Magician: Master

by Raymond E. Feist

  Pug was surprised by this. “You’ll support Martin, then?”

  Old Brucal’s voice became harsh, though he kept it low. “No one will plunge my Kingdom into civil war, magician. Not while I have a breath left to spend. Arutha and I have spoken. Neither of us likes the choices, but we are clear on our course. Should Martin be King, all will bow before him. Should Lyam take the crown, Martin will swear fealty or not leave the palace alive. Should the crown be broken, we hold this palace, and no lord leaves until a congress has named one brother King, even if we’re a year in that bloody damned hall. We’ve already picked up several of Guy’s agents in the city. He’s here in Rillanon, there’s no doubt. If even a handful of nobles can win free of the palace before a congress is convened, we have civil war.” He struck his fist into his open hand. “Damn these traditions. As we speak, the priests walk toward the palace, each step bringing them closer to the moment of choice. If only Lyam had acted sooner, given us more time, or not acted at all. Or if we could have caged Guy. If we could have spoken to Martin, but he’s vanished….”

  “I’ve spoken to Martin.”

  Brucal’s eyes narrowed. “What is his mood? What are his plans?”

  “He’s a troubled man, as well you might imagine. To have all this put upon him with scant time to adjust. He has always known who his father was, and was resigned to take the secret with him to the grave, I’ll wager, but now he is suddenly thrust into the heart of the matter. I don’t know what he will do. I don’t think he’ll know, until the priests put the crown before him.”

  Brucal stroked his chin. “That he knew and tried not to use that knowledge for his own gain speaks well of him. But there’s still no time.” He indicated the group by the main door to the hall. “You’d best be back to your wife. Keep your wits sharp, magician, for we may have need of your arts before this day is through.”

  They returned to the others, and Brucal led Vandros and Kasumi inside, speaking with them in low tones. Before Katala could speak, Laurie said, “What is afoot? When I took Katala and Kasumi outside to a balcony overlooking the courtyard, I saw Kasumi’s men everywhere. For a moment I thought the Empire had won the war. I couldn’t get a thing from him.”

  Pug said, “Brucal knows they can be trusted to follow Kasumi’s orders without question.”

  Katala said, “What is this, husband? Trouble?”

  “There is little time to explain. There may be more than one claimant to the crown. Stay near Kasumi, Laurie, and keep your sword loose. If there’s trouble, follow Arutha’s lead.”

  Laurie nodded, his face set in a grim expression of understanding. He entered the hall, and Katala said, “William?”

  “He is safe. If there is trouble it will be in the great hall, not in the guest quarters. It will be afterward the true grief will begin.” Her expression showed she didn’t understand fully, but she quietly accepted what he said. “Come, we must take our places inside.”

  They hurried into the great hall, to a place of honor near the front. As they passed by the throng gathered to see the King crowned, they could hear the buzz of voices as rumor swept the room. They came up to Kulgan, and the stout magician nodded greeting. Meecham waited a few paces behind, his back to a wall. His eyes surveyed the room, marking the positions of all within a sword’s length of Kulgan. Pug noticed the old, long-bladed hunter’s knife was loose in its scabbard. He might not know what the problem was, but he would be instantly ready to protect his old companion.

  Kulgan hissed, “What is going on? Everything was calm until a few minutes ago; now the room is abuzz.”

  Pug leaned his head closer to Kulgan’s and said, “Martin may announce for the crown.”

  Kulgan’s eyes widened. “Gods and fishes! That’ll set this court on its ear.” He looked around and saw most of the Kingdom’s nobles had taken their places within the hall. With a sigh of regret he said, “It’s too late to do anything now but wait.”

  —

  AMOS CRASHED THROUGH the garden, swearing furiously. “Why the hell does anyone want all these bloody posies about anyway?”

  Martin looked up and barely caught the crystal goblet thrust at him by Amos Trask. “What—” he said, as Amos filled it with wine from a crystal decanter he held.

  “Thought you might be in need of a bracer, and a shipmate to share it with.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Amos filled his own goblet and took a long pull. “It’s all over the palace now, fellow-me-lad. Lyam’s a good enough sort, but he’s got rocks for ballast if he thinks he can have a crew of stonecutters put your name on your father’s tomb, then hush them up with something as petty as a royal command. Every servant in the palace knew you were the new first mate within an hour after those boys finished work. It’s all up in the wind, you can believe me.”

  Martin drank the wine and said, “Thank you, Amos.” He studied the deep red wine in the glass. “Shall I be King?”

  Amos laughed, a good-natured, hearty sound. “I have two thoughts on that, Martin. First, it’s always better to be captain than deckhand, which is why I’m a captain and not a deckhand. Second, there’s some difference between a ship and a kingdom.”

  Martin laughed. “Pirate, you’re no help at all.”

  Amos looked stung. “Blast me, I got you to laugh, didn’t I?” He leaned over, resting an elbow on the garden wall while he poured more wine into his cup. “See here, there’s this pretty little three-master in the royal harbor. I’ve not had much time, but with the King’s pardon being declared, there’s plenty of good lads fresh from the brig who’d jump to sail with Captain Trenchard. Why don’t we cast off from here and go a’roving?”

  Martin shook his head. “That sounds fine. I’ve been on a ship three times in my life, and with you I nearly got killed all three times.”

  Amos looked injured. “The first two times were Arutha’s fault, and the third time wasn’t my fault. I didn’t send those Ceresian pirates to chase us from Salador to Rillanon. Besides, if you sign aboard with me, we’ll do the chasing. The Kingdom Sea’s a whole new sea for Trenchard to sail. What do you say?”

  Martin’s voice turned somber. “No, Amos, though I’d almost as soon sail with you as return to the forest. But what I must decide cannot be run from. For good or ill, I am the eldest son, and I have the first claim to the crown.” Martin looked hard at Amos. “Do you think Lyam can be King?”

  Amos shook his head. “Of course, but that’s not the question, is it? What you want to know is, can Lyam be a good King? I don’t know, Martin. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve seen many a sailor gone pale with fear in battle, yet fight without hesitation. Sometimes you can’t know what a man’s capable of until the time comes for him to act.” Amos paused for a moment, considering his words. “Lyam’s a good enough sort, as I said. He’s scared silly of becoming King, and I don’t blame him. But once upon the throne…I think he could be a good enough King.”

  “I wish I could know you were right.”

  A chime sounded, then great bells began to ring. “Well,” said Amos, “you don’t have much time left to decide. The Priests of Ishap are at the outer gates, and when they reach the throne room, there’s no cutting grapples and sailing away. Your course will be set.”

  Martin turned away from the wall. “Thank you for your company, Amos, and the wine. Shall we go change the fate of the Kingdom?”

  Amos drank the last of the wine from the crystal decanter. He tossed it aside and over the sound of shattering glass said, “You go decide the fate of the Kingdom, Martin. I’ll come along later, perhaps, if I can’t arrange for that little ship I spoke of. Maybe we’ll sail together again. If you change your mind about being King, or decide you’re in need of quick transportation from Rillanon, fetch yourself down to the docks before sundown. I’ll be about somewhere, and you’ll always be welcome in my crew.”

  Martin gripped his hand tightly. “Always fare well, pirate.”

  Amos
left and Martin stood alone, ordering his thoughts as best he could, then, making his decision, he began his journey to the throne room.

  —

  BY CRANING HIS neck, Pug could see those entering the great hall. Duke Caldric escorted Erland’s widow, Princess Alicia, down the long aisle toward the throne. Anita and Carline followed. From Kulgan came the observation, “By those grim expressions and pale complexions, I wager Arutha has told them what may come.”

  Pug noticed how Anita held tightly to Carline’s hand when they reached their appointed places. “What a thing, to discover you’ve an elder brother in these circumstances.”

  Kulgan whispered, “They all seem to be taking it well enough.”

  Gongs announced the Ishapian priests had entered the anteroom, and Arutha and Lyam entered. Both wore the red mantles of Princes of the Realm and walked quickly to the front of the hall. Arutha’s eyes darted around the room, as if trying to judge the temper of those on all sides. Lyam looked calm, as if somehow resigned to accept whatever fate brought.

  Pug saw Arutha whisper a short word to Fannon, and the old Swordmaster in turn spoke to Sergeant Gardan. Both looked about tensely, hands near sword hilts, watching everyone in the room.

  Pug could see no sign of Martin. He whispered to Kulgan, “Perhaps Martin has decided to avoid the issue.”

  Kulgan looked about. “No, there he is.”

  Pug saw where Kulgan indicated with a bob of his head. By the far wall, near a corner, a giant column rose. Standing deep within its shadow was Martin. His features were hidden, but his stance was unmistakable.

  Bells began to chime, and Pug looked to see the first of the Ishapian priests entering the great hall. Behind, others followed, all walking in unison at the same measured pace. From the side doors came the sound of bolts being driven into place, for the hall traditionally was sealed from the start of the ceremony to its end.

  When sixteen priests had entered the room, the great doors were closed behind. The last priest paused before the door, a heavy wooden staff in one hand and a large wax seal in the other. Quickly he affixed the seal to the doors. Pug could see that the seal bore the seven-sided device of Ishap inscribed upon it, and he felt the presence of magic within it. He knew the doors could not be opened save by the one who affixed the seal, or by another of high arts, and then at great risk.

  When the doors were sealed, the priest with the staff walked forward between the lines of his brother priests, who waited, incanting soft prayers. One held the new crown, fashioned by the priests, resting upon a cushion of purple velvet. Rodric’s crown had been destroyed by the blow that had ended his life, but had it survived, according to custom it would have been interred with him. Should no new King be crowned today, this new crown would be smashed upon the stones of the floor, and no new one made until the Congress of Lords informed the priests they had elected a new king. Pug marveled how much importance could be attached to such a simple circlet of gold.

  The priests moved forward, to stand before the throne, where other priests of the lesser orders were already waiting. As was the custom, Lyam had been asked if he wished his family priest to officiate at the investiture, and he had agreed. Father Tully stood at the head of the delegation from the Temple of Astalon. Pug knew the old priest would be quick to take charge of things without question, regardless of which of Borric’s sons took the crown, and counted it a wise choice.

  The chief Ishapian priest struck his staff upon the floor, sixteen even, measured blows. The sound rang through the hall, and when he was done, the throne room was silent.

  “We come to crown the King!” exclaimed the head priest.

  “Ishap bless the King!” answered the other priests.

  “In the name of Ishap, the one god over all, and in the name of the four greater and twelve lesser gods, let all who have claim to the crown come forth.”

  Pug found himself holding his breath as he saw Lyam and Arutha come to stand before the priests. A moment later Martin stepped from the shadows and walked forward.

  As Martin came into view, there was a hissing of intaken breath, for many in the hall had either not heard the rumor or not believed it.

  When all three were before the priest, he struck the floor with the heavy staff. “Now is the hour and here is the place.” He then touched Martin upon the shoulder with his staff, resting it there as he said, “By what right do you come before us?”

  Martin spoke in a clear, strong voice. “By right of birth.” Pug could feel the presence of magic. The priests were not leaving the claims to the throne subject to honor and tradition alone. Touched by the staff, no one could bear false witness.

  The same procedure was repeated and the same answer given by Lyam and Arutha.

  Again the staff rested upon Martin’s shoulder as the priest asked, “State your name and your claim.”

  Martin’s voice rang out. “I am Martin, eldest son of Borric, eldest of the royal blood.”

  A slight buzzing ran through the hall, silenced by the priest’s staff striking the floor. The staff was placed upon Lyam’s shoulder, and he answered, “I am Lyam, son of Borric, of the royal blood.”

  A few voices could be heard saying, “The Heir!”

  The priest hesitated, then repeated the question to Arutha, who answered, “I am Arutha, son of Borric, of the royal blood.”

  The priest looked at the three young men, then to Lyam said, “Are you the acknowledged Heir?”

  Lyam answered with the staff resting upon his shoulder. “The right of succession was given to me in ignorance of Martin. It is a false bequest, for Rodric thought me the eldest conDoin male.”

  The priest removed the staff and conferred with his fellow priests. The hall remained silent as the priests gathered together to discuss the unforeseen turn of events. Time passed torturously, until at last the chief priest turned once more to face them. He surrendered his staff and was handed the golden circle that was the crown of the Kingdom. He uttered a brief prayer: “Ishap, give all before us in this matter guidance and wisdom. Let the appointed one do right.” In a strong voice he said, “That the succession is flawed is clear.” He placed the crown before Martin. “Martin, as eldest son of the royal blood you have the right of first claim. Will you, Martin, take up this burden, and will you be our King?”

  Martin looked at the crown. Silence hung heavy in the room as every eye was fixed upon the tall man in green. Breath was held as the throng in the hall waited upon his answer.

  Then Martin slowly reached out and took the crown from the cushion upon which it rested. He raised it up, and every gaze in the room followed it, as it caught a ray of light entering through a high window, scattering glittering glory throughout the hall.

  Holding it above his head, he said, “I, Martin, do hereby abdicate my claim to the crown of the Kingdom of the Isles, for now and forever, on my own behalf and on behalf of all my issue from now henceforth to the last generation.” He moved suddenly and placed the crown upon Lyam’s brow. Martin’s voice rang out once more, his words a defiant challenge. “All hail Lyam! True and undoubted King!”

  There was a pause, as those in the hall took in what they had seen. Then Arutha faced a stunned, silent crowd, and his voice filled the air. “Hail Lyam! True and undoubted King!”

  Lyam stood flanked by his brothers, one to each side, and the hall erupted into shouts and cheers. “Hail Lyam! Hail the King!”

  The chief priest let the shouting continue for a time, then recovered his staff and struck the floor, bringing silence. He looked at Lyam and said, “Will you, Lyam, take up this burden and be our King?”

  Looking at the priest, Lyam answered, “I will be your King.”

  Again the room sounded with cheers, and the chief priest let the din go unchecked. Pug looked and saw relief on the faces of many, Brucal, Caldric, Fannon, Vandros, and Gardan, all who had stood ready to face trouble.

  Again the head priest silenced the room with the striking of his staff. “Tully of the
order of Astalon,” he called, and the old family priest stepped forward.

  Other priests removed Lyam’s red mantle, replacing it with the purple mantle of kingship. The priests stepped away, and Tully came before Lyam. To Martin and Arutha he said, “All in the Kingdom thank you for your forbearance and wisdom.” The brothers left Lyam’s side and returned to stand with Anita and Carline.

  Carline smiled warmly at Martin, took his hand, and whispered, “Thank you, Martin.”

  Tully faced the crowd and intoned, “Now is the hour and here is the place. We are here to witness the coronation of His Majesty, Lyam, first of that name, as our true King. Is there any here who challenge his right?”

  Several eastern lords looked unhappy, but no objection was raised. Tully again faced Lyam, who went on his knees before the priest. Tully placed his hand upon Lyam’s head. “Now is the hour and here is the place. It is to you this burden has fallen, Lyam, first of that name, son of Borric, of the conDoin line of kings. Will you take up this burden and will you be our King?”

  Lyam answered, “I will be your King.”

  Tully removed his hand from Lyam’s head and reached down to take his hand, gripping the royal signet upon it. “Now is the hour and here is the place. Do you, Lyam conDoin, son of Borric, of the line of kings, swear to defend and protect the Kingdom of the Isles, faithfully serving her people, to provide for their welfare, weal, and prosperity?”

  “I, Lyam, do so swear and avow.”

  Tully began a long liturgy, then when the prayers were done, Lyam rose. Tully removed his ritual miter and handed it to the Head Priest of Ishap, who passed it along to another of Tully’s order. Tully knelt before Lyam and kissed his signet. He then rose and escorted Lyam to the throne, while the Ishapian priest incanted, “Ishap bless the King!”

  Lyam sat. An ancient sword, once carried by Dannis, the first conDoin King, was brought to him and rested across his knees, a sign he would defend the Kingdom with his life.