Magician

by Raymond E. Feist

  Borric nodded “I know the custom. I was late getting to the city. I would have renounced the claim in any event, so there was no importance in my absence.”

  Kerus nodded. “History might have been different had you been here, Borric.” He lowered his voice. “I risk my neck by saying this, but many, even those of us here in the East, would have urged you to take the crown.”

  Borric’s expression showed he did not like hearing this, but Kerus pressed on. “By the time you got here, all the back-hallway politics had been done—with most lords content to give the crown to Erland—but it was a tense day and a half while the issue was in doubt. Why the elder Rodric didn’t name an heir I don’t know. But when the priests had chased away all the distant kin with no real claim, three men stood before them, Erland, young Rodric, and Guy du Bas-Tyra. The priests asked for their declarations, and each gave them in turn. Rodric and Erland both had solid claims, while Guy was there as a matter of form, as you would have been had you arrived in time.”

  Arutha interjected dryly, “The time of mourning ensures no western Lord will be King.”

  Borric threw a disapproving glance at his son, but Kerus said, “Not entirely. If there had been any doubt to the rights of succession, the priest would have held off the ceremony until your father arrived, Arutha. It has been done before.”

  He looked at Borric and lowered his voice. “As I said, it was expected Erland would take the crown. But when the crown was presented to him, he refused, conceding the claim to Rodric. No one at that time knew of Erland’s ill health, so most lords judged the decision a generous affirmation of Rodric’s claim, as the only son of the King. With Guy du Bas-Tyra’s backing the boy, the assembled Congress of Lords ratified his succession. Then the real infighting began, until at last your late wife’s uncle was named as King’s Regent.”

  Borric nodded. He remembered the battle over who would be named the then boy King’s Regent. His despised cousin Guy had nearly won the position, but Borric’s timely arrival and his support of Caldric of Rillanon, along with the support of Duke Brucal of Yabon and Prince Erland, had swung the majority of votes in the congress away from Guy.

  “For the next five years there was only an occasional border clash with Kesh. Things were quiet. Eight years ago”—Kerus paused to glance around again—”Rodric embarked upon a program of public improvements, as he calls them, upgrading roads and bridges, building dams, and the like. At first they were of little burden, but the taxes have been increased yearly until now the peasants and freemen, even the minor nobles, are being bled white. The King has expanded his programs until now he is rebuilding the entire capital, to make it the greatest city known in the history of man, he says.

  “Two years ago a small delegation of nobles came to the King and asked him to abjure this excessive spending and ease the burden upon the people. The King flew into a rage, accused the nobles of being traitors, and had them summarily executed.”

  Borric’s eyes widened. The snow under his boot crunched dryly as he turned suddenly. “We’ve heard nothing of this in the West!”

  “When Erland heard the news, he went immediately to the King and demanded reparation for the families of the nobles who were executed, and a lessening of the taxes. The King—or so it is rumored—was ready to seize his uncle, but was restrained by the few counselors he still trusted. They advised His Majesty that such an act, unheard of in the history of the Kingdom, would surely cause the western lords to rise up against the King.”

  Borric’s expression darkened “They were right. Had that boy hanged Erland, the Kingdom would have been irretrievably split.”

  “Since that time the Prince has not set foot in Rillanon, and the business of the Kingdom is handled by aides, for the two men will not speak to one another.”

  The Duke looked skyward, and his voice became troubled. “This is much worse than I had heard. Erland told me of the taxes and his refusal to impose them in the West. He said that the King was agreed, for he understood the need of maintaining the garrisons of the North and West.”

  Kerus slowly shook his head no. “The King agreed only when his aides painted pictures of goblin armies pouring down from the Northlands and plundering the cities of his Kingdom.”

  “Erland spoke of the strain between himself and his nephew, but even in light of the news I carry, said nothing about His Majesty’s actions.”

  Kerus drew a deep breath and started walking once more. “Borric, I spend so much time with the sycophants of the King’s court, I forget that you of the West are given to plain speech.” Kerus was silent a moment, then said, “Our King is not the man he once was. Sometimes he seems his old self, laughing and open, filled with grand plans for the Kingdom; other times he is . . . someone else, as if a dark spirit has taken possession of his heart.

  “Take care, Borric, for only Erland stands closer to the throne than yourself. Our King is well aware of that fact—even if you never think of it—and sees daggers and poison where none exists.”

  Silence descended over the group, and Pug saw Borric look openly troubled. Kerus continued. “Rodric fears others covet his crown. That may be, but not those the King suspects. There are only four conDoin males besides the King, all of whom are men of honor.” Borric inclined his head at the compliment. “But there are perhaps a dozen more who can claim ties to the throne, through the King’s mother and her people. All are eastern lords, and many would not flinch from the opportunity to press their claim to the throne before the Congress of Lords.”

  Borric looked incensed. “You speak of treason.”

  “Treason in men’s hearts, if not in deeds . . . yet.”

  “Have things come to such a pass in the East, without us of the West knowing?”

  Kerus nodded as they reached the far end of the garden. “Erland is an honorable man, and as such would keep unfounded rumors from his subjects, even yourself. As you have said, it is thirteen years since you last were at Rillanon. All warrants and missives from the King still pass through the Prince’s court. How would you know?

  “I fear it is only a matter of time before one or other of the King’s advisers positions himself over the fallen heads of those of us who hold to our beliefs that the nobility are wardens of the nation’s welfare.”

  Borric said, “Then you risk much with your frank speech.”

  Duke Kerus shrugged, indicating they should begin their return to the palace. “I have not always been a man to speak my mind, Lord Borric, but these are difficult times. Should anyone else have passed through, there would have been only polite conversation. You are unique, for with the Prince estranged from his nephew, you are the only man in the Kingdom with the strength and rank to possibly influence the King. I do not envy your weighty position, my friend.

  “When Rodric the Third was king, I was among the most powerful nobles in the East, but I might as well be a landless freebooter for all the influence I now hold in Rodric the Fourth’s court.” Kerus paused “Your black-hearted cousin Guy is now closest to the King, and the Duke of Bas-Tyra and I have little love between us. Our reasons for disliking one another are not as personal as yours. But as his star rises, mine falls even more.”

  Kerus slapped his hands as the cold was beginning to bite. “But one bit of good news. Guy is wintering at his estate near Pointer’s Head, so the King is free of his plotting for the present.” Kerus gripped Borric’s arm. “Use whatever influence you can muster to stem the King’s impulsive nature, Lord Borric, for with this invasion you bring word of, we need to stand united. A lengthy war would drain us of what little reserves we possess, and should the Kingdom be put to the test, I do not know whether it would endure.”

  Borric said nothing, for even his worst fears since leaving the Prince were surpassed by Kerus’s remarks. The Duke of Salador said, “One last thing, Borric. With Erland having refused the crown thirteen years ago, and the rumors of his health failing, many of the Congress of Lords will be looking to you for guidance. Where yo
u lead, many will follow, even some of us in the East.”

  Borric said coldly, “Are you speaking of civil war?”

  Kerus waved a hand, a pained expression crossing his face His eyes seemed moist, as if near tears. “I am ever loyal to the crown, Borric, but if it comes to the right of things, the Kingdom must prevail. No one man is more important than the Kingdom.”

  Borric said through clenched jaws, “The King is the Kingdom.”

  Kerus said, “You would not be the man you are and say otherwise. I hope you are able to direct the King’s energies toward this trouble in the West, for should the Kingdom be imperiled, others will not hold to such lofty beliefs.”

  Borric’s tone softened a little as they walked up the steps leading from the garden. “I know you mean well, Lord Kerus, and there is only love of the realm in your heart. Have faith and pray, for I will do whatever I can to ensure the survival of the Kingdom.”

  Kerus stood before the door back into the palace. “I fear we will all be in deep water soon, my lord Borric. I pray that this invasion you speak of will not be the wave that drowns us. In whatever way I can aid you, I will.” He turned toward the door, which was opened by a servant. Loudly he said, “I will bid you a good night, for I can see you’re all tired.”

  The tension in the room was heavy as Borric, Arutha, and Pug re-entered, and the Duke’s mood one of dark reflection. Servants came to show the guests to their rooms, and Pug followed a boy near his own age, dressed in the Duke’s livery. Pug looked over his shoulder as they left the hall to see the Duke and his son standing together, speaking quietly to Kulgan.

  Pug was shown to a small but elegant room and, ignoring the richness of the bed covers, fell across them still fully clothed. The servant boy said, “Do you need aid in undressing, Squire?”

  Pug sat up and looked at the boy with such a frank expression of wonder that the servant backed away a step. “If that will be all, Squire?” he asked, obviously uncomfortable.

  Pug just laughed. The boy stood uncertainly for an instant, then bowed and hurriedly left the room. Pug pulled off his clothing, wondering at the eastern nobles and servants who had to help them undress. He was too tired to fold his garments, simply letting them fall to the floor in a heap.

  After blowing out the bedside candle, Pug lay for a time in the darkness, troubled by the evening’s discussion. He knew little of court intrigue, but knew that Kerus must have been deeply worried to speak as he did before strangers, in spite of Borric’s reputation as a man of high honor.

  Pug thought of all the things that had taken place in the last months and knew that his dreams of the King answering the call of Crydee with banners flying were another boyish fancy shattered upon the hard rock of reality.

  THIRTEEN - Rillanon

  The ship sailed into the harbor.

  The climate of the Kingdom Sea was more clement than that of the Bitter Sea, and the journey from Salador had proven uneventful. They’d had to beat a tack much of the way against a steady northeast wind, so three weeks had passed instead of two.

  Pug stood on the foredeck of the ship, his cloak pulled tightly around him. The winter wind’s bitterness had given way to a softer cool, as if spring were but a few days in coming.

  Rillanon was called the Jewel of the Kingdom, and Pug judged the name richly deserved. Unlike the squat cities of the West, Rillanon stood a mass of tall spires, gracefully arched bridges, and gently twisting roadways, scattered atop rolling hills in delightful confusion. Upon heroic towers, banners and pennons fluttered in the wind, as if the city celebrated the simple fact of its own existence. To Pug, even the ferrymen who worked the barges going to and from the ships at anchor in the harbor were more colorful for being within the enchantment of Rillanon.

  The Duke of Salador had ordered a ducal banner sewn for Borric, and it now flew from the top of the ship’s mainmast, informing the officials of the royal city that the Duke of Crydee had arrived. Borric’s ship was given priority in docking by the city’s harbor pilot, and quickly the ship was being secured at the royal quay. The party disembarked and were met by a company of the Royal Household Guard. At the head of the guards was an old, grey-haired, but still erect man, who greeted Borric warmly.

  The two men embraced, and the older man, dressed in the royal purple and gold of the guard but with a ducal signet over his heart, said, “Borric, it is good to see you once more. What has it been? Ten . . . eleven years?”

  “Caldric, old friend. It has been thirteen.” Borric regarded him fondly. He had clear blue eyes and a short salt-and-pepper beard.

  The man shook his head and smiled. “It has been much too long.” He looked at the others. Spying Pug, he said, “Is this your younger boy?”

  Borric laughed. “No, though he would be no shame to me if he were.” He pointed out the lanky figure of Arutha. “This is my son. Arutha, come and greet your great-uncle.”

  Arutha stepped forward, and the two embraced. Duke Caldric, Lord of Rillanon, Knight-General of the King’s Royal Household Guard, and Royal Chancellor, pushed Arutha back and regarded him at arm’s length. “You were but a boy when I last saw you. I should have known you, for though you have some of your father’s looks, you also resemble my dear brother—your mother’s father—greatly. You do honor to my family.”

  Borric said, “Well, old war-horse, how is your city?”

  Caldric said, “There is much to speak of, but not here. We shall bring you to the King’s palace and quarter you in comfort. We shall have much time to visit. What brings you here to Rillanon?”

  “I have pressing business with His Majesty, but it is not something to be spoken of in the streets. Let us go to the palace.”

  The Duke and his party were given mounts, and the escort cleared away the crowds as they rode through the city. If Krondor and Salador had impressed Pug with their splendor, Rillanon left him speechless.

  The island city was built upon many hills, with several small rivers running down to the sea. It seemed to be a city of bridges and canals, as much as towers and spires. Many of the buildings seemed new, and Pug thought that this must be part of the King’s plan for rebuilding the city. At several points along the way he saw workers removing old stones from a building, or erecting new walls and roofs. The newer buildings were faced with colorful stonework, many of marble and quartz, giving them a soft white, blue, or pink color. The cobblestones in the streets were clean, and gutters ran free of the clogs and debris Pug had seen in the other cities. Whatever else he might be doing, the boy thought, the King is maintaining a marvelous city.

  A river ran before the palace, so that entrance was made over a high bridge that arched across the water into the main courtyard. The palace was a collection of great buildings connected by long halls that sprawled atop a hillside in the center of the city It was faced with many-colored stone, giving it a rainbow aspect.

  As they entered the courtyard, trumpets sounded from the walls, and guards stood to attention. Porters stepped forward to take the mounts, while a collection of palace nobles and officials stood near the palace entrance in welcome.

  Approaching, Pug noticed that the greeting given by these men was formal and lacked the personal warmth of Duke Caldric’s welcome. As he stood behind Kulgan and Meecham, he could hear Caldric’s voice. “My lord Borric, Duke of Crydee, may I present Baron Gray, His Majesty’s Steward of the Royal Household.” This was a short, plump man in a tight-fitting tunic of red silk, and pale grey hose that bagged at the knees “Earl Selvec, First Lord of the Royal Navies.” A tall, gaunt man with a thin, waxed mustache bowed stiffly. And so on through the entire company. Each made a short statement of pleasure at Lord Borric’s arrival, but Pug felt there was little sincerity in their remarks.

  They were taken to their quarters. Kulgan had to raise a fuss to have Meecham near him, for Baron Gray had wanted to send him to the distant servants’ wing of the palace, but he relented when Caldric asserted himself as Royal Chancellor.

  The
room that Pug was shown to far surpassed in splendor anything he had yet seen. The floors were polished marble, and the walls were made from the same material but flecked with what looked to be gold. A great mirror hung in a small room to one side of the sleeping quarters, where a large, gilded bathing tub sat. A steward put his few belongings —what they had picked up along the way since their own baggage had been lost in the forest—in a gigantic closet that could have held a dozen times all that Pug owned. After the man had finished, he inquired, “Shall I ready your bath, sir?”

  Pug nodded, for three weeks aboard ship had made his clothes feel as if they were sticking to him. When the bath was ready, the steward said, “Lord Caldric will expect the Duke’s party for dinner in four hours’ time, sir. Shall I return then?”

  Pug said yes, impressed with the man’s diplomacy. He knew only that Pug had arrived with the Duke, and left it to Pug to decide whether or not he was included in the dinner invitation.

  As he slipped into the warm water, Pug let out a long sigh of relief. He had never been one for baths when he had been a keep boy, preferring to wash away dirt in the sea and the streams near the castle. Now he could learn to enjoy them. He mused about what Tomas would have thought of that. He drifted off in a warm haze of memories, one very pleasant, of a dark-haired, lovely princess, and one sad, of a sandy-haired boy.

  The dinner of the night before had been an informal occasion, with Duke Caldric hosting Lord Borric’s party. Now they stood in the royal throne room waiting to be presented to the King. The hall was vast, a high vaulted affair, with the entire southern wall fashioned of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Hundreds of nobles stood around as the Duke’s party was led down a central aisle between the onlookers.