand.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, I’d hate to see all the work the lads did in preparing the battleground go to waste.’

  Jim Dasher smiled, and Brendan wondered if there was something here he was missing.

  It was as unprecedented a council as had ever been seen in the history of Midkemia. Pug sat in a circle with two eledhel Spellweavers, a dozen clerics of various orders, two moredhel shamans, half a dozen taredhel magic-users, and two Eldar mystics. He said, ‘I think we can agree that we may never understand exactly how this came to be.’

  An older galasmancer named Kethe said, ‘
I have examined every aspect of the counterspell I can, and I have one possible explanation, though it is speculative at best.’

  ‘Please, continue,’ said Janil.

  ‘Our most talented young galasmancer was named Rojan, and he was one of those contacted by the Loremaster to bear witness against the Regent Lord’s treason. He has been unaccounted for since the destruction within the city, and as with so many others, it is assumed he was killed in the initial destruction or by the outpouring of those creatures we are now told are elements of the Dread.

  ‘I think he did get to the portal chamber, perhaps early enough to have seen the Regent Lord’s act of betrayal, summoning the Dread into our realm.’ He closed his eyes for a moment as if in pain. ‘Had there been a moment to react, to begin a counterspell, it would have been his first choice to turn back whatever was there, to force it against itself. It was the way he practised his art. The energy of what Pug calls rifts, what we know as portals, is very powerful, very dangerous and uncontrollable unless you have a high degree of precision in your work.’

  Pug nodded.

  ‘With his dying last effort, I think Rojan may have started the spell that created that dome.’ He pointed down the hill. ‘When we were awakened by the explosion that destroyed most of the hall of the Regent’s Meet, and the first of the dark horrors appeared, we were all too busy surviving the onslaught and getting free of the city to pay close attention to what was going on with the ruby beacon.’ He took a drink of water from a skin. ‘When I fought clear of the city, I saw the dome forming, coming down slowly like water spilling from a fountain, evenly from above …’ He took a deep breath. ‘This is when I and others began examining the barrier and realized it had become a trap for everyone inside.’

  ‘Including those of our people who didn’t have time to escape,’ said a second taredhel, by the name of Mulvin. ‘We all lost someone in there.’

  The moredhel shamans remained impassive: death among families was common and not worthy of comment unless the loss was of a great warrior during an act of heroism, and while the sacrifice of Rojan might have been a selfless act, it might simply have been a blind act of desperation.

  Acaila said, ‘I have talked to a number of survivors and what they describe is an invasion of the Dread. Of that there is no doubt, but beyond that we lack intelligence.’

  ‘Do we have any knowledge of what is occurring under the dome?’ asked one of the clerics, a bishop from the Temple of Lims-Kragma.

  ‘Only in the vaguest sense,’ said Pug. ‘I’ve had encounters with the Dread before and have been given some insight into them lately, though I don’t know if what I’ve learned is particularly helpful in this instance, save for one thing.’ He looked at Kethe. ‘If what is coming through the passage that was opened by your Regent Lord gets into our world, it will devour everything here.’ He looked from face to face to emphasize his point. ‘I am not speaking metaphorically. This thing is the devourer of worlds, the eater of suns. It will kill and consume every living thing down to the tiniest blade of grass; then it will consume rock and sea, even the very air, until there is nothing left here but the void, and then that void will expand until it has consumed everything we behold – the three moons, the sun, even the distant stars.’

  Every face showed shock. Finally a shaman of the moredhel said, ‘Surely you overstate this.’

  Kethe said, ‘He speaks of the Forbidden.’

  Acalia nodded. ‘Much of that lore has been lost to you,’ he said to the moredhel. ‘What we of the Eldar know is incomplete, but that battle was fought before even our arising on this world. It’s a struggle that predated the Ancient Ones, and it is the thing of myth, the struggle of gods and beings of darkness, beyond the stars and at the heart of worlds.’

  ‘What must we do?’ asked one of the human priests, a rector from the University of Roldem and a member of the order of Sung the Pure.

  ‘First, we must keep the dome closed,’ Pug said. ‘Second, we must discover what is inside the dome. Lastly, we must close the rift inside, either sending what’s there back whence it came, destroying it, or trapping it within the rift. We cannot let the Dread remain on this world. Even contained behind the dome, it will continue to wreak havoc and will eventually get past the barricade.’

  Cetswaya said, ‘Human, you seem to know more of this than you’re revealing.’

  ‘I do,’ said Pug to the old moredhel shaman. ‘If we survive, I will explain what I do know to the exhaustion of your curiosity, but trust me when I say that at the moment we do not have the luxury of time.’

  The dark elf studied Pug’s face, then nodded. ‘I’ve got a lot to learn about this Star Elf magic, so I’d best be about it.’

  Pug watched as the group broke up into different pairs and threesomes lost in discussion. Magnus came up to him. ‘Have you a plan yet?’

  ‘I do, in part.’

  ‘In part?’

  ‘I think I know how to reverse the original spell, the rift-magic that the taredhel turned into that dome.’ They looked at the ruby dome, which now pulsed slightly with waves of energy as the human magicians and newly come elven magic-users were helping the original taredhel spell-casters to reinforce the barrier. ‘At its heart, it was a rift, but one unlike any we’ve encountered.’

  ‘We’ve studied every type of rift there is.’ Magnus noted that Pug’s face bore a familiar expression. ‘What is it you’re not telling me, Father?’

  ‘If I say we face as great a danger as we can imagine, I’m stating the obvious. There’s risk involved, high risk.’

  Magnus was silent for a moment. ‘Very well. When it’s time.’ He motioned to where Nakor and Miranda stood in deep discussion with two elven spell-casters, one from E’bar and the other a moredhel shaman. ‘I’ve never seen those two so engrossed.’ He looked around at the wounded and displaced, the dying and the homeless, those who had come to give aid, and said, ‘If it wasn’t for the grim surroundings, I’d say they were having fun.’

  ‘Your mother thrived on adversity when she was alive, rejoiced in overcoming it,’ said Pug, ‘and whatever else she is, this Miranda is in very large part still your mother.’

  ‘I know.’ Magnus looked back at his father. ‘When this is over, then what?’

  ‘I don’t take your meaning.’

  ‘Miranda and Nakor, what of them?’

  Pug sighed. ‘Before our little journey, I would have said something about the gods and their use for us. After what we’ve seen, shall we simply call it fate or providence? In the past, fate has demonstrated little kindness to those it deems no longer necessary. I expect this time around to be no different.’

  Magnus sighed. ‘I’ve grown used to having them around again.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said his father. He put a hand on his son’s arm. ‘I’m not sharing a few thoughts with you because I’m uncertain if they’re useful yet. This situation is too fraught with real danger to burden anyone with imagined dangers.’

  Magnus nodded. ‘When you’re ready.’

  ‘You will be first to know,’ said Pug, ‘because if what I think we need to achieve is true, your role will be vital, perhaps the most vital of all.’

  Magnus nodded. ‘What now?’

  ‘We study some more,’ said Pug with a tired smile. He looked to another gathering of magic-users in deep discussion. ‘Let’s see what their concerns are.’

  Magnus nodded and they turned and walked over to the magicians and priests.

  Brendan hurried to the command tent. Prince Edward’s generals were absent, and only Jim Dasher and Lady Franciezka Sorboz were there, with a few servants hovering. The prince waved the servants away and when the four were alone, said, ‘You’ve done well, young sir.’ He indicated Brendan should take a seat.

  ‘Thank you, your highness.’

  ‘In all the time you’ve been here, we’ve had scarcely a moment alone.’ He nodded at Franciezka and Jim and smiled. ‘This is about as alone as I think
we’re likely to get. I’ve heard you had quite an ordeal on Sorcerer’s Isle. At least how it was related to me.’ He indicated Jim. ‘Formal reports are occasionally lacking detail. Now that we have a little time, I’d like to hear your recounting.’

  Brendan looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I don’t know if I’d call it an “ordeal”, but it was a bit difficult once or twice.’ He told the story in a straightforward fashion, omitting the part where he almost drowned himself getting there, and spent most of his time singing the praises of Sandreena, Amirantha, Ruffio, and the others. When he finished, the prince shook his head and said, ‘Remarkable, really.’

  Jim said, ‘I’m sure our young friend here is being modest.’ He put his hands on Brendan’s shoulders. ‘We have a task for you, if you’re up for it?’

  ‘Of course, sir. Whatever is required.’

  Edward signalled that they could withdraw and Jim and Brendan left the tent, leaving the prince in conversation with Lady Franciezka. Outside, Jim said, ‘Those Keshian mercenaries should be about a day south-east of here. If you ride hard past a small village named Tasford, then through a narrow pass in the hills, you should come out right above where they make their last camp. I have heard reports they may number as little as a thousand, or as much as five times that. I would like a more accurate count. If you can avoid being killed or captured by their sentries, you may get a rough estimate of their numbers from how many campfires you see; then ride like mad back here in time for us to know before the battle tomorrow, or the day after, whenever Oliver decides it’s time to fight. An accurate count will allow us a more intelligent deployment of our forces. Can you manage that?’

  ‘I’ll leave at once, sir,’ said Brendan, turning to run off.

  Jim reached out and grabbed his shoulder. ‘I wasn’t jesting. Don’t get killed. His highness has plans for you and your brothers when this is all done.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Brendan with a grin that reminded Jim too much of his own.

  Jim went back inside. Prince Edward said, ‘I like the boy. What can you tell me about the other two?’