The Riftwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  Algon said, ‘Still, there is nothing to say they are not from’ – he paused, as if the admission were difficult – ‘across the Endless Sea.’ That prospect seemed to trouble him less than the notion of some place not of this world.

  Tully looked irritated at the interruption. ‘There is more, much more. I followed him through his dreams, many of his homeland. He remembers creatures unlike any I have heard of or seen, things with six legs that pull wagons like oxen, and other creatures, some that look like insects or reptiles, but speak like men. His land was hot, and his memory of the sun was of one larger than ours and more green in color. This man was not of our world.’ The last was said flatly, removing from all in the room any lingering doubts. Tully would never make a pronouncement like that unless he was certain.

  The room was silent as each person reflected on what had been said. The boys watched and shared the feeling. It was as if no one were willing to speak, as if to do so would seal the priest’s information forever in fact, while to stay silent might let it pass like a bad dream. Borric stood and paced over to the window. It looked out upon a blank rear wall of the castle, but he stared as if seeking something there, something that would provide an answer for the questions that spun in his mind. He turned quickly and said, ‘How did they get here, Tully?’

  The priest shrugged. ‘Perhaps Kulgan can offer a theory as to the means. What I construct as being the most likely series of events is this: the ship foundered in the storm; the captain of the ship and most of its crew were lost. As a last resort this Great One, whoever he is, invoked a spell to remove the ship from the storm, or change the weather, or some other mighty feat. As a result, the ship was cast from its own world into this, appearing off the coast at Sailor’s Grief. With the ship moving at great speed on its own world, it may have appeared here with the same movement, and with the westerly blowing strong, and little or no crew, the ship was driven straight onto the rocks. Or it simply may have appeared upon the rocks, smashed at the instant it came into being here.’

  Fannon shook his head. ‘From another world. How can that be possible?’

  The old priest raised his hands in a gesture of mystification. ‘One can only speculate. The Ishapians have old scrolls in their temples. Some are reputed to be copies of older works, which in turn are copies of still older scrolls. They claim the originals date back, in unbroken line, to the time of the Chaos Wars. Among them is mention of ‘other planes’ and ‘other dimensions,’ and of concepts lost to us. One thing is clear, however. They speak of lands and peoples unknown and suggest that once mankind traveled to other worlds, or to Midkemia from other worlds. These notions have been the center of religious debate for centuries, and no one could say with certainty what truth there was in any of them.’ He paused, then said, ‘Until now. If I had not seen what was in Xomich’s mind, I would not have accepted such a theory to explain this day’s occurrences. But now . . .’

  Borric crossed to his chair to stand behind it, his hands gripping each side of the high back. ‘It seems impossible.’

  ‘That the ship and man were here is fact, Father,’ said Lyam.

  Arutha followed his brother’s comment with another. ‘And we must decide what the chances are that this feat may be duplicated.’

  Borric said to Tully, ‘You were right when you said this may herald a grave situation. Should a great Empire be turning its attention toward Crydee and the Kingdom . . .’

  Tully shook his head. ‘Borric, have you so long been removed from my tutelage that you miss the point entirely?’ He held up a bony hand as the Duke started to protest. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I am old and tired and forget my manners. But the truth is still the truth. A mighty nation they are, or rather an empire of nations, and if they have the means to reach us, it could prove dire, but most important is the possibility that this Great One is a magician or priest of high art. For if he is not one alone, if there are more within this Empire, and if they did indeed try to reach this world with magic, then grave times are truly in store for us.’

  When everyone at the table still appeared not to comprehend what he was alluding to, Tully continued, like a patient teacher lecturing a group of promising but occasionally slow students. ‘The ship’s appearance may be the product of chance and, if so, is only a cause for curiosity. But if it was by design that it came here, then we may be in peril, for to move a ship to another world is an order of magic beyond my imagining. If these people, the Tsurani as they call themselves, know we are here, and if they possess the means to reach us, then not only must we fear armies that rival Great Kesh at the height of its power, when its reach extended to even this remote corner of the world, we must also face magic far greater than any we have known.’

  Borric nodded, for the conclusion was obvious, once pointed out. ‘We must have Kulgan’s counsel on this at once.’

  ‘One thing, Arutha,’ said Tully. The Prince looked up from his chair, for he had been lost in thought. ‘I know why Xomich tried to run from you and your men. He thought you were creatures he knew in his own world, centaurlike creatures, called Thun, feared by the Tsurani.’

  ‘Why would he think that?’ asked Lyam, looking puzzled.

  ‘He had never seen a horse, or any creature remotely like it. I expect these people have none.’

  The Duke sat down again. Drumming his fingers on the table, he said, ‘If what Father Tully says is true, then we must make some decisions, and quickly. If this is but an accident that has brought these people to our shores, then there may be little to fear. If, however, there is some design to their coming, then we should expect a serious threat. Here we are the fewest in number of all the Kingdom’s garrisons, and it would be a hard thing should they come here in force.’

  The others murmured agreement, and the Duke said, ‘We would do well to try to understand that what has been said here is still only speculation, though I am inclined to agree with Tully on most points. We should have Kulgan’s thoughts upon the matter of these people.’ He turned to Pug. ‘Lad, see if your master is free to join us.’

  Pug nodded and opened the door, then raced through the keep. He ran to the tower steps and took them two at a time. He raised his hand to knock and felt a strange sensation, as if he were near a lightning strike, causing the hair on his arms and scalp to stand up. A sudden sense of wrongness swept over him, and he pounded on the door. ‘Kulgan! Kulgan! Are you all right?’ he shouted, but no answer was forthcoming. He tried the door latch and found it locked. He placed his shoulder against the door and tried to force it, but it held fast. The feeling of strangeness had passed, but fear rose in him at Kulgan’s silence. He looked about for something to force the door and, finding nothing, ran back down the stairs.

  He hurried into the long hall. Here guards in Crydee livery stood at their post. He shouted at the two nearest, ‘You two, come with me. My master is in trouble.’ Without hesitation they followed the boy up the stairs, their boots pounding on the stone steps.

  When they reached the magician’s door, Pug said, ‘Break it down!’ They quickly put aside spear and shield and leaned their shoulders against the door. Once, twice, three times they heaved, and with a protesting groan the timbers cracked around the lock plate. One last shove and the door flew open. The guards stopped themselves from falling through the door and stepped back, amazement and confusion on their faces. Pug shouldered between them and looked into the room.

  On the floor lay Kulgan, unconscious. His blue robes were disheveled, and one arm was thrown across his face, as if in protection. Two feet from him, where his study table should have stood, hung a shimmering void. Pug stared at the place in the air. A large sphere of grey that was not quite grey shimmered with traces of a broken spectrum. He could not see through it, but there was nothing solid there. Coming out of the grey space was a pair of human arms, reaching toward the magician. When they touched the material of his robe, they stopped and fingered the cloth. As if a decision had been made, they traveled over his body, unti
l they identified Kulgan’s arm. The hands took hold of him and tried to lift his arm into the void. Pug stood in horror, for whoever or whatever was on the other side of the void was trying to pull the stout magician up and through. Another pair of hands reached through and picked up the magician’s arm next to where the first held him, and Kulgan was being pulled toward the void.

  Pug turned and grabbed one of the spears from against the wall where the shocked guards had placed them. Before either of the men-at-arms could act, he leveled it at the grey spot and threw.

  The spear flew across the ten feet that separated them from Kulgan and disappeared into the void. A brief second after, the arms dropped Kulgan and withdrew. Suddenly the grey void blinked out of existence, with a clap of air rushing in to fill it. Pug ran to Kulgan’s side and knelt by his master.

  The magician was breathing, but his face was white and beaded with sweat. His skin felt cold and clammy. Pug ran to Kulgan’s sleeping pallet and pulled off a blanket. As he was covering the magician, he shouted at the guards, ‘Get Father Tully.’

  Pug and Tomas sat up that night, unable to sleep. Tully had tended to the magician, giving a favorable prognosis. Kulgan was in shock but would recover in a day or two.

  Duke Borric had questioned Pug and the guards on what they had witnessed, and now the castle was in an uproar. All the guards had been turned out, and patrols to the outlying areas of the Duchy had been doubled. The Duke still did not know what the connection between the appearance of the ship and the strange manifestation in the magician’s quarters was, but he was taking no chances with the safety of his realm. All along the walls of the castle, torches burned, and guards had been sent to Longpoint lighthouse and the town below.

  Tomas sat next to Pug on a bench in Princess Carline’s garden, one of the few quiet places in the castle. Tomas looked thoughtfully at Pug. ‘I expect that these Tsurani people are coming.’

  Pug ran a hand through his hair. ‘We don’t know that.’

  Tomas sounded tired. ‘I just have a feeling.’

  Pug nodded. ‘We’ll know tomorrow when Kulgan can tell us what happened.’

  Tomas looked out toward the wall. ‘I’ve never seen it so strange around here. Not even when the Dark Brotherhood and the goblins attacked back when we were little, remember?’

  Pug nodded, silent for a moment, then said, ‘We knew what we were facing then. The dark elves have been attacking castles on and off as far back as anyone can remember. And goblins . . . well, they’re goblins.’

  They sat in silence for a long time; then the sound of boots on the pavement announced someone coming. Swordmaster Fannon, in chain mail and tabard, halted before them. ‘What? Up so late? You should both be abed.’ The old fighter turned to survey the castle walls. ‘There are many who find themselves unable to sleep this night.’ He turned his attention back to the boys. ‘Tomas, a soldier needs to learn the knack of taking sleep whenever he can find it, for there are many long days when there is none. And you, Squire Pug, should be asleep as well. Now, why don’t you try to rest yourselves?’

  The boys nodded, bade the Swordmaster good night, and left. The grey-haired commander of the Duke’s guard watched them go and stood quietly in the little garden for a time, alone with his own disquieting thoughts.

  Pug was awakened by the sound of footsteps passing his door. He quickly pulled on trousers and tunic and hurried up the steps to Kulgan’s room. Passing the hastily replaced door, he found the Duke and Father Tully standing over Kulgan’s sleeping pallet. Pug heard his master’s voice, sounding feeble, as he complained about being kept abed. ‘I tell you, I’m fine,’ Kulgan insisted. ‘Just let me walk about a bit, and I’ll be back to normal in no time.’

  Tully, still sounding weary, said, ‘Back on your back, you mean. You sustained a nasty jolt, Kulgan. Whatever it was that knocked you unconscious packed no small wallop. You were lucky, it could have been much worse.’

  Kulgan noticed Pug, who stood quietly at the door, not wishing to disturb anyone. ‘Ha, Pug,’ he said, his voice regaining some of its usual volume. ‘Come in, come in. I understand I have you to thank for not taking an unexpected journey with unknown companions.’

  Pug smiled, for Kulgan seemed his old, jovial self, in spite of his wan appearance. ‘I really did nothing, sir. I just felt that something was not right, and acted.’

  ‘Acted quickly and well,’ said the Duke with a smile. ‘The boy is again responsible for the well-being of one of my household. At this rate I may have to grant him the title Defender of the Ducal Household.’

  Pug smiled, pleased with the Duke’s praise. Borric turned to the magician. ‘Well, seeing as you are full of fire, I think we should have a talk about yesterday. Are you well enough?’

  The question brought an irritated look from Kulgan. ‘Of course I’m well enough. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes.’ Kulgan started to rise from the bed, but as dizziness overtook him, Tully put a restraining hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to the large pile of pillows he had been resting on.

  ‘You can talk here quite well enough, thank you. Now, stay in bed.’

  Kulgan made no protest. He shortly felt better and said, ‘Fine, but hand me my pipe, will you, please?’

  Pug fetched Kulgan’s pipe and pouch of tabac and, as the magician tamped down the bowl, a long burning taper from the fire pot. Kulgan lit his pipe and, when it was burning to his satisfaction, lay back with a contented look on his face. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘where do we begin?’

  The Duke quickly filled him in on what Tully had revealed, with the priest adding a few details the Duke overlooked. When they were done, Kulgan nodded. ‘Your assumption about the origin of these people is likely. I suspected the possibility when I saw the artifacts brought from the ship, and the events in this room yesterday bear me out.’ He paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts. ‘The scroll was a personal letter from a magician of these people, the Tsurani, to his wife, but it was also more. The seal was magically endowed to force the reader to incant a spell contained at the end of the message. It is a remarkable spell enabling anyone, whether or not they can normally read, to read the scroll.’

  The Duke said, ‘This is a strange thing.’

  Tully said, ‘It’s astonishing.’

  ‘The concepts involved are completely new to me,’ agreed Kulgan. ‘Anyway, I had neutralized that spell so I could read the letter without fear of magical traps, common to private messages written by magicians. The language was of course strange, and I employed a spell from another scroll to translate it. Even understanding the language through that spell, I don’t fully understand everything discussed.

  ‘A magician named Fanatha was traveling by ship to a city on his homeworld. Several days out to sea, they were struck by a severe storm. The ship lost its mast, and many of the crew were washed overboard. The magician took a brief time to pen the scroll – it was written in a hasty hand – and cast the spells upon it. It seems this man could have left the ship at any time and returned to his home or some other place of safety, but was enjoined from doing so by his concern for the ship and its cargo. I am not clear on this point, but the tone of the letter suggested that risking his life for the others on the ship was somehow unusual. Another puzzling thing was a mention of his duty to someone he called the ‘Warlord.’ I may be reaching for straws, but the tone leads me to think this was a matter of honor or a promise, not some personal duty. In any event he penned the note, sealed it, and was then going to undertake to move the ship magically.’

  Tully shook his head in disbelief. ‘Incredible.’

  ‘And as we understand magic, impossible,’ Kulgan added excitedly.

  Pug noticed that the magician’s professional interest was not shared by the Duke, who looked openly troubled. The boy remembered Tully’s comments on what magic of that magnitude meant if these people were to invade the Kingdom. The magician continued, ‘These people possess powers about which we can on
ly speculate. The magician was very clear on a number of points – his ability to compress so many ideas into so short a message shows an unusually organized mind.

  ‘He took great pains to reassure his wife he would do everything in his power to return. He referred to opening a rift to the ‘new world,’ because – and I don’t fully understand this – a bridge was already established, and some device he possessed lacked . . . some capacity or another to move the ship on his own world. From all indications, it was a most desperate gamble. He placed a second spell on the scroll – and this is what caught me in the end. I thought by neutralizing the first spell I had countered the second also, but I was in error. The second spell was designed to activate as soon as someone had finished reading the scroll aloud, another unheard-of piece of magical art. The spell caused another of these rifts to open, so the message would be transported to a place called ‘the Assembly’ and from there to his wife. I was nearly caught in the rift with the message.’

  Pug stepped forward. Without thinking, he blurted, ‘Then those hands might have been his friends trying to find him.’

  Kulgan looked at his apprentice and nodded. ‘A possibility. In any event, we can derive much from this episode. These Tsurani have the ability to control magic that we can only hint at in our speculation. We know a little about the occurrences of rifts, and nothing of their nature.’

  The Duke looked surprised. ‘Please explain.’

  Kulgan drew deep on his pipe, then said, ‘Magic, by its nature, is unstable. Occasionally a spell will become warped – why, we don’t know – to such a degree, it . . . tears at the very fabric of the world. For a brief time a rift occurs, and a passage is formed, going . . . somewhere. Little else is known about such occurrences, except that they involve tremendous releases of energy.’